Fourth Estate

[Matt Wiser]

The News Media arrives at Sheppard...


The Fourth Estate's Visit


Prologue: Nellis AFB, NV: 31 October, 1987, 1100 Hours Pacific War Time:


Major General Robert Tanner nodded to the woman sitting across from him. The brown-haired woman sitting in one of his office chairs had asked the right questions for the most part, though he had to deflect a few. His brief on the reporter had indicated that she had never been in a war zone before, and some of her questions betrayed that. It had also brought his Vietnam Veteran's view of the media back, and he didn't like nosy reporters poking around his bases and his people. But, the directive from the Secretary of the Air Force was clear: make reasonable accommodations to the news media. Since about half of the non-Communist world was still neutral or neutralist, getting America's message out was important. The warfighter in him knew that, but still, he had the warrior's distrust of all media, whether American, Allied, or Neutral. “And that's it. We've knocked Ivan back, but this war's not over yet.”

The reporter smiled. “Thank you, General,” Jana Wendt said. She had been asking her assignment editor to send her to the war zone, and instead of going up to Canada to cover the ANZACs or the RAAF, she was headed to Texas. Her editor had told her that the Canadian Theater was a stalemate, and the action was mostly down south, in Texas and Louisiana. But instead of going to a U.S. Army or Marine unit, they had been attached to the Air Force. Oh, well, at least I'm in the war zone, she thought. This was her first time headed to an active war zone, and she was anxious to show the veteran correspondents who lived for combat reporting that she could do it just as good as they could. The fact that her network, 9 News Australia, shared material with CBS, and she herself had sent stories to not only her own network's version of 60 Minutes, but had sent some to the original show on CBS, no doubt made the American military more receptive to her. After an orientation for correspondents at Camp Roberts in California, she, her crew, and a satellite truck, had been flown to Nellis AFB to get an overview of the air war, then they were headed to Texas. “First for me.”

“First time in a war zone?” Tanner asked, standing up.

“That, and the first time interviewing a General.”

“Just remember, this isn't World War II,” Tanner reminded her. 'There's the threat of air strikes, missile attack, enemy special ops forces paying a visit. Just because you're behind the lines doesn't mean you are safe. Do what they tell you and keep your heads down,” Tanner told her and her camera crew.

“Of course,” Ms. Wendt replied with a reporter's smile, which made the General wonder if the advice he'd given had gone in one ear and out the other.

“Ivan doesn't care who he shoots in this war,” Tanner said. “On the few occasions where reporters have been captured? The Soviets don't consider them to be POWs. They're turned over to the KGB. And you know what that means.”

“So they told us at Camp Roberts,” Trevor Scott, the cameraman, said. “I was in Saigon in April '75, and the NVA were pretty nice to the foreign media. Until they kicked us out a couple months later.”

“The NVA didn't want you seeing them round up people for 're-education,'” Tanner said. One of his aides had been an ex-VNAF major, until 30 April 1975, and had fled Vietnam a couple years later, after doing time in a tropical version of the same camps the Soviets and their lackeys had set up in the Occupied Zone. The man still didn't talk about some of what he'd gone through, which was worse than what American POWs had experienced in Hanoi.

“You could say that, General,” Scott said. “They weren't as nasty as the Khmer Rouge, but...”

Tanner nodded. “Yeah. Well, then. Ms. Wendt? Your gear should be loaded on the aircraft with the other cargo headed for your destination,” he nodded to his PAO. “My PAO will escort you to the aircraft. Have a good flight, be safe, and when your tour ends? If you want another interview, I'll be happy to oblige.”

“Thank you, General,” Wendt said. Handshakes were exchanged, and as the crew left the office, Tanner turned to them one last time. “General?”

“One last thing: Good luck.”

After the crew left the office, Ms. Wendt turned to the PAO. “What'd he mean by that?”

“Where you're going?” The PAO, a lieutenant colonel, asked. “They've had SCUD missile attacks, air strikes, and so on. Hope Spetsnatz doesn't pay a visit.” The PAO then took the crew to a crew van. “I'll take you to the transit ramp, and the aircraft is ready to go. The sooner you're on board, the sooner you get to where you're going.”

“But we haven't eaten lunch yet,” Wendt said.

“Ma'am, you'll all have to settle for one of MAC's box lunches,” the PAO said. “The sooner you're aboard, the sooner you get to where you're going, some people go where they need to go, and the other cargo aboard gets delivered to the people who need it. Then we need the aircraft for other business.”

Nodding, the members of the TV crew climbed into a crew van, and the airman at the wheel drove them to the transit ramp. There, a C-141B was sitting there, its cargo doors closing. “This is our plane?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“It sure is,” the PAO said. “Do what the flight crew tells you, then sit back, and enjoy the ride.”

Ms. Wendt and the other members of the crew nodded, shook hands with the PAO, and boarded the C-141. The engines of the big Starlifter turned, then the big transport taxied to the runway, and after waiting for the F-5Es from the 64th Aggressor Squadron who were handling local air defense for Southern Nevada to take off on a CAP, the C-141 rumbled down the runway and into the air.

In his office, General Tanner's phone rang. The PAO was on the other end, calling from Base Ops. After thanking the man, Tanner then called his aide. “Major, Get me Colonel Brady at MAG-11, please. Then I want to talk to the CO of the 335th. If he's flying, I'll talk to his Exec or Ops Officer.”

“Right away,sir,” the aide replied.




335th Tactical Fighter Squadron, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1315 Hours Central War Time:


The four F-4Es of Camaro Flight taxied into their squadron dispersal area, and once they entered their revetments, shut down. In the revetment for aircraft 512, the canopies opened and the crew went through their shutdown procedures. In the front cockpit, Major Matt “Guru” Wiser, the CO of the 335th, took off his helmet and exhaled. One more mission done. And at probably two more today. “Debrief, eat, brief, and then go out again,” he said to his WSO.

“Just like yesterday, 1st Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn replied. Aren't we getting more weather in a few days?” The squadron, along with the rest of MAG-11, and many other units in both Tenth and Ninth Air Forces, had stood down a couple days earlier due to a storm passing through, and now, with another one expected in a few days, they were trying to get in as many sorties as possible.

“You got it,” Major Wiser said as his crew chief put the crew ladder in place, he unbuckled his harness and stood up in the cockpit. “And want to bet Ivan and Fidel are doing the same thing? They know the weather just as much as we do.”

“No bet. That's a given,” Goalie said as she got up. “So, we're doing this again in an hour.”

Guru nodded as he climbed down from the aircraft and then Goalie followed. “Sergeant, get the strike camera film pulled, then get 512 turned around. She's working like a champ.”

Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, his crew chief, nodded. “Yes, sir! We'll get her ready. “

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. Then he and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, and found their wingmates waiting. “How'd it go with you, Kara?”

Captain Kara “Starbuck” Thrace nodded back. “Fine, Boss. Other than having an SA-6 fly right over us on the way out.”

“Don't want to do that again,” Captain Judd “Brainiac” Brewster, Kara's WSO, added. “But we probably will.”

“Don't say it,” Kara nudged her GIB. “Then it'll happen again on the next one.”

First Lieutenants Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard and Bryan “Preacher” Simmonds came over, with First Lieutenants Nathan “Hoser” West and Kathy “KT” Thornton behind them. They were the second element in the flight. “Well, Boss?”Sweaty asked.

“Debrief, eat, brief, then we do this again,” Guru said. “Come on. I'll settle for one of the Jarheads' roadkill sandwiches.”

There were some laughs at that, as everyone wondered what some of the mystery meat in the sandwiches the Marine cooks made came from. “It beats a BLT where the tomato looks back at you,” Hoser quipped.

“That it does,” KT said.

“Well, whatever the meat is,” Preacher said. “It's been dead for a while and can only improve with age.”

They laughed at that, as the crews went to the 335th's HQ building, which had been a flying training squadron's prewar. On their way in, they ran into Major Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer” and 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins, Golen's wingmate, and their respective GIBs. “Dave, Sandi.” Guru said, remembering the IDF's habit of officers going by a first name basis.

“Guru,” Golen replied.

“Getting ready to go back out?”

“Yes,” Golen said.

“Okay, but be careful, you two. Dave, I know you're out for your fifth kill here, but you might run into some Russian or Cuban out looking for his fifth. And Sandi? No grudges,” Guru reminded them.

“Yes, sir,” Sandi replied. She had been flying with their previous CO, the late Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, when he was shot down. And not only had she had a 57-mm AA shell go through one of her elevators without exploding, but she had been very distraught on landing. Now, she had two kills, and was back in the groove.

“All right, you two. Just be careful, and remember: Do it to them, before they can do it to you.”

“Will do, Guru,” Golen replied.

“Have a good one,” Guru said as they shook hands. “And good luck.”

Nodding, both Golen, Sandi, and their GIBs headed out to their aircraft, while the Major and his people went into the HQ building. When Guru opened the door, not only did he find a busy office, but his Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, and senior NCO, Master Sergeant Michael Ross, waiting. “Major,” Mark said. And Guru knew that when Ellis-or anyone else-used his rank instead of call sign first, it was important.

“What's up? We need to get out of our flight gear, debrief, then eat.” Guru said.

“I know, but we just had a phone call from General Tanner about ten minutes ago, and then this came off the fax,” Ellis said, handing his CO a paper.

Guru scanned it, then looked at his Exec, then his Master Sergeant. “Serious?”

“On the level, Boss.”

“Okay,” Guru nodded, then he turned to his flight. “Let's get out of our flight gear, then you guys head on over to the briefing room. I'll be there in fifteen.”

“Right, Boss,” Kara said

After getting out of their flight gear, the rest of the flight headed to their briefing room, while Guru went to his office. “Okay, Mark,” he asked his Exec. “Lay it on me.”

Ellis handed him the paper again. “That Aussie reporter we're supposed to get? Not only are we getting a reporter, but a full crew and a satellite truck.”

Guru looked at the paper. “That's just great,”

'That's not all, Boss,” Ellis said. “General Tanner said she's never been in a war zone before.”

“Of all the...” Guru muttered. “Tell me the rest of the crew know what they're getting into.”

“Mixed,” Ellis replied. “The cameraman and sound man? They've been in war zones before. The others? No.”

“Lovely,” Guru said. “And we don't have a PAO. Did you-”

“Already talked with Colonel Brady,” Ellis said. “We'll be getting one of his on loan. We haven't had one since Tom Lyon got killed, and....”

“I know,” Guru sighed. “Our PAO shop is two sergeants who write press releases for hometown newspapers, along with sending articles to Airman magazine, and an airman who's a photographer. Sergeant Ross?”

“Sir?” his Senior NCO asked.

Guru looked at him. “You know anyone in officer detailing?”

“I have a couple of friends who work there,” Ross said. “And sir, I think I know what you're thinking.”

“Call in a couple of markers if you have to, but find a pilot or GIB who's got some journalism experience, even if they never got a degree. Better yet, find a former PAO who's earned his or her wings and is now cooling heels in the replacement pool.”

“Yes, sir!” Ross nodded.

“Okay, Mark?” Guru turned to his Exec. “We have billets for these people?”

“We do, in both male and female officer country.” Ellis said.

“Okay. If I'm out when they get here, show them around. The usual facilities: showers, chow tent, O-Club, air raid shelter. And in no particular order. Tell them I'll talk with 'em as soon as I can. I've got my regular job: teaching the Russians and Cubans a lesson about staying in their home countries.”

“Will do,” Ellis said.

“All right,” Guru said. “Let me know when that PAO gets here, and when they get here. When's that C-141 due?”

“They have two stops: Kirtland and then Amarillo,” Ellis replied. “Anytime after 1500.”

“Okay, if I'm not here, you do the meet and greet. Or Van Loan if you're out, Mark. If I'm here when their C-141 arrives? Let me know.” He saw Ellis and Ross nod. “Anything else?”

“No, Boss,” Ellis said.

“Sergeant?”

“No, sir,' said Ross.

'Okay, that's it. Spread the word, and Sergeant? Find what I need.”

“Will try, sir. No guarantees, though.”

Guru nodded. “Fair enough. That''ll be all.”

“Yes, sir,” both Ellis and Ross said. Then they left the office.

After they left, Guru sat for a few moments. Then he looked upwards. 'Colonel, too bad you didn't leave any ideas on how to deal with the media in that packet of yours.” Shaking his head at the thought of some prissy reporter making his life, and his squadron's, miserable for a few weeks, he left the office, slamming the door on the way out. As he walked to the briefing room, the office staff were wondering, What's got the CO upset? Then he opened the door. There he found his flight, and the Squadron Intelligence Officer, Capt. Darren Licon, waiting. “Sorry keep you all waiting.”

“What's up, Boss?” Licon asked.

“That reporter we're supposed to get? She gets here today. Along with a camera crew and a satellite truck,” Guru said. “She's from some outfit called 9 News Australia, which I've never heard of, and here's the kicker.”

“What?” Goalie asked.

“She's never been in a war zone before.”

“Lovely,” Kara muttered. “And the rest of 'em?”

Guru nodded. 'The cameraman and soundman? They've been in war zones before, but the producer, and the techs with the satellite? No joy on that.”

“They'll get an education,” Sweaty observed. “I'd like to see their reaction to their first Scud attack.”

“We'll see,” Guru noted. “Okay, let's debrief, then eat, and then get briefed for the next one.”

After debriefing their previous mission, then having a late lunch, it was time for the CO to find out the next mission from Ops. When he got to the Ops desk, Capt. Don Van Loan, the Operations Officer for the 335th, was waiting. “Major,”

“Don,” Guru said. “What have you got for us?”

“How's a trip down to the Nicaraguan sector sound?” Van Loan handed his CO the mission outline, and a packet. “Town called Granbury, southwest of Fort Worth on U.S. 377. Their municipal airport is being used to support Helo ops and small transports like An-2s or An-26s. They need to be cured of that.”

“Given that the Nicaraguans are the closest thing we'll get to a milk run in these parts, we'll take it.”

“Not necessarily, Boss. They've got those quad ZPU-4 guns, along with 23-mm and 57-mm. And Soviet-manned SA-2 is in the area.”

“Thanks a lot, Don. We getting Weasels?” Guru asked.

“No, but two Marine Hornets for SAM- and flak-suppression. The pilots are on their way over,” Van Loan replied.

Guru nodded. “All right. You hear about the reporter coming?”

“Mark told me. And I've been passing it along.”

“Good. Her network down under shares with CBS, so watch Walter Cronkite on AFN from now on. See if we're famous.” Guru deadpanned.

“What about Kara?” Van Loan asked. “The last thing we need is her antics on the news.”

The CO looked at Van Loan, then nodded. “Thanks for reminding me. I'll tell her to keep the craziness to a minimum. No group debt collections, for one thing.”

Van Loan stared at his CO. “You dreaming, Boss? Expecting her, or that C-130 Nav who pops in from time to time-what's his mane?”

“Drunkin' Dunkin,” Guru nodded. “He may drink like a fish, but he's the best Nav in the Air Force, they say. Yeah, expecting them to change their ways is probably a waste of time, and hopefully, that reporter won't be in the Club that much.”

'To be wished for, Boss,” Van Loan said.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Okay, thanks, and have a good one yourself.”

“You too, Boss.”

Guru nodded thanks, then headed back to the Briefing Room. He took a deep breath, then opened the door. “What do we have, Major?” Kara asked.

“Granbury Municipal Airport,” Guru said. “ Thirty miles southwest of Fort Worth on U.S. 377. It's in the Nicaraguan Sector, and they're using the airport for helo ops and light transports. We're going to shut it down for a while.”

'”Defenses?” Sweaty asked.

“Quad ZPU machine guns, plus 23-mm and 57-mm, and the latter may be radar-guided. Throw in MANPADS and Soviet-manned SA-2.”

“Great,” Goalie said. “We getting Weasels?”

“No, but two Marine Hornets are coming with us,” Guru said. “The pilots should be-” He was interrupted by a knock on the door.' “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself.”

The door opened and two Marine pilots in full flight gear came into the room. “Major?” Said the ranking one, a Captain as both saluted. “Captain Dale Hartman and First Lieutenant Joe Turner, sir. We're your Flak and SAM-suppressors.”

“Captain, Lieutenant, “ Guru nodded as he sketched a return salute. “You guys know the mission?”

“We do, sir, and we know the threat.” Captain Hartman said. “Our call signs are Knight 16 and 17.”

“Good enough,” Guru said. After introducing the rest of the flight, he said, “You guys go in thirty seconds ahead of us. Kill that SAM site and the 57-mm battery.”

“Will do, sir,”

“All right: the MiG threat is the same as before. Su-27s reported at the old Connolly AFB in Waco, with MiG-29s at Gray AAF in Fort Hood. MiG-23s at Temple Airport and at Brownwood. MiG-21s are at Waco as well,” Guru noted. “Now, ingress and egress.”

“In and out fast?” Kara asked.

“You got it. We top off from the tankers north of Mineral Wells, then head to Weatherford and drop down low. We follow Route 171 to Cresson, then we turn due south for the Lake Granbury Dam. Turn west to pick up Route 144, then turn north to the target. Our Marine brethren go in ahead of us and do their thing, then we go in. One pass only, people, and get your asses north.” Guru told the crews. “We meet at the tankers.”

“Ordnance loads?” Asked Hoser.

“Lead element; Kara, that's you and me, we get twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes. Second element?” Guru nodded at Sweaty and Hoser. “You two get twelve CBU-58Bs. The ones with the incendiary submunitions. Full load of 20-mike-mike, four AIM-9Ps, and two AIM-7s each airplane. Element leads get an ALQ-119 ECM pod, wingmates get an ALQ-101.”

“Bailout areas?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“Anyplace rural and away from main roads,” Guru said. “Hole up someplace, and Jolly will come for you. The Nicaraguans have not been as active at night as, say, the East Germans or Russians, but that's no guarantee. Hole up and wait for Jolly to get you. Most pickups here take place at night.”

“Weather, Boss?” Kara asked.

“Partly to mostly sunny,” said the CO. “But there's a storm coming into the West Coast in a few days, and we may feel some of it when it gets here.”

“How many more today?” Goalie asked. She was getting beat, and knew they all were. Even the CO.

“If we can squeeze it, two. More likely, one. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay, gear up and meet at 512. Let's make it happen.” Guru clapped his hands once, and the crews got up to go to the locker rooms. “You two wait for us outside,” he told the Marines.

“Yes, sir,” Hartman said. He and his wingman headed on out.

Guru nodded, then he and the AF crews went to gear up. They then went to 512's revetment.

“Any special instructions for us?” Hartman asked.

“Just meet us at ten grand overhead,” Guru said.

“Will do, Major,” the Marine said.

“Okay, see you up there,” Guru nodded, and the two Marines went off to man their own aircraft. “Now, between us?” he told his flight. “Call signs only. Mission code to anyone else.”

“Got it,” Kara said, and the others nodded.

“One last thing. Kara?”Guru looked at his wingmate. “While that reporter's on base? Try and keep the shenanigans to a minimum. No group debt collections, if you can.”

“Major!” Kara was indignant.

“I know, that may be too much to expect, but try and keep things to a minimum, if at all possible.”

“Okay, Major,” replied Kara. “I'll just tell any debtors to make an appointment. You know, 9:30, 10:00...”

The others laughed as the Major put his palm to his face and sighed. “Okay, but still, when she's on base? Try and keep the craziness to a minimum. When she's off base, different story. Just try and not act like animals in the zoo after hours, okay?”

Sweaty let out a grin. “You got it, Boss,” and the others nodded.

“All right. Anything else?” Guru asked. Heads shook no, and he added, “Okay. Mount up and let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512. Sergeant Crowley was waiting. “Major, 512's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” the CO said as he and Goalie did their walk-around, then he signed for the aircraft. They then mounted the aircraft and got into the rhythm of cockpit checks.

“That was probably a wasted effort, telling Kara to take it easy, you know that?” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Maybe, but I had to try anyway. Want to bet, though, this reporter's going to be spending time off base, having a look around at what Ivan did here?” Guru said. “Seat armed top and bottom. Check yours and time for engine start.”

“That's a given,” Goalie said. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“Copy that.”

Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal, and first one, then both J-79 engines were up and running. Guru then asked for permission to taxi, and after getting it, he taxied 512 out. The rest of the flight followed, and they were joined by two Marine F/A-18As from VMFA-314, their two Flak Suppressors.

“Sheppard Tower, Rambler Flight requesting clearance for takeoff.” Guru called.

The tower operators acknowledged by flashing a green light. Guru applied power, released the brakes, and as Kara in 520 followed, rolled down the runway and into the air, with Sweaty's element and the Marines following.



Over West-Central Texas: 1430 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight broke away from the tankers and headed south. They cleared I-20, which marked the FLOT, and then they got down low. Navigation was by INS, along with the GIBs doing it the old-fashioned way: time and distance with a stopwatch. It wasn't New Mexico, with the occasional mountain to provide visual cues, though the Brazos River was a useful landmark.

In 512's cockpit, Guru was keeping his eyes open. Up ahead and slightly above the F-4s, the two Marine Hornets were in their position, while the rest of the flight was tucked in tight. “ETA to Cresson? He asked Goalie.

“Thirty seconds,” came the reply.

“Copy,”

“Rambler Flight, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS called. “Threat bearing zero-nine-five for ninety-five, medium, going away.”

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Guru said.

“Stand by.....Goalie called. “And turn.”

Guru turned 512 onto its new heading, and both the Hornets and the rest of the flight matched the turn.

Just outside the town of Cresson, the commander of the Nicaraguan 18th Motor-Rifle Regiment was having a bad day. Two days earlier, in a counterattack ordered by his divisional commander, they had gone up against the Americans' First Cavalry Division, and had been badly mauled. Now, they were garrisoned in the town, and the local garrison commander, a Cuban, had not been happy to see him and his battered regiment. Then there were the Russians, a mix of MVD troops who'd been run out of Fort Worth, the survivors of a now planeless fighter regiment who were awaiting transportation south to pick up new aircraft, and some KGB troops for traffic control. And, they were living up to their reputation for arrogance, heaping scorn on the Nicaraguans for having been beaten back. “Brown-asses” was the term the Soviets used to refer to the Nicaraguans and Mexicans, and to the Nicaraguan Major, being lumped in with those useless Mexicans was a serious insult. He had even challenged the KGB Major to a duel to avenge the insult, and the Russian had backed down. Add to that the locals, who were happy that the fighting was getting closer, and that the insufferable attitude of these Texans was getting on his nerves.

Now, he was trying to get his unit refitted, when he heard cheering outside his command vehicle. The Major opened the hatch and watched as two American Hornet fighters, followed by four F-4s, flew past. Grateful that his regiment had not been hit, the Major saw the Russian MVD troops running around and looking for cover, while the townspeople were cheering. Not a bomb fell in the town, and as the American fighters kept going south, the Major shrugged and got back to work. Whoever they hit was someone else's problem.


“One minute to the dam,” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” Guru replied.

“Hey, does the dam have any defenses? That thought just occurred to me.”

“They didn't say in the briefing packet,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Watch for possible flak at the Dam.”

“Two copies,” Kara.

“Three,” Sweaty.

“Four, Roger,” Hoser.

“Knights, you copy?” Guru asked the Hornets.

“Knights read you,” Knight 16 called.

“Dam in ten,” Goalie called.

“You called it,” Guru said. “Flak at Eleven O'clock! Flight, Lead, Turn NOW!”

The six aircraft made their turn to the west as 37-mm flak erupted behind the strike birds.

“Thirty seconds to Route 144,” Goalie said.

“Copy that. Stand by,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and stand by to pull.”

“And, and....MARK!” Goalie called.

“Flight, Lead, PULL!”

Four F-4s and two Hornets pulled up and turned north. As they did, their EW gear picked up the SA-2 site just to the north of Granbury, and the 57-mm radar near the airport. “Knights going in,” Hartman in Knight 16 called.

“Roger that, Guru said. 'Lead's in!” He rolled his F-4 in on his attack run.

“Switches set back here,” Goalie said.

Ahead of the strike flight, the two Marine Hornets were at it. Hartman in Knight 16 fired a HARM at the SA-2 site just as it fired on him, but the HARM was faster, and the antiradar missile killed the SA-2's Fan Song radar. The two SA-2s fired “went dumb,” and flew off to the south. Skirting the town and the two bridges over the Brazos River, Hartman found the SA-2 site and planted two Rockeye CBUs on the site, knocking it out of action.

At the same time, Turner, his wingman in Knight 17, caught the 57-mm site's Firecan radar going active, and he put his HARM onto the radar, blasting apart the radar van, and causing additional casualties among the gunners, who were still rushing to their posts. Turner then rolled in onto the battery proper, and placed his two Rockeyes onto the battery, wrecking the guns and inflicting casualties on the Nicaraguan gunners, before he, too, headed north, his job done.

In 512, Guru had climbed just enough to ID the target, then he rolled in, ignoring the 14.5-mm and 23-mm light flak that was coming up. Guru picked out the ramp area, such as it was, and found several Hips and Hinds on the ramp. Grinning underneath his oxygen mask, he lined them up in his pipper. “Steady, steady.....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeye bombs came off the aircraft.

At the airport, the new commander of the Nicaraguan Air Force's 22nd Helicopter Regiment was also having a bad day. He'd sent several of his Mi-25 gunships to support a ground attack two days earlier, and only two of eight sent out had come back. And much to his disgust, higher command had not seen fit to dispatch replacement helicopters and crews to his unit. With the losses he'd taken over the past few days, how was he supposed to support II Corps in its operations? Then the previous Regimental Commander had gotten himself killed leading his own flight, all four of which had been shot down by those insidious Yanqui missiles called Stinger. All of a sudden, the antiaircraft batteries opened fire, then a missile hit one of them, and a Yanqui Hornet came in and dropped cluster bombs on a S-60 battery, before pulling away. One of his sergeants pulled him into a slit trench as an F-4 was spotted coming in.....

“SHACK!” Goalie yelled from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries!” She was watching as their bombs ripped into the runway and ramp, and blew apart two parked helicopters.

“How many?” Guru asked as he set course northwards towards I-20.

“Enough,” she replied as some tracer fire passed over their cockpit.

“Roger that!” He said as he headed north. “Lead's off safe.”

“Two's in!” Kara called as she rolled in. She picked out the southern ramp area and part of the runway, and lined up an An-26 transport in her pipper. You'll do, she thought as she hit the pickle button, and her twelve Mark-82s came off. She leveled out and headed north, calling, “Two's off target.”

The Nicaraguan Major looked up from the trench as first Guru's, then Kara's, F-4s flew past, with bombs falling in their wake. He ducked back into the trench as a nearby An-26 exploded, and another bomb exploded a fuel truck in a fireball.

“Good hits!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“How good?” Kara asked as she followed the CO.

“Two big secondaries.”

“All right!” Kara then took 520 north.

“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She saw the tracers follow Kara's bird as it egressed the target, then some of the tracers began to come up after her. She and Hoser had the CBUs, and no assigned aimpoints, so it was pilot's choice. As she dove onto the target, Sweaty picked out two intact helicopters, and adjusted her run to get them in her pipper. She lined them up, and called “HACK!” Twelve CBU-58/B CBUs came off her aircraft, and as she pulled away, called, “Three off target.”

In the trench, the Nicaraguan major heard Sweaty's aircraft come over, and then the numerous small explosions as the CBU bomblets went off. And a pair of sympathetic detonations as those bomblets had found targets.

“Righteous! Preacher called from the back seat of Sweaty's bird. He was checking their six, and saw the CBUs go off, and two secondary explosions as the helicopters exploded.

“We get the helos?” Sweaty asked.

“We got 'em!” Preacher replied.

“Time to get the hell out of here,” Sweaty said as she headed for I-20, with some tracers coming close to her aircraft.

“Amen.”

Hoser then rolled in on the target. “Four's in hot! He rolled in and saw Sweaty pull away, and her CBUs go off. He decided then and there to put them to the south of hers, and saw a Hind helicopter at the south end of the ramp, still intact. No way.....Hoser thought as he lined up the Hind in his pipper. The call came as he hit the pickle button and a dozen more CBUs came off the F-4. “HACK!”

The Nicaraguan Major heard Hoser's aircraft fly over, then another rain of CBU bomblets came down. A secondary explosion nearby signaled the end of another one of his helicopters, as well as two smaller explosions marked the end of a truck or some other vehicle. Only when it was obvious there were no other Yanqui aircraft coming in did he get up out of the trench. He looked around, and saw that his field had been wrecked. Not only had the Yanquis holed the runway and taxiway, but several of his regiment's helicopters had been hit, and were burning wrecks, along with the just-arrived An-26. Shaking his head, and wondering what he was doing in this miserable land called Texas, he started shouting orders. Somebody had to get some order out of this mess.

“SHACK!” KT called from the back seat.

“Good hits?” Hoser asked as he headed for I-20.

“Got a couple of secondaries,” came the reply. 'Some flak chasing us.”

“Not enough,” Hoser said as the F-4 headed north. “Four off target.”


In 512, Goalie smiled underneath her oxygen mask. “Four in, four out,”

“Still got a game going,” Guru said. “How long until I-20?

“One minute,” Goalie said, getting back into business and checking their Six. “Still clear.”

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Coming up on your four,”

Guru turned in the cockpit to see 520 coming up alongside. “Roger that.”

“Rambler, Knight One-Six. Flak coming.” Hartman in the lead Hornet had spotted some tracers coming up.

“Copy that,” Guru said. They easily outran the 23-mm fire that came up, as the Nicaraguans were surprised to see American aircraft coming from their rear. Right after that, the twin ribbons of concrete that were I-20 appeared, and Rambler flight cleared the FLOT. It wasn't long until they met up at the tankers, After the post-strike refueling, they headed back to base. When they got there, they had to wait in the traffic pattern as several inbound and outbound strike flights, both Marine and Air Force, were ahead of them, and a C-141 was also ahead of them. “That had better not be the -141 with that reporter. She'll probably think I avoided the meet-and-greet deliberately.”

“She'll get an education,” Goalie said. “Long way from Australia, and apart from sub scares and maybe a sub-launched cruise missile attack or two, the war's passed them by.”

Guru nodded “Well, she'll get an eye-and earful.” He watched as the C-141 touched down, and after a Marine F-4 flight, it was their turn to land.

In the C-141, Jana Wendt looked outside one of the few windows on the transport. It was a far cry from the Qantas 747 she'd flown from Sydney to Honolulu and then Los Angeles, let alone the 727 from LAX to Nellis. She and her crew were sitting in the paratrooper seats, along with a number of military personnel who were headed to this base and others, while the cargo area was taken up with their satellite truck and gear, as well as military supplies. “So this is Sheppard Air Force Base.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” the loadmaster said. The Tech Sergeant smiled politely at the media, glad to see that they were finally getting off of his airplane. Given that this was their first experience with MAC, he wondered how bad it would show up on the news. “If it was just you and your crew, you would've flown a CRAF airliner.”

“So they told us, Scott, the cameraman, said.

The Starlifter came to a stop, the SEAT BELT sign came off, and the cargo doors began to open. When the doors were open, they revealed two U.S. Marine officers and an Air Force Officer. When Ms. Wendt and her crew came down the cargo ramp, and one of the Marine officers offered his hand “Ms. Wendt?”

“That's right,”

“Colonel Allen Brady, Marine Air Group 11. Welcome to Sheppard,”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Ms. Wendt smiled. “My cameraman, Trevor Scott,”

“Mr. Scott,” Brady shook hands. “You look like you've been in combat before.”

“Vietnam, 1971-73, then the Yom Kippur War, then Vietnam again for the last two months,” Scott replied. “Covered the fall of Saigon, then the NVA kicked us out a couple months later.”

Brady smiled. “We need to sit down and talk. Vietnam Vet to Vietnam Vet. While you were covering the war from '71 to '73, I was in Hanoi, sitting in a cell and wondering if I'd ever make it out of there.” He motioned to the AF Officer. “Ma'am, this is Captain Mark Ellis, the Executive Officer of the 335th TFS. The unit you're staying with.”

“Ma'am,” Ellis said. “Sorry the CO couldn't be here, but he's been busy this afternoon.”

Wendt looked at him and had a scowl. “What's he been doing?”

“Ma'am, see those four F-4s taxiing in?” Ellis pointed to 512 and the three F-4s behind it. “He and his flight have been busy this afternoon. Killing Russians.”

“Jana,” Scott said. “Look at the racks beneath the wings and fuselage. Saw enough of those at Da Nang and Bien Hoa back in the day. They're empty. Those guys and gals just got back from a bombing mission.”

“Can we see them?” Wendt asked.

“No problem,” Ellis said.

'One moment, please,” Colonel Brady said. He motioned to the other Marine officer. “This is Captain Keith Crandall. He's your PAO while you're here.”

“Our babysitter, you mean,” Wendt said. She'd been told at Camp Roberts that a PAO had to be with her when she was on base, or going off base to do a story.

“Sorry, Ma'am,” Crandall said. “This isn't Vietnam. The North Vietnamese couldn't pick things up watching TV. The Soviets can. We don't want anything sensitive or classified going out on the air.”

Wendt nodded. This wouldn't be like what the guys who'd covered Vietnam or the Middle East wars had said. But if having a PAO with her was the price of being here, so be it. “Okay, can we get the truck set up somewhere?”

“No problem, Ma'am,” Ellis said. He motioned to an AF sergeant who clearly had been in the service for a while.”This is Master Sergeant Ross, our senior NCO. He'll show you where you can set up your truck. Then we'll show you your billets, where the showers are, the officers' mess tent-you'll all eat there, and the Officer's Club. Almost all the aircrew eat dinner there, and it's also a chance to unwind and blow off steam. When you're flying several missions a day, you need a place to do that.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Wendt said.


In 512's revetment, Guru had just shut down the engines. “That's three,” he said after going through the post-flight checklist.

“And one more today,” Goalie said. And by the tone of her voice, it wasn't a question.

“Yep,” Guru said as he stood up in the cockpit and climbed down. After Goalie had done the same, they did a quick post-flight inspection of 512. “Sergeant,” he said to Sergeant Crowley, his Crew Chief, “Pull the strike camera footage. She's still truckin', and get her turned around.”

“You got it, Major,” Crowley said.

Then Kara and Brainiac came into the revetment. “Boss, I think that C-141 is the one with the gentlepersons of the press aboard.”

“How do you know?” Guru said, taking a swig from a bottle of water.

Brainiac pointed to the C-141. “They're unloading a satellite truck.”

“Okay,” Guru nodded as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT came in. “Sergeant, get her turned around ASAP.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said, then he got the ground crew to work.

The rest of the flight were gathered at the revetment's entrance, talking about the mission when Colonel Brady came over. “Major,”

“Colonel,” Guru said, sketching a salute.

“This is the reporter you were warned about. Ms. Jana Wendt, 9 News Australia, meet Major Matt Wiser, USAF. He's the CO of the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron.”

'Ms. Wendt,” Guru said, offering his hand.

“Major,” Ms. Wendt said, shaking it. “You're young to be a Major, aren't you?”

Guru nodded. “Well, Ma'am, I was a First Lieutenant when this war started. Now I'm a Major. That should tell you something.”

Ms. Wendt looked at him. “You mean-”

“Ma'am, there's about ten or so pilots and navigators who were in this unit on Day One. I just happened to be the highest-ranking one. We've lost three squadron commanders in this war, and I've been shot down once myself.” He motioned to the rest of the flight. “Everyone in this flight's a combat veteran, and so is almost every other crew in this squadron.”

“Women?”

“Since June of “86,” Goalie said. “I was the first female WSO to join the squadron. There were other units back east that got women in May, but I was the first in the 335. I've been Guru's backseater ever since.”

“Come on,” Guru said. “Want to see the price of war in this unit? Follow us.”

Curious, Ms. Wendt and the crew followed Guru and his flight to another revetment, where mechanics were getting ready to work on aircraft 1569. “What's with this plane?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Have a look at the left elevator,” Kara said.

Curious, Wendt and the camera crew walked over to the tail area and saw a jagged hole in the left elevator. “What happened?” She asked.

“That's a 57-mm AAA hole. Passed through without exploding,” Guru said. “If it had, it would've wrecked the elevator, sent shrapnel into the tail and rudder, and made the plane uncontrollable. The crew would've had to bail out. Over enemy territory, I might emphasize.”

“And the pilot was pretty distraught afterward,” Hoser said. “The antiaircraft barrage that did this? It killed our CO. She was his wingmate.”

“That she was,” Goalie added.

Ms. Wendt looked at the damaged F-4 again. Someone who had a close brush with death was worth having an interview with, as the STORY light clicked on in her head. “Can I talk with her?

Guru looked at her. “If you want to talk with Lieutenant Sandi Jenkins, be my guest. If she wants to, that is. It's her choice.”

Wendt nodded. Seeing an airplane in which two people nearly died, right off, was a little too much at the moment. “Major, I think we'd better get settled in.”

“Good idea, Jana,” Rachel Fraser, her producer, said.

“I was wondering when you'd say that,” Guru said. “Mark, you have time before your next mission?”

“Got a few minutes, Major,” Ellis replied.

“Okay, show Ms. Wendt and her people to their billets. Then the showers, Officer's Mess Tent, Officer's Club, and the nearest air-raid shelters. Then get back and ready to fly.”

Ellis nodded. “You got it, Major,”

Colonel Brady nodded as well. “Major, this is Captain Crandall, the PAO I'm loaning you until the Air Force sends you somebody.”

“Captain,” Guru said as he shook hands. He also noticed the gold NFO wings on the Captain's uniform. “How long do you have this duty?”

“Two months, sir, maybe three. Broke my leg bailing out of an F-4 over New Mexico back in January, and the docs say it'll be that long before I'm cleared to get back in the saddle. So...” Crandall said.

“Okay, then. Why don't you go with Captain Ellis, and when he goes to fly? Bring the media folks back and.... Sergeant Ross?”

“Sir?” The NCO asked.

“When Captain Crandall returns with the media folks, show him around, especially the PAO shop. Such as it is,” Guru said.

“Yes, sir.”

Ellis nodded to the media people. “This way, please.” And both he and Crandall escorted Ms. Wendt and her crew to Officer Country.

After they were out of earshot, Colonel Brady turned to Guru. “Major, I doubt they covered media relations in OCS?”

“They didn’t, sir,” Guru replied. “I know, sir. Cooperate and accommodate their requests, within reason. Sir, just hope none of them piss off a crew chief enough that said crew chief does something drastic.”

“Like what?”

“Throw one of them down the intake of an F-4. Not only is that a lot of paperwork, but it wrecks a perfectly good J-79 engine.”

Hearing that, Brady laughed. And so did several members of Guru's flight. “Major, you're not the only one to think that way. Let me know if you need any help or advice. Either call me or talk to me in the Club. I'll see you later. ”

“Yes, sir.” Guru said. Salutes were exchanged, and Brady headed back to MAG-11 HQ, while Guru and his flight still had a couple things to discuss.

“Now what?” Goalie asked.

“Carry on as if they're not here,” Guru replied. “We need to debrief, get something to eat. Then we all need to check squadron paperwork. We've got daylight left for one more mission, so we brief in forty-five minutes.”

Sweaty looked at her CO. “How long are they going to be here?”

“That, they didn't tell me,” Guru said. “With luck, she'll find out that this isn't what she expected, and her network will recall her and send someone more experienced.”

Preacher glanced skyward. “To be wished for.”

“Hopefully. Or the opposite will happen and she finds out she's an Adrenalin junkie.” Guru deadpanned.

“Hope you're wrong, Major,” Kara said.

“We'll find out soon enough,” Guru said. “Come on. Let's get back in the game.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part II: Guru and company have a mission, and after, their first "real" encounter with the media:


335th TFS Operations, Sheppard AFB, TX, 1540 Hours Central War Time:

Major Wiser sat at his desk, going over some squadron paperwork. At least Mark Ellis had been here, and filtered out the chaff, leaving him only what was really important. And it was too bad that the elves never did the work like they were supposed to, for when he came back from a mission, or arrived first thing in the morning, the paperwork was still there. He was going over what AF Public Affairs had sent all combat units on how to deal with the media when there was a knock on the door. “Come on in, it's open,” he said.

A USMC Captain in BDUs, but with gold NFO wings came in. “Captain Keith Crandall, reporting, sir.”
He snapped a perfect Quantico salute.

“Captain,” Guru said, sketching a return salute. “Have a seat, and we go by call signs or first names in this squadron. What's yours?”

“Kodak, sir, Got it at MCAS Yuma training on the F-4.And sir, it involved a trip to Vegas, a camera, and a member of the opposite sex,” said Crandall as he sat down.

Guru nodded. “Say no more. Kodak it is. Okay, I take it Sergeant Ross has shown you the PAO office, such as it is?”

“Yes, sir, Not much, and only two sergeants and your enlisted photographer,” Crandall said.

“Well, you won't be there much,” Guru told him. “You'll be babysitting Ms. Wendt and her crew. And your first impressions?”

“The cameraman and soundman? They've been in war zones before and know the drill. The producer? Seems okay for someone who's a combat virgin. Ditto for the techs with the truck.”

“And Ms. Wendt?” Guru asked.

“She seemed a little spooked, seeing that damaged F-4. Though I wonder if anything we said went in one ear and out the other.” Kodak said.

“We'll find out how good she is, won't we?” Guru replied. “There's been reporters who started out lousy, but turned out great. Jan Fields, for one.”

“Yes, sir. Seen her on CNN a lot. She was a local reporter in someplace like Austin or Waco. Joined up with 2nd Armored as they fought their rearguard into Oklahoma and Kansas. CNN noticed her and that was that. She's always at the front, it seems like.”

'You're not the only one seeing her on CNN. Okay, any requests right now from Ms. Wendt?”

“They'd like to do some filming as people go out to fly and come back,” Kodak replied.

“Fair enough,” Guru said. “Though I'll tell her that there's no chance of her flying a combat mission. AF policy.”

“Same in the Marines or Navy, sir.”

“Okay.....wait. Tell her that if she wants to talk with us on camera when we get back from this mission? I'm OK with that.” Guru nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Kodak said.

“I've got a mission brief in a few, so that'll be all.”

“Sir,” Crandall said, saluting and then leaving the office.

Guru sighed, then got up and left the office. He went over to the Ops desk, where Don Van Loan was waiting. “Don.”

“Boss,” Van Loan replied. “I see the guests from the Fourth Estate have arrived.”

“I'd be happy if the reporter had been in a war zone prior to coming here, but....oh, well. What have you got for me?”

Van Loan handed the CO a packet. “Going down to the East German Sector. Supply dump, about five miles south of Stephenville.”

“Airport still active? You know we hit it a few days ago,” the CO said.

“F-111s hit it last night. So they should still be on the ground,' Van Loan replied. “Those still in one piece, that is.”

“Weasel support? We had two last time.” Guru reminded his Ops Officer.

Van Loan nodded. “You're getting two. Coors Flight will meet you at the tankers.”

“Fair enough.” Guru nodded as he went over the target folder. “Anything else?

Van Loan shook his head. “Nuthin' Boss. You have a good one.”

“You too. And watch for our guests; they'll be filming us going out and coming back. So we might be on AFN tomorrow night.”

“Guess we'll have to watch Walter Cronkite, then,” Van Loan grinned.

“You could say that.” Guru said. He then went to the briefing room and opened the door. His flight members were there, waiting. “All right, people. Here's our last one for today.”

“What've we got?” Sweaty asked.

“Back to Stephenville,” Guru told his flight.”No, not the airport. F-111s hit it last night. About five miles south of Stephenville on U.S. 281, northeast of the junction with F.M. 233. There's a supply dump there. We need to make it blow up.”

“This is the East German sector, right?” Kara asked. “And last time, there was army-level air defense.”

“Right you are, and we'll be getting the same thing. Expect SA-4s, plus AAA and the Soviet-manned SA-2 site. Throw in MANPADS and small-arms fire, and it's going to be a wild one. And we are getting Weasels. They'll meet us at the tankers.”

“MiGs? Goalie asked.

“MiG threat is still the same as the last one. Su-27s as well, so remember your anti-Flanker tactics,” Guru reminded everyone.

“Get down low, holler for help from AWACS, do a Doppler Break, and pray a 'teenage' fighter's around,” Preacher said. Just as he said that, there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Guru asked.

Mark Ellis came in. 'Boss, this just came in. Su-27s have been active this afternoon. You guys are getting a pair of F/A-18s to ride shotgun. Call signs are Knight zero-seven and zero-eight.”

“Okay, where are they now?” the CO asked.

“In their cockpits. They did a hot turnaround.”

“Loadout?'

Elis nodded. “Two AIM-7s and four AIM-9Ls, each airplane.”

Guru looked at his flight, and nodded approval. “Have 'em meet us at ten grand overhead.”

“Gotcha,” Ellis said. He then went off to notify the Marines.

“That takes care of that,” Guru said. “Okay, ordnance load. The Mark-82/M-117 mix. The 82s on the wing pylons, 117s on the centerline MER. Usual air-to-air: two AIM-7Es, four AIM-9Ps, full load of 20-mm, and the ECM pod in the right forward Sparrow well.”

“Bailout, SAR still the same as the last one?” Kara asked.

“They are, so keep that in mind,' the CO reminded them. “One other thing: our guests may be filming us going out to the aircraft, and on return. So smile, be polite, and you might just be on the CBS Evening News tomorrow night.”

“Gee, and I forgot my makeup,” KT quipped.

“We don't need any stinking makeup,” Sweaty joked. There was some laughter at that from everyone.

Guru smiled. “On that note...anything else?' There wasn't any. He clapped his hand just once. “Okay, gear up and meet at 512.”

The crews went to the locker rooms and geared up. On the way out, Dave Golen, Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs were coming in. “Guru,” Golen nodded.

“Dave, Sandi,” Guru said. “How'd it go?”

“No air-to-air action, I regret to say, but fuel dumps do burn very well.”

“Sandi? How you doing?”

“Fine, Major,” Sandi replied. She was getting better and better with each passing day.

“Okay, we've got one more, but see you in the Club,” Guru said.

“Good luck,” Golen said.

“Thanks, Dave,” Guru replied as they headed to 512. Sure enough, Ms. Wendt and her crew were filming as they went to 512. When they got there, the CO gave his final instructions. “Okay, call signs between us, as usual. Mission code to escorts, Weasels, AWACS, and other interested parties. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss,” Sweaty said, and the others nodded.

“One last thing: Complacency gets people killed. This may be the last one today, but treat it like it's the first. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Major,” Kara said. When she called him by rank, Guru knew that she was taking it seriously. And everyone else nodded.

“Anything else?” Guru asked. Heads shook no. “Then let's hit it.”

Guru and Goalie went to 512, and found Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, waiting with the ground crew. “Major, she's ready to go.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did the preflight walk-around, all the while noticing the camera crew filming them. After he signed for the aircraft, both pilot and GIB mounted the F-4 and got strapped in. Then they went through their preflight checks.

“She have it for us?” Goalie asked, seeing the reporter and crew.”Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, and check yours,” Guru replied. “Hope not. They're probably concentrating on us because I'm the CO. All set?”

“You're probably right. All set back here. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

Sergeant Crowley gave the signal, then one, and then two, J-79 engines were up and running. After the warm-up, Guru asked for permission to taxi, and after it was granted, taxied out of the revetment, snapping a salute to his crew chief on the way out, and hoping the camera crew caught that. He taxied 512 to the end of the taxiway, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then he received permission to taxi for takeoff. After taxiing onto the runway, he saw Kara in 520 taxi into his Four O'clock for takeoff. Then Guru called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight requesting clearance for takeoff.”

The tower flashed a green light. Guru and Goalie pulled down their canopies down, then Guru ran up the engines to full power, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the Texas sky, with 520 right beside them, and Sweaty's element right behind the lead.


Over Central Texas: 1635 Hours:


Rambler Flight, with the two Weasel F-4Gs and the two escorting Marine F/A-18s, was headed south, roughly parallel to the boundary between the Nicaraguans and the East Germans. So far, nothing had happened since the mission package had crossed into enemy territory, but that could easily change,

In 512's cockpit, Guru kept his head on a swivel, watching not only his instruments, but also keeping an eye out for threats. Something that his instructors in the RTU down at Homestead AFB had drilled into him each and every time. “Nav point?” He asked his backseater.

“U.S. 377 in one minute,” Goalie said. She was handling the navigation, the old-fashioned way: with a stopwatch, map, and plain old-dead reckoning to backup the INS.

“One minute,” Guru said. He looked ahead, and saw the two Weasel F-4s just ahead of them, and right above the Weasels, were the two Marine F/A-18s.

“And....377,” Goalie said as the highway passed beneath them. “One minute fifteen to U.S. 67.”

“And then we turn,” said Guru. He glanced at his EW repeater. “EW still clear.”

“Hope it stays that way.”

“You're not the only one.”



To the south, as Rambler Flight headed to their turn point, a Soviet A-50 Mainstay AEW aircraft was loitering between Temple and Austin. These aircraft were normally operated by the Voyska PVO for national air defense, but the depredations of American low-level attack aircraft had necessitated the deployment of several A-50s to Texas, while several others had been sent to Alaska and Canada to do the same. While Voyska PVO operated the V-75, S-125, and S-200 sites in the occupied territories, nearly all the fighters deployed were from the VVS, the Air Force, though some PVO regiments were in Alaska and parts of Canada.

In the mission compartment, a PVO Colonel was watching his screen. He knew that there were too many American strike aircraft coming in over the front for the fighters to handle, but they had to try.

“Comrade Colonel?” A controller called.

“Yes, Comrade?” the Colonel went over to his console.

“Comrade Colonel, I have several intermittent contacts at low-level Bearing three-four-zero relative, two hundred kilometers,” the controller said.

Nodding, the PVO Colonel turned to his senior fighter controller. “Closest interceptors?”

“Two Su-27s, Comrade Colonel.”

“Vector them onto the contacts.”


“Thirty seconds to turn,” Goalie said.

Then Guru's EW repeater lit up. “Got a radar here.”

“Rambler Lead, Coors Lead. Picking up an air-search radar, and it's a Red AWACS.'

“Flight, Lead. Music on,” Guru said. That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

“And...turn,” Goalie said.

“Copy that,” Guru said as U.S. 67 passed beneath them. He put 512 into a turn to the west, and the others followed.

“Thirty Seconds to IP,” Goalie said. That meant U.S. 281.

Then AWACS came on the line. “Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing one-seven-zero for fifty-five, medium, closing.”

“Say bogey dope,” Guru called. “Goalie, switches set?”

“All set here,” his GIB called.

“Rambler, Crystal Palace. Bandits are Flankers. Repeat: Bandits are Flankers. Threat now bearing one-seven-two for forty-five, closing.”

“Knights, Rambler,” Guru called the Hornets. “Keep those suckers off of us.”

“Roger that!” Knight Zero-Seven called. The two Hornets broke and turned into the attacking Flankers, but still kept low.

“Flight, Lead. Stand by to Pull. Switches on, and time to go to work,” Guru called.

“Roger that!” Sweaty replied.

“Pull in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!” Goalie said.

Guru pulled 512 into a climb, and immediately, the SA-2, the East German SA-4s, and the AAA radars all came up. “Coors, Rambler, make those guys go away, and Lead has the target, rolling in hot.”

“Roger that, Rambler,” Coors Lead acknowledged. Then a pair of “Magnum!” calls came as HARM and Standard-ARM missiles left the rails on the F-4Gs. A Standard-ARM went for the SA-2, while a HARM went for the first SA-4 to come up and fire. Then another HARM went after a second SA-4, and all three SAM radars went off the air as the antiradar missiles found their mark. Then a Standard-ARM killed the Firecan radar guiding the AAA, and the rest of the radars went off the air and stayed off.

Guru had identified the target. Surrounded on three sides by trees that, from the air, looked like the outline of home plate on a baseball diamond, “Rolling in,” he said. “Got some light flak coming up. He spotted the 23-mm tracers coming up at them. He lined up the center of the dump in his pipper. “HACK!” he called as he hit the pickle button, and six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the racks. He pulled out and headed north, his job done. Now, instead of flying for Uncle Sam, it was flying for himself and Goalie.

Down below, the East German supply troops had hardly heard the air-raid alarm when the SAMs started to fire, as did the flak guns. They saw the anti-radar missiles go in, and not only did a nearby 2K12 (SA-4) battery take a hit, but an AAA radar van took a missile as well and was blown apart. Then a sergeant pointed to the southwest. An F-4 Phantom was coming in. The American aircraft flew over and dropped its bombs as the supply troops took cover....

“SHACK!” Goalie yelled as 512 headed north. “Got a few secondaries.”

“Good enough!” Guru called as he headed north for I-20, and he ducked involuntarily as an SA-4, probably launched in optical mode, flew overhead about 200 feet above 512. “Lead's off target.”

“Two's in hot!” Kara called, rolling 520 in on its attack run. She, too, spotted the light flak coming up, Kara lined up the dump in her pipper, and saw the CO's bird pulling away, leaving several secondary explosions in its wake. To give is better to receive, she thought, lining up an undamaged portion of the dump....she then hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Another dozen 500-pound and 750-pound bombs came off the racks, as Kara then set course north. “Two's off safe.”

In the supply dump, the East German CO, a major, watched from a trench as first Guru's, and then Kara's, bombs landed in his depot. He and the men in the trench with him huddled as they felt the shock waves, and as he glanced out of the trench, a fireball erupted after Kara's F-4 flew past. He stuck his head out, only to see the antiaircraft guns track back to the south. More Imperialist aircraft were coming in, and he ducked back into the trench.

“Good hits!” Brainiac shouted, even as a line of 23-mm tracers chased 520, but fell short.

“Secondaries?' Kara asked as she flew past the repeatedly-bombed Municipal Airport, and headed to catch up with her CO.

“A few,”

“Okay, time to get the hell out of here,” Kara said as she followed 512 north.


“Three's in hot!” Called Sweaty as she headed in. She saw where Kara had planted her bombs, and picked out what looked like the truck park for the dump. More tracers came up, and she put that aside. Not today, Karl, as she lined up the truck park. “HACK!” Sweaty yelled as she hit the pickle button, and twelve more bombs fell onto the dump. She pulled away, ignoring the tracers, and even a pair of SA-7s launched that flew past her plane. “Three off target.”

The East German Major ducked again as Sweaty's F-4 came in, and this time, the bombs landed just far enough away for him to take a look. He groaned as the vehicle park was torn apart, the bombs either blowing trucks and other vehicles apart, or tossing them around like toys. The Major looked around, seeing destruction all around, but then his sergeant pulled him back into the trench. Another Imperialist F-4 was coming in.

“We got secondaries!” Preacher hollered, even as an SA-7 flew past the F-4's right wing.

“Good enough,” Sweaty replied as she headed north, ignoring the light flak that was still coming up.


Hoser was the last one on the target. “Four's in hot!” He called. As Hoser rolled in, he saw most of the dump had been trashed, but he and KT didn't get paid for bringing ordnance home. So Hoser picked out the entrance to the dump, where there had to be a HQ shack. As he lined up the target, sure enough, it was there. “HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, and twelve more bombs fell on the dump. He pulled out, ignoring the 23-mm tracer that followed him out. “Four's off target.”

In his trench, the East German Major heard Hoser's F-4 come in, and the sound of bombs get closer. Then a seven-hundred and fifty pound bomb landed next to his trench.....the occupants never had a chance to scream.

“Good hits!” KT called from the back seat.

“Secondaries?” Hoser asked as he followed Sweaty north.

“Can't tell,” came the reply. “Maybe one or two.”

A few miles to the south, the two Marine Hornets had mixed it up with the Su-27s. Both had fired their radar-guided missiles, AIM-7Fs for the Marines, and AA-10 Alamo (R-27R) for the Russians. The Soviets had fired first, but the Hornets did a Doppler break, and after evading the Russian salvo, turned back into the Flankers, and each fired two AIM-7s. Knight 07's two Sparrows found their target, and the Soviet wingman lost a wing and tumbled out of the sky. Then it was a 2v1 engagement, with the Flanker lead putting an AA-8 (R-60) into Knight 08's tailfeathers, but the Marine had released flares, and at the last moment, the missile, instead of tracking the F/A-18, hit a flare. The Hornet took damage to the tailfeathers, but managed to stay airborne. Knight 05 managed to get off a Sidewinder shot that damaged the Su-27, then he closed in and sprayed the Flanker with 20-mm fire. The Russian ejected, and both Hornets headed back north.

When Guru heard Hoser call off target, and the Hornets call “Splash Two”, he called the Weasels. “Coors, Rambler. We're all off target.”

“Copy that, Rambler,' the Weasel lead replied. “Comin' out.”

Just then, Kara in 520 formed up on Guru's bird in the Four O'clock, with Sweaty and Hoser right behind them. Then the Weasels came in, and both Marine Hornets were coming out as well. Only when the twin ribbons of I-20 flew past beneath them did anyone breathe easy. “Rambler, Lead. Form on me and let's head for home.”

“Two, on your right wing,” Kara called.

'Three and four coming up,” replied Sweaty.

“Knights, where are you?' Guru called the Marines.

“Behind you, in trail, and got a damaged bird here.” Knight 07 called. “We can make it to the tankers, then home. And splash two Flankers.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as they headed for the tankers.

“Well, guess the Marines are good for something. First flak suppressors, now killing Flankers?” Goalie asked.

'Careful, now,” Guru said. “Still need to be on good terms with those guys.”

“Hey, you never heard me say that,” his GIB shot back.

“Heard what?” Guru quipped, and they both laughed.


The post-strike refueling went off without a hitch, and after they did so, the Weasels broke off and headed for Altus AFB in Oklahoma, their new base. Rambler Flight and the Marines headed for Sheppard, and off to the west, the Sun was getting low on the horizon. Though trained for night ops, they rarely did so, not having enough of the Pave Tack pods for night work. Besides, that was mainly an F-111 and A-6 show, and Guru preferred leaving night strikes to the guys and gals who specialized in it. When the flight got to Sheppard, they were the last ones in. Guru let the Marines go in ahead of Rambler Flight, since they had a damaged bird, then it was their turn.

Outside the 335th's Ops Building, crews and ground officers were watching as the last flights came in. Don Van Loan and the members of his flight, along with Dave Golen, Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs all had their debriefs out on the lawn as they waited for the CO to come back. Mark Ellis was there as well, along with the camera crew and their PAO escort. They watched the Hornets land, then it was the turn of the F-4s. Ellis had a pair of binoculars, as did several others, and they, like the ground crews, watched as the four planes of the CO's flight came into the pattern, did a flyby of the field, then came in and landed. “Four out, and four in. Everybody came back.”

“That's always a good thing, isn't it?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Ma'am, it always is,” Ellis replied. “Even if somebody comes back with a hole or two in the plane, And the Major's done that a couple of times.”

“You always do this? Count them out and then back?”

“Our grandfathers did in England with the Eighth Air Force,” Ellis said. “Then our fathers did it in Southeast Asia. Now it's our turn.”


Rambler Flight taxied in, and as they did so, the crews noticed the reception committee waiting. “Last back,” Guru said. “And we face the Fourth Estate for real.” He popped his canopy and raised it, as did Goalie.

“Not in 'Welcome VIPs,' but 'Get that camera out of my way, scumbag,' mode,” Goalie quipped.

Guru nodded in the front seat as he taxied 512 into its revetment, then he shut down. He and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist, then Sergeant Crowley and the ground crew came with the crew ladder and put the chocks around the tires. “That's done,” Guru said as he took off his helmet.

“For today,” Goalie said as she stood up in her cockpit.

“That it is,” replied Guru. He stood up in the cockpit and got out of the plane, and then Goalie did. After a post-flight walk-around, he nodded to Sergeant Crowley. “No holes in 512, Sergeant.”

“Great, sir!” Crowley said as he handed his CO and GIB bottles of water. “How'd it go?”

“Made some East Germans' day a bad one,” Goalie said as she drank.

“That we did,” Guru said. 'She's working like a champ, and let's keep it that way, Sergeant. Get her ready for the morning.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said.

The rest of the crews came over to the revetment, and all of them were talking about the mission when Kara noticed they had company coming. “Here they come, Boss. Reporter with mike and camera crew at Twelve O'clock.”

Okay, Showtime, Guru thought. “Smile and be polite, guys. Maybe we'll be on AFN tomorrow night.”

Ms. Wendt came up, this time in reporter mode. “Major, how did it go today?” She had her mike in front of him.

“Went okay. Brought everybody back, and made sure some East Germans had a bad afternoon.” Guru said.

“What was the resistance like?”

“Missiles, not so much,” Guru said calmly. “We've got some folks who specialize in making those go away, and they were with us this time. Flak, though? Different story.”

“You mean antiaircraft fire?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“That's right. And those East Germans down below did a lot of shooting,” Guru said.

'Lieutenant,” Wendt turned to Goalie. 'Now what?”

Goalie smiled. “Talk things over, then we eat, blow off steam, then get some shut-eye. Before you know it, it'll be 0430. And we get ready to do it all over again.”

“Thank you, Major, Lieutenant,” Wendt said.

As the crews headed back to Ops, the camera crew filmed them the whole way. When they got there, the other crews who had come back before were waiting. “Don,” Guru said. “How'd it go?”

“Did okay, and I got a Yak-28R recon bird.” Van Loan replied.

Hearing that, Kara and Sweaty slapped him on the back. As did Dave Golen. “That's what, your sixth?” Kara asked.

“Yep,” Van Loan said. “Got him on our way back. He was on his way out, and I called it to the AWACS, then I rolled in behind him, gave him two Sidewinders, and that was that.”

Guru shook his hand. “Good kill, Don. Was there a chute?”

“Yeah, from the pilot. The nav, though....they eject downward, and they were too low.”

“Okay, I'll ask Colonel Brady, and see if the Army picked up the pilot. Maybe they can find out what he and his friends were up to. Where was this?”

Van Loan said, “South of Sherman, Boss. Perrin AFB's not that far, and the Red River bridges on U.S. 75. He might have been looking at those.”

“Okay, talk to Licon, and get your debrief out of the way. You, too, Dave.” the CO nodded to Dave Golen.

“You got it, Boss,” Van Loan replied.

“Of course, Guru,” Golen nodded.

While the crews were milling around outside, the camera crew was filming them. “So what now?” Ms. Wendt asked Kodak Griffith.

“They all have to debrief their missions-and those are classified, by the way, check whatever paperwork they have, and then it's off to the Officer's Club to eat and unwind.”

“That big tent?”

“Yes, Ma'am. The prewar Club didn't survive the Russians. Seems the Resistance managed to get a bomb inside the place in Fall '86. When the bomb blew, it killed forty to fifty Russians, Cubans, and whoever. The Russians took a thousand people-half inmates from a labor camp, half people picked off the street at random, took them somewhere northwest of here, made them dig a pit, then they were all shot.” Kodak told the crew.

“My God....” Scott, the Cameraman, muttered, while Ms. Wendt's face was frozen in horror.

“Ms. Wendt?” Kodak asked. “You all right?”

“We've heard our share of atrocity stories, especially from the press up in Canada, and earlier on here, but so close?” Her voice was shaking.

“Ma'am, we've brought reporters to see what Ivan did, and you'd be no exception. A lot of Western European reporters came here, thinking the atrocity stories were overblown. Seeing a mass grave or a KGB interrogation center, maybe a liberated POW or labor camp sobers them up pretty quick.”

“It would anybody,” Scott said. “Like the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia: a lot of ivory tower types thought those stories were exaggerated. When the NVA went in and found what had happened, those people shut up pretty fast.”

Ms. Wendt nodded. It wasn't just this base that her network expected her to cover. Any story dealing with the war was fair game, her assignment editor had told her in Sydney. “In a few days, I'd like to see it. The grave, I mean.”

“I'll arrange it, Ma'am. Just let me know,” Kodak said. “Come on, I think you people need a stiff drink after what I just told you.”


In their briefing room, Guru and his flight were talking about the mission, while waiting for the SIO to
come in. “Don't want that again for a while. That SA-4 was close,” he said.

“Too close,” Goalie nodded. “Damned optical backups.”

“SA-7s for us,” Sweaty added. “Be glad those things are crap.”

“Even properly aimed crap can still kill you, Lieutenant,” Capt. Darren Licon said as he came into the room. “Sorry I'm late, Boss. You guys got caught in the backlog.”

“He's right,” the CO said.

“I know,” Sweaty said. “No need to remind me. Day five on PRAIRE FIRE. SA-7 blew out my left engine.”

And when that had happened, Guru remembered, the whole flight had escorted Sweaty back to Williams. Her bird had been out of action for two days while not just the engine had been changed, but some structural damage to the wing had been repaired. “It beats skydiving.”

“That it does,” Goalie said.

“Okay, Darren,” the CO said. “Before we debrief, did you confirm Van Loan's kill?”

The intel smiled. “Yes, sir, It's his sixth. And I have a query in to see if the Army's talked to him. They're supposed to turn all captured aircrew over to either Tenth Air Force or Ninth Air Force, and depends on who they sent him to. I'd like to know what that recon driver was doing up there.”

“Try and find out, and let's get this over with.”

“Yes, sir,” Licon said.

After the debriefing, the CO nodded. “Okay, check your desks before heading to the Club. I'll see you over there.” As the crews filed out, Guru nodded at Sweaty. “Sweaty? A word, please.”

Sweaty came over, and she knew what the CO was going to say. “Major?”

“Just wanted to ask you one thing: Lesson learned?”

'Lesson learned, Major. I know what you're going to say. 'Don't get overconfident.'”

'You got it. That's gotten more than a few people killed or captured. Don't fall into that trap.” the CO reminded her.

“No sir,” Sweaty replied. And her tone of voice indicated to the CO that she was serious. She also knew that if those SA-7s had been properly aimed, she and Preacher would either be dead, captured, or holed up somewhere, waiting on Jolly Green to come and get them. “No excuse, sir.”

“Remember, if a weapon can kill you, it's not obsolete. Always keep that in mind, Lieutenant.” Major Wiser said. He rarely addressed his fellow aircrew by rank unless it was important. And this little talk was.

“Yes, sir,” Sweaty replied with due seriousness.

“Okay, I've fallen into that trap myself. I've had battle damage, and been shot down once. Don't have that happen to you or Preacher. Understood?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Remember, Colonel Rivers gave the both of us this same kind of talk on a couple of occasions, and we took his advice to heart, didn't we?” Guru said.

“That we did, Major,” Sweaty smiled.

“Okay, just keep that in mind. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Boss.”

“Good, now, go and check your desk, then I'll see you in the Club,” the CO said.

Sweaty nodded. This was a very polite form of dismissal, and she understood. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay, and Sweaty?”

“Good job today.”

Sweaty grinned. “Thanks, Boss!”

“You're welcome. See you in a bit.”

After Sweaty left the office, Guru left, and found the rest of the flight waiting. “What was that all about?” Kara asked.

“Sweaty's remark about SA-7s touched a nerve. Remember what I said about complacency? And General Tanner a few days ago?” Guru said. He saw heads nod affirmatively. “I know, we've all done a few sloppy things in the air and have been lucky, right?”

“Guilty,” Kara said, while Sweaty and Hoser nodded, along with the GIBs.

“And remember this: if a weapon can still kill you, it's not obsolete. Always keep that in mind.”

“Never forget the Golden BB,” Goalie said. That had been drummed into her head at Kingsley Field.

“Right you are,” Guru said. “Okay, pass that on, and everybody? Good job today.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Kara grinned.

“Okay, see you in a few,” the CO said as he headed to his own office, and Goalie followed him. When they got there, they found Mark Ellis waiting. “Mark,”

“Boss,” Ellis said. “Got a few things before we wrap up.” He handed the CO a clipboard. “Aircraft status update for MAG-11. Sandi's bird should be ready by morning. It'll need a check flight before it's cleared.'

“Good, and the bird needing radar parts?”

“Ready by morning,” Kevin O'Donnell says. Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the senior maintenance officer for the squadron.

“After tomorrow, we'll have twenty birds, assuming no losses or downs due to maintenance,” Ellis said.

“Okay,” the CO nodded. He signed the sheet. “What else?”

The Exec nodded back. “Ross has made a few phone calls. We may have a new PAO soon, but no guarantees.”

“At least he's trying,” the CO said. “What about those two new birds from Japan? They're due here in two days.”

“There's a backlog at Hill,” Ellis said. “It might take a week to clear it up.”

“Why can't they do all that at Kadena?” Goalie wondered. It's our base,”

“Yeah, but the depot there is run by Mitsubishi under contract. It's still Japanese soil and has been since we gave Okinawa back in '72,” Guru pointed out. “I know, it'd be easier with them installing the air-to-ground stuff there instead of McClellan or the Weasel stuff at Hill, but that's the way it is.”

“That it is,” Ellis said. “We'll still get two new crews with the new birds.”

“Anything else?” The CO asked. It had been a busy day, and he wanted to get something to eat and unwind.

“Just this,” the Exec said. He handed Guru a paper.

“What's this?

“A complaint against five female officers, signed by one Major Frank Carson,” Ellis said.

“What's Frank pissed off about now?” Guru wondered aloud. Major Frank Carson was the most despised officer in the squadron. His Academy “know-it-all” arrogance and contempt for any officer not wearing an Academy class ring-even fellow Academy grads like Goalie or the late Colonel Rivers, along with his Boston Blue Blood arrogance, not listening to the NCOs and treating enlisted airmen like pieces of equipment, along with a few other things, had made him the most loathed officer on the base. Guru was hoping to transfer the man, or that he'd come to him, asking for a transfer, before he used a number of reasons in Carson's file to kick him out after New Year's.

“Read it.” the Exec said.

The CO nodded, then scanned the paper. “What?” He turned to his GIB. “You, Kara, Sweaty, KT, and
Ryan Blanchard? Flashing him when you came out of the shower, then mooning him?”

“Well, we were coming out and he said something about 'trailer trash' or something like that, and nobody liked that. We can't slug him, even though he deserves it, so we did the next best thing,” Goalie said. And the CO could tell that she was not apologetic in the slightest.

Major Wiser sighed and put his right palm to his face. Then he started to laugh.

“What's so funny, Major?” Mark asked.

“I know I probably shouldn't say this, but I would've loved to see that. The look on Frank's face...” said the CO.

“And the other...scenery?” Ellis asked, matter of factly.

“No comment,” Guru replied.

Hearing that, the Exec and Goalie broke out laughing. “He turned red, whether out of embarrassment or anger, then he stomped off,” Goalie said.

The CO sighed. “Okay, Mark. Anything else?”

“What about his complaint?” The Exec asked.

“What about it?” Guru said. He took the paper, and fed it into the office shredder. “Anything he sends me, except for a transfer request, gets sent there. Comprende?”

“Got it, Boss.”

“Okay, see you in a few,” Guru said.

Ellis nodded. “Will do,” and he headed out of the office.

Guru then turned to his GIB-and girlfriend. “Did you guys have to flash and moon him?”

“Can't slug him, so we did the next best thing,” Goalie said.

“Okay, but if he does it again? Just moon him. Don't show him any more of you than you have to. And tell the others that.”

Goalie laughed. “Will do.”

“One other thing,” Guru said with due seriousness. “Sweaty. Her remark about SA-7s touched a nerve. Remember, back in March? We both came back from a mission with unexploded SA-7s in our tailfeathers.”

“Yeah,” Goalie said. She well remembered that mission. “And the dressing-down Colonel Rivers gave all of us was richly deserved.”

“That it was,” the CO agreed. “We got lower than we should've, and both you and Preacher weren't checking six on egress. Lesson learned.”

“So you had to give Sweaty a reminder?”

'A polite but firm one,” Guru said. “And she's enough of a professional to know what I mean. Colonel Rivers didn't want to write any letters because people got sloppy or overconfident, and I don't either. It's different now that I'm the CO and the one doing the lecturing.”

“Part of the job,” Goalie nodded understanding.

“Part of the job,' the CO agreed. “And Sweaty knows it. Come on, let's go eat. And see how our guests are handling their first night in a war zone.”

“We'll find out.” Goalie said as they left the office. “And we might see how good they are at poker or pool.”

“That we will,' Guru nodded. “Let's go.” And both of them left the Ops building and headed for the Officer's Club tent.

[Matt Wiser]

Part III: Winding down in the O-Club...

Sheppard AFB Officer's Club: 1745 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and Goalie went into the Officer's Club Tent, and found the usual organized and unorganized bedlam as they entered. They went to the bar and found Colonel Brady there, talking with one of the Marines' squadron commanders. “Colonel,” Guru nodded politely.

“Major,” Brady nodded back. “And Lieutenant. How'd things go with our guests?”

“Not bad, sir,” Guru said as he got the barkeep's attention. “Any Sam Adams?”

“Sorry, Major,” the barkeep said. “Not until next week.”

“Okay, Bud for me, and the Lieutenant,” Guru said. The barkeep produced the two bottles, Guru paid him, then turned back to the Colonel. “I think seeing Sandi Jenkins' shot-up bird was an eye-opener for her. Though the cameraman and soundman have been around the block a few times.”

“They've got 'the look' in their faces that says they've seen this before, I'll grant you,' Brady said.

“Have you had a sit-down with her yet, sir?” Goalie asked.

“Not yet, but that's tomorrow afternoon. Before I fly my second mission. Too bad a MAG or Wing CO usually flies only twice a day. I'd rather be up there, leading my people in combat, than sitting at my desk,' Brady said disgustedly.

Guru knew what that meant. The battles with the “other enemy”, namely service and DOD bureaucrats. “Well, sir, we know what to tell her if she wants a backseat ride on a combat mission.”

Brady nodded. “That we do, Major, But still...the directive from the General: Get her and her cameraman qualified for a backseat ride. Like prewar incentive flights for ground folks.”

“Yes, sir. I'll have Doc Waters check them out,” Guru said. “They can fly a check ride.”

“Which is better than the alternative,” Goalie quipped. “Uh, sir.”

Brady nodded. “You're right on that, Lieutenant. Anything, within reason, to keep the press happy.

“Yes, sir,” Goalie said, while Guru simply nodded.

“And how's that PAO I sent you, Major?” Brady asked.

“Captain Griffith? He's doing all right, sir,” Guru replied. “He's not a trained PAO, though. I'm trying to get somebody through AF channels who either has a journalism degree or took a few classes, and is now a pilot or WSO. Better yet? A former PAO who's now earned wings, and he or she is now kicking their heels in the replacement pool.”

Brady nodded. “In your position, I'd do the same. Well, we'll see how all this goes. You have a good evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded, then he and Goalie went to the table that their flight shared. They found everyone there, plus a couple of others, namely Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins.

“Boss,” Kara said. “What was that all about?

“Colonel Brady was asking about our....guests,” Guru said. “And our...temporary PAO.”

“Kodak?” Sweaty asked. “He's one of us, well....somebody with wings, not some ex-reporter who put on a uniform for the duration.”

Guru nodded. “He's good. And waiting to get back into the cockpit. Now, Kara? Don't fleece our guests the first night if they show up at the Poker or Pool tables. It's not being a polite host.”

Kara stared at her CO with mock indignation. “What? Me? Fleece our guests from Down Under the first night?” She broke out laughing.

“Yeah, you would,” Sweaty poked her flightmate, while everyone else laughed.

Kara nodded. “I would. In a minute,” she said. “Okay, they're no-go tonight. What about tomorrow?”

“They're fair game,” Guru told her. “They should be settled in, and if they try and get in on a game? Show them how it's done.”

“With pleasure.”

Then the Marine mess people arrived. Those in the Club had two options: either baked ham with scalloped potatoes and mixed vegetables, or roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and biscuits and gravy. After getting their food, the crews ate, but conversation at the CO's table turned back to the visiting reporters. Who, someone noticed, were sitting down with Colonel Brady and Kodak Griffith.

“Wonder how they'll respond to a Scud attack,” Hoser wondered aloud.

“I'm wondering that myself,” Guru said. He thought for a minute. “Okay, I've got an idea. Start a pool, Kara. Five-dollar buy-in.” He pulled out his wallet.

Goalie looked at her pilot. “What do you mean by that?”

“Simple. Date and time of the first Scud attack since their arrival. We'll see how they handle it,” the CO said.

Kara grinned. “I'll handle it.” She took out a notepad from one of her flight suit pockets. “Okay, Boss, When do you want it?”

“I'll be conservative. Two days from now. 6:30 PM.”

She jotted it down and took the CO's money. “Goalie?”

“Same day, but...11:30 that night,” the CO's GIB replied.

“Hoser?”

'Three days from now....7:00 PM.” Hoser replied.

“8:30, same date,' KT added.

“Same date, 0200,” Sweaty chimed in.

After Kara got dates and time from everyone at the table, she looked at the CO. “Spread it around the squadron?”

“You got it,” Guru said. “When it happens, someone's going to get a big payout. And we'll see how these folks react when it's for real. So any drills don't count.”

“Got it,” Kara nodded.

After dinner, people went to either the pool tables, the poker games, played some darts, put down quarters in a couple of pinball machines or a couple of arcade games (for some reason, Missile Command and Battlezone had been delivered to MAG-11). Others simply sat back and watched an ABC replay of the 1979 World Series, or just chatted. Guru and Goalie were talking with Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins when Sweaty came back with a copy of Stars and Stripes. “Got yesterday's paper, guys.”

“Anything good?” Goalie asked.

“Not much happening,” Sweaty said. She took the front page apart. “Have a look inside. Biggest thing on the front page is the Navy sinking some Soviet battlecruiser out in the Pacific. Ship's name was Freunze, says here.”

“Some sub skipper probably got himself a Navy Cross,” Guru noted. “Anything closer to home?”

“That all-female Army chopper unit? The Cobra Girls, CNN calls them, I think,” Sweaty pointed to a story on page three.

“What about 'em?” Sandi Jenkins asked.

“Says here they got nominated for a Presidential Unit Citation.”

“What'd they do?” Goalie wanted to know.

“Doesn't say, other than 'for exceptional performance under fire at the Battle of Wichita'.”

“Dave,” Guru said. “Imagine a unit made up of people who, on a good day, are just like Kara.”

“And on a bad day?” Golen asked. “I don't want to think about that.”

“They're ten times worse. They fly hard, fight hard, and party harder,” Guru said. “At least, that's what's come down the grapevine.”

“A whole unit of Karas? Preacher asked as he came over. “Lord have mercy.”

“On who? Us, or the Russians?” Goalie asked.

“Maybe both,” he replied. “What if they spend their R&R with that Hell's Angels Regiment?”

Guru let out a grin. “Well, if there's a record for debauchery, they'd probably break it.”

“They probably have already,” Sweaty noted.

“Hey, look at this,” Goalie said. She pointed to a story on page three. “West German Chancellor exposed as Stasi asset.”

“What?” Several people said at once.

“Says here, the magazine Der Spiegel printed an expose in the issue that came out yesterday as revealing the West German Chancellor as a Stasi agent. It also says that half of the cabinet, the Greens, are either Stasi agents or paid assets.”

“That's a game-changer,” Guru said. “Want to bet that some West German generals and intel types are getting together right now?”

“You thinking coup?” Golen asked. “I would.”

“Like they do in Africa and in parts of South America still?” asked Sweaty.

“Yes. If I was the Bundeswehr Chief of Staff, I'd be calling in my corps and divisional commanders, the head of the Luftwaffe, and the Navy, and telling them, 'Gentlemen, this neutralist business has to stop.'”

“Protests first,” Goalie said. “That's how these things start, right? Then in a couple weeks or so, that's when you see tanks in the street.”

Guru nodded. “That's how I'd do it. After the protests, they get an ultimatum from the generals. 'Resign and leave the country, or we'll 'help' you out in that.”

“Here's to them. May they kick their Commie-lover government out, and then join the fight,” Sweaty said, raising her beer bottle.

“Hear, hear,” several voices said as they raised their beer bottles.

Guru then went to the bar to get another round for his table. When he got there, he found Ms. Wendt, talking with a couple of female Marine pilots. “Ms. Wendt,” Guru politely nodded.

“Major,” the reporter replied. “Is it always this calm? It's payday, isn't it?”

'It is, but we're on a leash, thanks to the flight surgeons. It's 1840, and that's twenty minutes to the Twelve-Hour Rule kicking in.” Guru said. “No alcohol twelve hours before flying. And the flight surgeons enforce that with a vengeance.”

“Then what?”

“Then it's anything nonalcoholic until 2100, then aircrew curfew hits. Anyone on the flight schedule in the morning has to turn in. Because before you know it, it'll be 0430,” said Guru. The barkeep produced the beers for Guru and his table. Guru paid him, then turned to the reporter. “You'll get used to it.”

“Thanks, Major,” Ms. Wendt replied.

Guru smiled, then went back to the table. When he got there, he saw Kara busy at the pool table. And show a couple of transiting C-130 guys the error of their ways in challenging her. “Hope Kara listened,” Guru said, setting the beers on a table.

“About her calming down and taking a check?” Goalie asked. “If she does, that's only the second time she's done that.”

“She'll go along as long as that reporter and crew are on base,” Guru said. He checked his watch. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“Got a couple of announcements,” Guru said. He went to the bar and rang the bell. “Okay, listen up!” The tent fell silent as attention turned to the 335th Squadron CO. “Okay, got a couple things to say. First: to the guys in VMFA-314, thanks for letting us have a couple of Hornets. Those guys got a couple of Flankers today, and when you guys tell us who got the kills, I'll buy those guys a round, got it?”

“You got it, Major,” Colonel Brady said. “I'll make sure of it.”

“Thanks, Colonel. Now, Don van Loan, Mike Geoff?” Guru saw the two stand up. “Don and Mike spotted a Yak-28R on a photo run, trying to get our guys on Candid Camera. Well, those two thought otherwise, and if the film survived the crash? Our guys are developing the pictures. Good kill, and that's you guys' sixth. So, here's to the Marines who turned Flankers into scrap, and here's to the guys who did the same to a recon bird.” He raised his beer bottle.

“Hear, hear” numerous voices shouted.

“Okay, people! Drink up! Fifteen minutes to Twelve-Hour!” Guru said, then he went back to the table.

“Kind of forgot about that?” Goalie asked.

“I did,” Guru said. They drank up, then one of the Navy flight surgeons rang the bar bell. “It's 1900, people! Twelve-Hour is now in effect!”

With that, people flying the next morning switched to whatever nonalcoholic drinks were available, and before anyone knew it, Doc Waters, the Flight Surgeon for the 335th, rang the bell and announced, “All right, 2100! Aircrew curfew for those flying tomorrow morning!”

Crews got up and headed on out towards their tents. As Guru and Goalie got up, she nodded. “Time to hit the sack.

“Yep, because Manana, we do it all over again.” Guru nodded.

Those flying the next morning headed back towards officer country, and found their tents. As the CO often pointed out, “0430 comes fast.” And they were soon all asleep.

[Matt Wiser]

Part IV: The media's first day, and a normal day of flying. Note that the intel about the SAF was still in flux post-PRAIRIE FIRE.


335th TFS Operations, 0530 Hours Central War Time: 1 November, 1987:

Major Wiser entered the squadron's building, and found the night crew still at work. He nodded to Capt. Kerry Collins, the Night Duty Officer, who started to come to attention, but caught himself doing so. “Kerry,” Guru said. “Stopped before I could catch you.”

“Yes, sir,. Old habits...” Collins said, then he sneezed. The NDO was fighting off a cold, and was grounded until Doc Waters, the 335th's flight surgeon, cleared him.

“They're good to have-in the Rear Area, but not here,” Guru reminded his NDO. “The Exec in?”

“Yes, sir,” Collins said, then he sneezed again. “Sorry, sir.”

“No reason to be sorry,” the CO said. “How much longer on the pills?”

“Four more days, then I see Doc again,” Collins said. “Can't wait to get back in the saddle.”

Major Wiser nodded sympathetically. He'd been grounded once, the previous January, due to a cold, and had been itching to get back flying. Those ten days on pills Doc had prescribed were no fun. “Listen to Doc, and do what he says. He outranks all of us in that. Even Colonel Rivers got grounded a couple of times. Just take it easy, fight this thing off, and you'll be back in the cockpit soon enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nodding, the CO then went to talk with a couple of the NCOs, then went to his office. He opened the door and found his Exec waiting. “Good Morning, Mark,”

“Morning, Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis, the Exec, nodded. “Got a few things for you.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, shoot.”

“Morning report for MAG-11, as usual,” the Exec said, handing Guru the papers. Guru nodded, then signed. “And the aircraft status update. We have nineteen available now, and will have twenty by noon.”

“Assuming no losses, that is,” Guru noted. “What's the twentieth?”

“Sandi Jenkins' bird. The elevator's been swapped out, but it needs a check flight before Kev O'Donnell will release the aircraft.” Captain Kevin O'Donnell was the 335th's senior Maintenance Officer.

“Okay, and Sandi's got two missions before noon already,” the CO said. He took a deep breath. “Find a crew not on the morning schedule, and have them do the check mission.”

“Will do, Boss,” Ellis said, handing the CO a large plastic cup.

“Over Oklahoma or the Panhandle,” Guru said sternly. “Sandi's going to be pissed, and I will be along with her, if somebody got her bird shot up on what was supposed to be a check flight.”

“Gotcha,” Ellis nodded.

Guru returned it, then took a drink from the cup. “Cocoa?”

“Ross and the scroungers came through,” the XO said. “A regular supply will be coming, even when we move, he says.”

“Good,” the CO replied. “What'd we have to give up in exchange?”

“Ross said a case of brake fluid. Considering we got more than we need, thanks to that C-141 yesterday....”

“Okay, that settles that. What else?”

Ellis handed him a sheet. “Weather forecast.”

“Hmm....Okay, looks like the worst of it will be to our north, but still, a fifty percent chance of showers. And IFR flying from 5,000 up to 17,000. Lovely. Starts late tomorrow night. So we got two flying days to go.”

“That we do,” Ellis said. “And this, from Frank.”

“What now from that sumbitch?” the CO asked.

“Here,” Ellis said, handing Guru a paper. “He refiled his complaint about yesterday.”

“I'll put it where it belongs,” Major Wiser said. He took the paper and fed it into his office shredder. “Next?”

“Only that we start flying at 0700.”

“Good.” Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah! Come on in and show yourself.”

The door opened, and Goalie came in, with a cup of coffee in each hand. “Morning, Boss.”

“Still bribing your CO with coffee?” Guru joked. She had done the same when he was Exec.

She rose up with mock indignation. “What's wrong with wanting my pilot fully awake and alert at this time of morning?”

“Nothing,” the CO said. “Well, we'll find out one thing today.”

“What's that?” Goalie asked.

“Whether or not our guests are cut out for this,” Guru said. “Either she'll discover she's an adrenalin junkie, or she'll want to be on the first C-130 back to Nellis.”

“Only one way to find out,” said Ellis.

“Yeah,” the CO replied. He glanced at the wall clock. “0545. Let's go eat, then we brief, then we fly.”


When the CO's group got to the Officer's Mess Tent, they found most of the pilots and WSOs from their squadron, as well as the Marine and Navy squadrons assigned to MAG-11. And the CO found Colonel Brady and a couple other squadron commanders talking with Ms. Wendt. “Colonel,” Guru said, sketching a salute.

“Major,” Brady said. “Just saying 'Good Morning' to one of our guests. And I'll be saying a lot more later today.”

“Watch it, Ms. Wendt,” Guru said. “He's on his second war, so you can say he's seen quite a bit. But his Southeast Asia tour was a lot longer than he expected.”

Ms. Wendt looked at Guru, then Colonel Brady. “What do you mean by that?”

“I spent just over five years as a POW in Hanoi,” Brady said. “Had 78 combat missions before I was shot down, and then a suite at the Hanoi Hilton.”

“When was that?” Scott, the cameraman, asked.

“A week before Tet, '68,” Brady said matter of fact. “Spent seventeen months in solitary, out of five years and two months.”

“Well, Colonel,” Wendt said. “Maybe you can compare experiences? It'd be an interesting story.”

“Not a problem, Ms.Wendt,” Brady smiled. “Glad to oblige.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Wendt nodded. “Major? Any chance I can talk with you today? Not an interview, mind, but I'd like talk about a couple of things.”

Major Wiser nodded. “Anytime I'm not flying or otherwise busy, just knock on my office door. I run an open door policy: anyone in my squadron who wants to see me can.”

“It's a little unusual, isn't it?”

“No, Ms. Wendt, it's not,” Colonel Brady said. “I do the same thing, and so do my other squadron commanders. I don't know what exposure you have to your own military, and no disrespect intended, but one thing we stress in the U.S. Military is taking care of our subordinates, and that includes having a willing ear if someone has problems or just needs a willing ear to listen.”

“I've never been around the military until now,” she admitted. “This is a new experience for me.”

“We've had other reporters say the same thing,” Kodak Griffith said. “Takes some getting used to.”

Then the Mess Officer came out and flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow tent's open,”
he called.

“Ms. Wendt?” Brady gestured to her and her crew.

After the crew went into the tent, Guru said to Colonel Brady, “Playing the gracious host, sir?”

“That we are, Major. We'll know in a few days if she and her people are cut out for this, won't we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Several 335th people came up to their CO. “What was all that about?” Sweaty asked.

“Simple. She wants backseat time at the very least. If not combat. And that's a no-no.” Guru said.

Goalie looked at her pilot and CO. “That's AF policy, right?”

“That it is. Backseat time's one thing. But combat? No way,” the CO nodded. He looked for a particular officer in the crowd. “Darren?” He motioned to the SIO.

“Major?” Licon asked.

The CO looked at his Intelligence Officer. “We have any unclassified material on war crimes?”

“Some, Major, but not much.”

'Okay, can you get some from the Marines? Anything dealing on how Ivan treats captured reporters, a KGB interrogation center, and mass grave photos?”

“If I touch base with the Marines? Yes, sir. And I know what you've got in mind, if you don't mind my saying so. Anything to show her why we don't fly reporters on combat missions,” the Intel said.

“Smart man. Can you get some of that by 1000?” Asked the CO.

“No problem, Major.”

“Good. Do it,” Major Wiser said.

“Yes, sir.”

Nodding, the CO turned to his flight. “Let's go eat. We got a busy day ahead.”



335th TFS Operations, 1140 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was sitting at his desk, going over some paperwork. On some days, the bureaucrats hardly sent anything his way, but on others, like today......He and his flight had flown two back-to-back close air support missions, and weren't expected to fly again until after 12 Noon. But before he could eat, the armchair warriors in the AF bureaucracy had to be dealt with. Oh, there weren't as many as there were prewar, but there were enough paper-pushers around to make his life, and every other Squadron and Wing commander, miserable from time to time.

He had just finished what was pending when there was a knock on his office door. “Show yourself and come on in,” he said.

Ms. Wendt came in and saw the papers on his desk. “Major,” she nodded politely. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all,” the CO replied. “Just wrapped up dealing with the other enemy.”

“'Other enemy?'' Ms. Wendt asked, slightly confused.

“The Air Force bureaucracy,” the Major smiled grimly. “Not as much as there was prewar, but enough.”

“Ah,” the reporter nodded. “Major, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” Major Wiser said. He had a very good idea of what she had in mind.

Ms. Wendt looked at him. “Is there any way my cameraman and I could get some flying in?”

“You mean backseat time?” He saw her nod. “Where's your cameraman?”

“He and my soundman are out with Captain Griffith, shooting for a segment. We're sending the first one to Sydney tonight via satellite.”

“And it'll be on CBS?”

“Tomorrow night,” she replied.

“Well, as for flight time? You'll have to see Doc Waters. He's our Squadron Flight Surgeon. The two of you will have to pass a modified flight physical, similar to what people who qualified for incentive rides prewar got,” Major Wiser told her.

“Incentive rides?”

“It's a way of thanking the folks who enable us to get our job done: mechanics, ordnance people, fuelers, weather, people in administrative jobs, and so on. Even in wartime, ninety percent of the people in the Air Force are not directly involved with flying,” the Major said. “We show them what we do, thanks to their work, and they understand that even if they aren't flying, their jobs are still important.”

“Okay,” Ms. Wendt nodded. “So what does this involve?”

“You'll get checked out, just to make sure you can handle pulling Gs. Heart, BP, and so on. You'll then have to go through some basic survival training: how to steer a parachute and land, how to fire an ejection seat, use your survival radio, that sort of thing,” the CO said. “Whole thing takes about a day. Then we'll see about getting the both of you that flight time.”

“And combat? Any chance of going on a combat mission?”

The Major sighed. How to explain this? Didn't they tell her this at Nellis? “That's out of the question. Don't blame me. AF policy. And it's the same with the Marines and Navy, too. No reporters on combat missions. It's for your own protection.”

“Major, I'm willing to take the risks involved,” Ms. Wendt pointed out.

“Did they tell you at Nellis what the Soviets do to captured reporters?”

She nodded. “They're turned over to the KGB, not treated as POWs, and so on.”

Major Wiser handed her a folder. “Have a look. It's unclassified, by the way. Mass grave found near what was a town called Thornberry, about ten miles east of here.”

Wendt looked through the folder. Photos of American military personnel exhuming a mass grave, taking out bodies for examination and identification, and civilians standing nearby, evidently hoping to find missing loved ones. Some of the bodies were relatively fresh, others had been there a while, judging by the decomposition. “I still-”

“Have a look at the fifth photo.”

She found the photo in question: a woman's body, with hardly any decomposition. And obvious signs of torture. Evidently she had been killed only just before the grave had been found. “Who was she?”

“Reporter for a local TV station, back in '85,” Major Wiser said. “They were covering a rearguard trying to stop the Russians from getting bridgeheads on the Red River. They were overrun. For some reason, the KGB kept her alive, though no doubt she was wishing she was dead. A few days before the area was liberated, she, and most of the remaining prisoners in this KGB facility, were shot. You'll notice in all the photos, not just of her, that the bodies have their hands tied behind them with telephone wire, and many still have blindfolds tied on.”

Ms. Wendt looked at the photos. The Major wasn't kidding. “What about her crew?”

“Somewhere in the bottom,” Major Wiser said. “All of these mass graves are seen as crime scenes, and the war-crimes people take their time when they're opened up.”

Ms. Wendt looked at the photos again. She had remembered some of the European media outlets calling such American and Canadian claims to be “wildly exaggerated,” for the most part, though a few had been more sympathetic to the Allied viewpoint. Though the press in Australia and New Zealand were pretty vocal in denouncing the Soviets and their lackeys. “I can see why you have this policy, Major,” she replied, her voice shaky. “I take it that it's the same elsewhere?”

“It is,” Major Wiser admitted. “Not just in the AF, but DOD-wide. Navy, Marines, Army attack aviation. Now, reporters do go along when the Army does a heliborne assault, but that's different.”

“So what kind of flying do we get?”

“Maintenance check rides, pretty much,” said the CO. “After an engine change, for example, or a rudder has been replaced. They put the plane through its paces, to make sure it's ready to go back into combat. The only thing is that you're armed. Two Sidewinders and a full load of 20-mm ammo. Because you never know if you'll encounter MiGs on a fighter sweep, a strike flight going to or from a target, or a recon bird out getting pictures that he shouldn't. Sometimes a check ride does involve combat.” Or theater indoctrination, as Kara found out, the CO said to himself.

“All right,” Ms. Wendt said, her voice coming back. “I'll talk with Trevor, then we'll see your Doc Waters. Who flies us?”

“Whoever happens to be on the schedule,” Major Wiser said. “It could be me, or Captain Ellis, Captain Thrace, Lieutenant Blanchard, or anyone in the squadron. And Ms. Wendt?”

“Yes?”

“If you want to do a story about that KGB facility and the mass grave? Talk to Captain Griffith, and he'll arrange a visit there.”

She looked again at the photos before returning them to the Major. “I will. Thank you, Major. And I do want that check ride.”

“And whoever's flying you will give you a good one.”

“Now I'm looking forward to it, and thanks again, Major.”


After the reporter left, Guru went over the material in the folder. He'd seen similar scenes firsthand during his E&E with the Resistance, and more recently, as the 335th had moved from Williams, first to Cannon, then Amarillo, and now Sheppard. And, he knew, there would be more like this before they go to the Rio Grande. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself.”

Goalie came in. “Marine mess people will be here in a few. Almost lunchtime.”

“All right,” the CO nodded as he stood up and headed for the door. “Be glad you didn't have to read through Darren's packet. Just looking at that might cause you to lose your lunch.”

“Did it scare her into a trip on a C-130 back to Nellis?” His GIB asked.

“No, but I may have alerted her to a story,” Guru said. “I'll bet any amount of money that her editor back in Sydney told her that any story dealing with the war is fair game.” He pointed to the packet. “And Soviet atrocities probably are at the top of that list.”

Goalie nodded. “You know the media: 'If it bleeds, it leads.' And something like that would count.”

“It does,” Guru said. “Round up the rest of the flight. Let's get lunch, then I'll talk with Van Loan and get our next mission.”

“As long as it's not CAS. We had two back-to-back ones this morning.”

“No arguing that. Give me a visit to an airfield, armed recon, or bridge-busting any time. Let's go.”


After lunch with the flight, Guru then went to see his Ops Officer, and Capt. Don Van Loan was expecting him. “Don,”

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “Got a good one for you.”

“As long as it's not on-call CAS. Had enough of that this morning. What have you got?”

Van Loan handed his CO a packet. “Cleburne Municipal Airport. It's south of Fort Worth, and is in the Cuban 2nd Army's sector.”

“Which means Army-level air defense,” the CO said. “Lovely.”

“Yeah. Cleburne proper is the HQ for that army, so you know what to expect. There's also a Soviet-manned SA-2 site, the usual 37-mm and 57-mm AAA, and MANPADS.”

“Who's flying from there?”

“A mix. Cuban Su-25s for sure. And both Soviet and Cuban MiG-23s have been staging there. Intel thinks the MiGs that went after the AWACS a few days ago staged through there,” Van Loan noted.

“We getting Weasels?” Asked the CO.

“Coors Flight will meet you at the Mineral Wells tanker track,” the Ops Officer said.

“Okay, Don. Thanks.”

“Good luck, Boss.”

The CO nodded, then went back to his flight's briefing room. “People, listen up. We've got a new mission.”

“Where to?” Kara asked. “Please, no CAS.”

“Be careful of what you wish for, Kara,” the CO reminded her. “Cleburne Municipal Airport. Cuban Su-25s are flying out of there, and we get to shut them down for a while. And here's the kicker. Cleburne is the HQ for the Cuban 2nd Army.”

“Just like Stephenville, Boss,” Sweaty said. “Same threat?”

“Pretty much, according to Intel,” the CO said. “Soviet-manned SA-2 east of town. Two 57-mm batteries east of the airport, and a 37-mm site to the west. Throw in Army-level SA-4, and MANPADS as well.”

Hoser West asked, “Weasels coming?”

“They are,” Guru replied. “Coors Flight meets us at the Mineral Wells tanker track. Now, ordnance loads.”

“What have we got?” KT, Hoser's GIB, asked.

“First element, that's me and Kara,” the CO nodded at Kara, “gets twelve Rockeye CBUs. Sweaty? You and Hoser get twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes.”

“And the air-to-air loadout?” Kara asked.

“Usual,” Guru replied. “Two AIM-7Es and four AIM-9Ps each airplane, plus full load of 20-mm and an ECM pod. ALQ-119 for the element leaders, ALQ-101 for the wingies.”

“Ingress route?” Goalie wanted to know.

“We have a pre-strike refueling with the tankers, then we head south from I-20 and follow the Brazos River. All the way to the northern end of Lake Whitney and the State Route 174 bridge. Turn east, then thirty seconds later, turn north. Our pop-up point is the Lake Pat Cleburne Dam, here, Make your runs due north, because the Cleburne High School is southeast of the airport. And if it's open, they're using the kids as human shields. If you can't positively ID the target? Hold onto your ordnance.”

“And egress?” Brainiac, Kara's GIB, asked.

'Head northwest, roughly on a heading of 330,” Guru said. “That gets you to I-20 and Weatherford. Join up on the tankers, we take a drink, then we come home.”

Sweaty nodded. “MiG threat?”

“Same as before, with Su-27s at the old James Connelly AFB at Waco. MiG-29s at Gray AAF, Fort Hood. A second MiG-29 regiment is now reported at Bergstrom AFB in Austin, while MiG-23s are at Temple Regional Airport and at Brownwood. Connelly AFB also has MiG-21s, as does Brownwood.”

“And bailout areas?” Kara asked.

“Anyplace rural and away from the roads. Jollys have been active at night, so that's your best bet. Of course, anywhere north of I-20 is the best,” the CO pointed out. The front lines in this part of Texas were largely south of I-20, so that meant friendly territory. “Weather is fair to good the rest of the afternoon. Anything else?”

“How many more today?” Goalie asked.

“Plan for one more,” Guru said. “That it?” Heads shook no. “Let's gear up, and meet me at 512.”

After the crews geared up, they left the ops building, and found Ms. Wendt and her camera crew wrapping up a conversation with Sandi Jenkins. Then Ms. Wendt came over to the CO. “Major, mind if we tag along?”

“Not at all,” Guru said. And as the crews headed over to 512's revetment, they were being filmed. When they got to the revetment, Guru gathered the crews for his final instructions. “Okay, we're Camaro Flight. Mission code to AWACS, Weasels, and other interested parties. Call signs between us, as usual.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Sweaty said, and heads nodded.

“What's with our friends?” Kara asked.

“They're shooting some stuff for a segment they're sending to Sydney tonight. It'll be on AFN tomorrow night, so watch the CBS Evening News and see if Walter Cronkite talks about us,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. Guru then clapped his hands. “Let's hit it.”

The crews then went to their aircraft, and as they did, they were filmed. Guru and Goalie did their walk-around, and then Guru signed for 512. “She's all set, Major,” Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, his Crew Chief, said.

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie mounted their bird, and got strapped in. Then they did their preflight. “I'm surprised she didn't scare easily,” Guru said about Ms. Wendt when they were finished.

“So am I,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom; check yours. Maybe the first time she'll scare is when she has to get into her MOPP gear.”

“Haven't had that for a while,” Goalie said. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

As Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal to Guru, Kodak Griffith went over to Ms. Wendt and the camera crew. “Ma'am, you'll have to back away. You don't have any ear protection, and those engines get pretty loud.”

The crew backed out of the way as first, one, then two, J-79 engines started. After warm-up, 512 taxied out, and they saw the Crew Chief snap a salute to the crew, and they returned it.

Guru taxied 512 to the end of the runway, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties, and then the flight had to wait while a C-130 took off, and a pair of returning Marine F-4 strike flights landed. Only then was Camaro Flight cleared to taxi onto the runway.

Guru looked to his Four O'clock, and saw Kara in 520 tucked in. She and Brainiac gave the thumbs-up, and both he and Goalie returned it. Then he called the tower. “Sheppard Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clearance for takeoff.”

The tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff. Guru and Goalie closed their canopies, and saw Kara and Brainiac do the same in 520. Then he firewalled the engines, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara right behind him. Then it was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser, and they followed their flight leader into the air.

[Matt Wiser]

Part V: The day keeps on going, and some Cubans feel the fury..



Over Northern Texas, 1310 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was headed south, having had their pre-strike refueling and rendezvous with the Weasel element. Now, they had passed I-20 and were headed south, following the Brazos River and the boundary between the Cubans and Nicaraguans. So far, so good, and no one was shooting at them.

“Three minutes to turn point,” Goalie called from 512's rear cockpit.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “So far, so good.” He glanced up ahead, and saw the two Weasels just above and ahead of the strike flight. They were at 450 feet AGL and doing five hundred knots. “Sky's clear,” he added, meaning the RWR was clear of any radar-guided threats. Or search radars.

“Copy,” Goalie said. While the GIBs handled the navigation, the pilots were concentrating on flying and keeping a sharp eye out for threats. Habits drilled into them at the RTU were second nature, no matter how long it had been, “Lake Granbury Dam dead ahead,”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Dam dead ahead. Watch for flak.”

“Two copies,” Kara replied.

“Three,” Sweaty called.

“Four, Roger,” Hoser said.

Sure enough, as Camaro Flight approached the dam, the flak batteries on each side of the dam opened up. On the east side, it was the Cubans, and their 37-mm and 57-mm fire came close, but not close enough to threaten the aircraft. The Nicaraguans on the west side, though, their fire was heavy, but wildly inaccurate, with tracers from 23-mm and 57-mm going in all directions.

Down below, in the town of Glen Rose, the local Nicaraguan commander was trying to keep things stable. A Soviet Army rear-area protection division had just arrived, and those units had a reputation for looting more often than usual, and taking liberties with the local women. The Colonel was trying to assure the Mayor, who was very skeptical about the Soviets, that he was in charge of the area, not the Soviets. The fact that the front lines were not that far north, and that the dull rumble of artillery fire could be heard, meant that the fighting was not that far away, didn't help matters with the locals. Who were obviously hoping that the U.S. Army was getting close.

Suddenly, the air raid alarm sounded, and as his men went to their posts, they saw the six F-4s fly past, and the locals were cheering. The Colonel looked at the Mayor, who simply shrugged. Then he looked around, and saw that the aircraft had not bombed anywhere near the town. Wherever they were going, and what they hit, wasn't his problem.

“One minute thirty to turn point,” Goalie said as they flew past Glen Rose.

“Copy,” Guru replied “Crystal Palace, Camaro One-one. Say threat?”

“Camaro One-one, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing one-seven-five for eighty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing two-one-zero for sixty-five. Medium, going away.” The AWACS controller replied.

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Guru said.

“We're not that far from Waco and those Flankers,” said Goalie. “One minute to turn.”

“Copy.”

Camaro Flight then flew past the U.S. 67 bridge, and they, too drew flak, but the strike birds were so fast that the 23-mm and unguided 57-mm never threatened the aircraft. “Coming up on turn point.”

Bing Bing....a sound came over both their headsets. Guru checked his EW repeater. “Oh, shit. Su-27 radar ahead.”

“They pick us up?” Goalie asked. “Fifteen seconds.”

“Hope not,” Guru replied. “And turning.” Guru put 512 into a hard left turn, just short of the Route 174 Bridge and over a bend in the Brazos River. Flak sites at the bridge opened fire again, but the strike package easily gave the AAA the slip.

“Thirty seconds to final turn.” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Crystal Palace, Camaro One-one. Say threat?”

“Camaro One-one, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing one-eight-one for sixty-five. Medium, steady.”

“That's good,” Goalie said. “Stand by to turn.”

“Ready.” Guru said. He was checking outside for threats, and checking the EW repeater.

“And turn.”

Camaro Flight then made its final turn, heading north, past the town of Rio Vista, where, unknown to the aircews, people saw the F-4s and waved, not caring about the Cuban Motor-Rifle battalion garrisoned in the town for rest and refit.

“Lake Cleburne Dam dead ahead,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. IP ahead. Switches on, and stand by to pull. Break. Coors Lead, time for you guys to go to work.”

“Ten seconds,” came the call from Goalie.

“Set'em up. Everything in one pass.”

“And pull! Switches set. You're hot.”

Guru pulled 512 into a climb just as he reached the dam, and saw the Weasels going to work. “Magnum” calls came over the radio as the SA-2 site, and one of the SA-4 batteries, came up. And HARM and Standard-ARM missiles went after the SAM radars as well as a radar-guided 57-mm site.

As he pulled, Guru saw the target. “Target in sight. Lead's in!” He then rolled 512 to the right, and lined up on the airport. Runway 33 was directly ahead, and he came in a couple of degrees to the right. He wanted the ramp area, and saw several Su-25s and helos on the ramp. Steady....he said, ignoring the flak coming up at him. Then a Standard-ARM missile flew past him and hit the Firecan radar at the 57-mm site, and not only did it take out the radar, but shrapnel from the explosion of the 214-lb warhead killed a number of gunners and put three guns out of action. He lined up the ramp in his pipper. “HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-20 Rockeyes came off the F-4's bomb racks.

At the nearby Cleburne High School, unknown to the incoming strike pilots, classes were not in session, the school having been taken over by the Cubans to house their aircrews and support personnel. The commander of the Cuban Air Force's 26th Ground-Attack Regiment was in the assistant principal's office, and he heard the anti-aircraft batteries open fire, and then the sounds of aircraft. Thinking that a flight of his aircraft was coming in, and the AA gunners were firing on friendly aircraft, he called the nearest battery. No answer. He then ran outside, and saw Guru's F-4 on its run. The Cuban Colonel then jumped into the nearest slit trench as the Rockeye CBUs went off.

“SHACK!” Goalie called as Guru pulled away. She saw the CBUs go off, and several aircraft explode as a result. “GOOD HITS!”

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as he banked to the left, setting course northwest for I-20. “Lead's off safe,” he called over the radio

“Several,” Goalie said.

“Good enough!” came the reply as Guru went down low and headed out.


“Two's in hot!” Kara called as she put 520 on its attack run. She saw the CO's bombs going off, and decided to lay hers to the north of where Guru had planted his. Kara saw several secondaries where the CO's bombs had gone off, and also picked out several Su-25s and a Mi-6 Hook helicopter. My, my, what big things you have, she thought. Not for long......Kara lined up the north side of the ramp, centering the Mi-6 in her pipper. “HACK!” She hit the pickle button, releasing her twelve CBUs onto the ramp. As she followed Guru north over the town, then northwest, she called, “Two off safe.”

The Cuban colonel watched as Kara's F-4 came in, and dropped its CBUs. He saw the Mi-6 and two of his Su-25s go up in fireballs, and he also watched as the 37-mm battery tried to track the F-4, but the aircraft was too fast, and the black puffs of AA fire erupted behind the aircraft. A soldier got up and fired a Strela-2 shoulder-fired SAM, but it was too late. Then shouts came behind him. Two more F-4s were coming in.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's rear seat.

“Good enough?” Kara asked as she followed the CO out.

“Damned good enough,” was the reply.

“Rightous!” Kara said as she turned to catch up with Guru's bird.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in. As she came in, she noticed that the hangars were still intact for the most part. That won't do, Sweaty thought as she lined up the hangars in her pipper. Tough break, Fidel....”HACK!” She called as twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes were released. As she pulled away, she called “Three off target.”

The Cuban colonel poked his head up again as Sweaty's F-4 made its bomb run. He groaned as her bombs fell on the hangars. Prewar buildings used for civilian light aircraft, but also able to house his Su-25s, but that wouldn't protect them from this. Bomb blasts engulfed three of the hangars, and they crumpled in flames.

“SHACK!” Preacher Simmonds called.

Sweaty replied as she turned to follow Kara and meet up with the CO, “Secondaries?”

“A couple. Fuel truck maybe.”

“Roger that,” Sweaty replied as she headed out.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he rolled onto his bomb run. He decided to hit the single runway, and he came in angle-off, so that he could lay down his bombs over the most runway possible without flying straight down the runway, and be an easy target for AAA in the process. Hoser came in, ignoring the flak, and even an SA-7 that came at him from dead ahead and flew right down his left side. He centered the runway in the pipper. 'HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and twelve more Mark-82s fell onto the target. “Four off target,” he called as he pulled away.

As he stood up in the trench, the Cuban colonel groaned as Hoser's bombs marched across the runway, a taxiway, and the parking ramp. A fuel bower took a hit and an orange-red fireball erupted, and so did a damaged Su-25. Again, the AA batteries fired ineffectively as the F-4 turned north. The man got out of the trench and looked around. No more aircraft were flying from this field today, he knew.


KT yelled into the intecom, “SHACK!”

“Good hits?” Hoser wanted to know as he turned northwest, after his element leader.

“Got a secondary, and there's a couple bombs on the runway.”

“All right!” He replied, heading northwest towards I-20.

“Coors, how's it going?” Guru called.

“You guys clear?” Coors Lead replied.

“Four's off target. We're headed out,” said Guru.

“Copy that. Get your asses north. We're right behind you.”

“Roger,” Guru said as 520 came up in combat spread, and he saw both Kara and Brainiac give the thumbs-up. “Sweaty, where are you?”

“Right behind you, Boss,” she replied. “Have a visual on you.”

“Coors Flight is off target,” the Weasel leader called. The two F-4Gs had done their job, and lived up to the Weasel motto, “First in, last out.”

As they flew out, the Cubans below them were surprised to see F-4s coming from behind them. Their air-defense people had no time to react, apart from a couple of soldiers who fired Strela-2s at the Yanqui aircraft, but they missed.

It wasn't long until the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared, and that meant the FLOT. As they climbed, the crews made sure their IFF was on, so that the Army air-defense pukes down below didn't fire on them. The join-up with the tankers went without a hitch, and after the Weasels drank fuel and headed back ot their base, it was Camaro's turn. Their refueling went without a hitch, and then they headed back to Sheppard.

At Sheppard, Ms. Wendt and her crew were on the edge of the runway, filming some footage that would appear in their segment going out later that night. There had been some excitement as a Marine A-4 came in trailing smoke and having a collapsed landing gear on landing, and the fire and rescue trucks went to assist. The pilot managed to get away from the aircraft before it was fully involved in flames, but the Skyhawk was a total loss. “That's a bonus,” Trevor Scott, the cameraman, said after it was all over.

'At least the pilot's okay,” Kodak Griffith said. “They'll scavenge the wreck for parts, then scrap it. And the whole thing starts all over again.”

“So when's the Major due back?” Wendt asked.

“Anytime,” Griffith said. He had a walkie-talkie tuned to the tower frequency. He heard some conversation, then nodded. “They're coming in. Four out and four back.”

They watched as four F-4s came into the pattern, then landed. The crews popped their canopies as they taxied in past the TV crew, and the crew noticed the thumbs-up sign. “We know what that means,” Wendt said. “How would we know if they were in a dogfight?”

“If they had a kill, they'd be holding up fingers,” Griffith said. He had three kills himself in the backseat. “Want to head on over?”

“Sure,”

“Come with me, then,” Kodak said. He led them to a Crew-cab pickup and drove them to the 335th's dispersal area.

Guru taxied into 512's revetment and shut down the engines. He and Goalie quickly ran through the post-flight checklist, then he stood up in the cockpit. “Good one.”

“And one more coming,” Goalie said. By the tone of her voice, it wasn't a question.

Guru nodded as Sergeant Crowley brought the crew ladder over. “That's a given.” He climbed down, then Goalie followed. After a quick post-flight walk-around, he nodded to Sergeant Crowley. “No holes, and no problems. Get 512 turned around, Sergeant.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “How'd it go, sir?”

“Made some Su-25s go away, and tore up their field,” the CO said. “How's that?”

“Pretty damn good, sir,” Crowley nodded. He turned to the ground crew. “You heard the Major. Get her turned around.”

“Good man, Sergeant,” Guru said. Then he and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. They were joined by Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT. “That's three and done.”

“And one more?” Kara asked as she put on a 335th ball cap.

Guru nodded. “Maybe two. Been a while since we did a hot turnaround,” he said, then he took a swig from a bottle of water.

The others nodded, then Hoser said, “Major, news media at Twelve,” seeing the Crew-cab pickup arrive and the news crew come out.

“Okay,” the CO said. “Smile, be polite, and you know the drill.”

Heads nodded as Ms. Wendt came over, microphone ready. “Major, how'd it go?”

“Not bad,” Guru said. “Tore up an airfield, and made some of Fidel's Su-25s become scrap metal.”

“How was the resistance?”

“You mean ground fire?” Guru asked, seeing her nod. “There was a lot of shooting. Didn't touch us, though.”

“So what's next?” the reporter asked.

The CO smiled politely. “We debrief, get something to eat, then we get ready and go out again.”

“Thank you, Major.”

The crews nodded as they headed off to Squadron Ops. “She going to press you for an interview?” Sweaty asked.

“Hope not,” Guru replied. “But if she does, I can't say no. That directive from Tenth Air Force is pretty clear. 'Reasonable cooperation with the press.'”

Goalie looked at her pilot and CO. “And if she asks about your time with the Resistance?” She knew his story, and was only one of five people he'd confided the whole experience with. His Mom, his SERE debriefer, a SERE shrink, and Colonel Rivers were the other four.

“The condensed version'll do,” Major Wiser said. “Tough luck if she doesn't like it.”

“And so we debrief, eat, then go and do it again,” Sweaty said.

“Yeah. And now I'm wishing for the weather guys to be wrong. A real storm with a day off from flying. Some more downtime is what we need,” the CO nodded. “Come on, let's get the debrief done, then we've got about an hour before we go back out.”



335th TFS Squadron Ops, 1400 Hours Central War Time:


After debriefing the mission, Major Wiser went to his office. He, like everyone else in the flight, had to take care of squadron paperwork. When he got there, he found his Exec waiting. “Mark,”

“Boss,” Ellis replied. “Got a few things for you.”

“Shoot,” Major Wiser said while checking his IN box. Nothing there, he was pleased to see.

“First, we're getting a USO show in a week or so.”

The CO's eye's widened. That was something new. “Oh, and who are we getting?”

“Belinda Carlisle, and Katrina and the Waves.” Ellis read from the dispatch. “Not quite the Bob Hope Show.....”

“But enough,” Major Wiser said. “I like their music, especially Belinda's, and that remake of We Gotta Get Out of This Place that Katrina and the Waves do.”

“You're not the only one. They're pretty popular on AFN's rock station.”

“They are,” nodded the CO. “Next?”

“Sandi's bird cleared its check flight. We're back to twenty aircraft. The two from McClellan will be here in three days.” the Exec reported.

“Good. Any word on the replacement crews?”

“No. We won't find out who we're getting until they get here.”

Major Wiser let out a sigh. “Okay. What else?”

“Updated weather report,” Ellis said, handing the CO a paper. “And nobody's going to like it.”

The Major scanned the paper. “Only a fifty percent chance of rain? Lovely. And it'll all be over by noon.”

“Which means we sit on our asses for the morning, and have a full plate in the afternoon,” Ellis commented. “And I hate those days.”

“You and me both. I'd rather have a full day on the ground, or a full day flying,” the CO noted. “What else?”

“Just these. The Red Cross is asking for more donations from military personnel, while the American Legion is already offering memberships-”

“They're getting ahead of themselves. The war's not over yet!” Said the CO.

“Don't look at me, Boss,” Ellis replied. “I just report 'em.”

“All right. Post those on the bulletin board, You getting ready to go out?”

“Briefing in fifteen,” the Exec said. “You?”

“In an hour,” the CO said. “Mark? You take care of yourself out there. Not just today, but every time. Because if anything happens to you, Don Van Loan becomes Exec, and I'd hate to have to break him into the job.”

“Do my best.”

“Do more than that. Because if Van Loan gets the Exec's job, Kara becomes Ops Officer.” the CO reminded his Exec. “I'd hate to have to break in a new Exec and a new Ops Officer.”

The Exec slapped his CO on the shoulder. “Will do, Chief.”

“All right. You have a good one,” Major Wiser said.

“You too, Boss.”

As the Exec left, Doc Waters, the 335th Flight Surgeon, came in. “Major,”

“Doc,” the CO nodded pleasantly. It was never a good idea to get on the wrong side of the Flight Surgeon, especially when one had to have a flight physical once a year. “What can I do for you?”

“Just letting you know: Ms. Wendt and her cameraman have made appointments to see me. Tomorrow, at Zero Eight Hundred.”

“Good, Doc. Tomorrow morning's going to be a wet one, FYI. Once they're done with you....” the CO said.

“I turn 'em over to the Life Support guys.” Doc Waters nodded.

“That you do,” Major Wiser said. “Now, I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it,”

“Keep an eye on Major Carson. You're one of the few people who's chatty with him at the Club. Talk him up, see if anything's bothering him physically....” Major Wiser said. “Because if you find a reason to ground him....”

“Okay, Major. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but his last flight physical was two months ago, back at Cannon. He passed with flying colors.” Doc replied.

The CO sighed. “I was afraid of that. Okay, still, keep an eye on him. If you can find a reason to ground him, and maybe send him out of here for tests of some kind....”

“It relieves the pressure on you to find a way to boot his ass out of here,” Doc finished.

“Smart man, Doc.”

Doc grinned. “Will do.”

“All right: thanks, Doc.” the CO said, offering his hand.

“Anytime, Major,” the flight surgeon replied, shaking hands with the CO.

Guru nodded, then as Doc left, he said to himself. “Why, Frank, are you the epitome of health? If you had a heart murmur, or blurred vision, Doc can ground you and then you get reassigned somewhere to push paper.” Hoping that Doc did find something to ground Carson, the CO then left his office and went to the Ops Desk. “Don,” he said to the Ops Officer.

“Boss,” Van Loan said, handing the CO a packet. “Here's your last one for the day. Hopefully.”

“What have you got for me?”

“Supply Dump at Dublin, southwest of Stephenville. It's in the East German sector. Also division HQ for their 9th Panzer Division.”

The CO looked at Van Loan. “And that's divisional level air defense. Thanks a lot. We're getting Weasels?”

“That you are, Boss. Miller Flight will meet you at the tankers.”

Nodding, the CO flipped through the packet. “At least it's outside of town, and not in the town proper.”

“There is that, Boss.”

“Okay, Don. Thanks. You have a good one yourself.”

“Same to you, Boss.” Van Loan said, shaking the CO's hand.

Nodding, the CO left the Ops Office and, as he headed back to his flight's briefing room, ran into Chief Ross. “Chief,” the CO said. “Any word on my.....request?”

“No, sir. Not yet. I've called my two friends in officer detailing, and they are on the lookout for someone who meets your requirements,” Ross replied. “I should know sometime tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Major Wiser said. “Even if you wind up goose-egg, at least you tried.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, Chief? One other thing. If your scroungers can find a Pave Tack pod to go with the two we already have? That's a bonus. You guys found a Pave Spike pod, and see if you can't improve on that.”

Ross nodded .“One Pave Tack pod, unattended? Yes sir!”

“Carry on, Chief,” the CO smiled.

“Yes, sir!”


Major Wiser then went to the Briefing Room, and he found the rest of his flight waiting. “Okay, people, we've got our new one.”

“What do we have, Chief?” Sweaty asked.

“Hold onto your hats. Dublin, southwest of Stephenville. HQ, East German 9th Panzer Division.”

Kara stared at her CO and Flight Leader. “Who gave us this one? Divisional HQ? Fuck that very much!”

“Take it easy, Kara. We're not going for Divisional HQ, that's somewhere in town. East of the town, at the intersection of State Route 6 and F.M. 344, is the divisional supply dump. That's where we're going.”

“Still hairy,” Goalie pointed out.

“It is, and we're getting Weasels in support. Miller One-five and one-six will meet us at the tankers. Now, the threats are SA-6, plus light 23-mm and medium 57-mm at the target, plus MANPADS and small-arms fire. And that's just the East Germans. There's also a Soviet Army rear-area protection division reported, and they have their own flak.”

“Swell,” Hoser said. “Ingress route, Boss?”

“We'll be following roughly State Route 16, which is the boundary between the East Germans and the Soviet 48th Army. Those guys are Cat III or worse, and lack the air defense systems their Cat I and II units have. Once we get to Proctor Lake, we turn southeast, and that avoids a Soviet-manned SA-2 site at Comanche, by the way, and pick up U.S. 67/377. We follow the road northeast, until we hit a dairy a mile southwest of town. Make a right turn, then cross F.M. 210 south of town, and buzz a dairy that also has a private airstrip. There's no helos or transports on the photos, but assume that there are. That is not our target, people!” The CO stressed.

“Gotcha, Boss,” Kara said. “That our pop-up point?”

“It is. We pop up, and to our right, at the intersection of Route 6 and F.M. 344, is the target. We roll in, and make our runs. The dump is bisected by Route 6, and 'tis a big one. Make your runs, and get your asses north,”

Sweaty asked, “Ordnance loads?”

“For the lead element, that's you and me, Kara,” the CO said. “Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes.” Seeing Kara nod, he went on. “Sweaty? You and Hoser get a dozen CBU-58/Bs. The ones with the incendiary submunitions. What Kara and I don't blow up? You burn.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Sweaty nodded. “Air to air still the same?”

“You got it. Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es each airplane, plus a full load of 20-mm. ALQ-119 pod for the element leaders, ALQ-101 for the others.”

“Bailout areas?” Hoser asked.

“Anyplace rural and away from roads. Jolly has been active at night, so that's your best bet.” Major Wiser said. “The MiG threat is the same as earlier today.”

“Weather?” Goalie asked.

“No change this afternoon, but we'll be getting some rain tonight and tomorrow morning. It should clear out by noon, and we get a half day of flying,” the CO replied.

“Some time off's better than none,” KT quipped.

“Can't have it our way all the time,” Major Wiser admitted. “Okay, this should be our last one for the day, but we haven't had a hot turnaround in a while, so if we taxi in and find out we're not even getting out of the cockpit? Grin and bear it, because you could say it's our turn.”

“All good things come to those who wait,” Preacher said.

“They do,” the CO nodded. “Okay, anything else?” Heads shook no. “Gear up, and I'll see you at 512.”

The crews geared up, and as they went outside, they ran into Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins. “Guru,” Golen nodded.

“Dave,” Guru replied. “And Sandi. Getting ready to go back out?”

“That we are,” Golen said. “And you are, I see.”

“You guys have a good one, and Sandi? You get your bird back tomorrow, if you know what I mean.” He turned to his flight. “You guys go on to 512. I need to talk with Dave and Sandi.”

Nodding, Kara and the others headed on to 512, while Guru stayed to talk for a minute.

“Thanks, Major,” Sandi replied. “Be glad to be back in my bird again.”

“Always a good day when you get your own mount back,” Guru said. “Dave, what's your call sign, in case I need you?”

Golen nodded. “Cobra One-one, after the Ford Cobra.”

“Okay, Dave. You two make Carroll Shelby proud, and show Ivan and his lackeys you've got venom in your sting.”

Golen, Sandi, and their GIBs grinned. “We'll do just that, Guru,” Golen said.

Guru nodded. “Okay, Dave. You and Sandi be careful. Don't want to write any letters just yet.”

“Understood,” Golen said, shaking Guru's hand.

“Good luck,” Guru said.

“You too.”

Guru then headed to 512's revetment, and found the others waiting. “What was that all about?” Sweaty asked.

“Just having a chat with Dave and Sandi,” Guru said. “They're Cobra One-one and One-two, just in case we need help.”

“Last time that happened, we had a brawl up there,” Kara noted.

“We did,” Guru nodded. “Okay, Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us, as usual.”

“Got it,” Sweaty said.

The CO looked at his flight. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. He clapped his hand. “All right. Let's hit it.”

The flight members headed to their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting with the rest of the ground crew. 'Major,” he said, saluting.

“Sergeant,” Guru said as he and Goalie sketched salutes in return. “She ready?”

“More than ready, sir,” Crowley said.

Nodding, both Guru and Goalie then went and did the preflight walk-around, then Guru signed for the aircraft. Then he and Goalie mounted the aircraft and, after strapping in, went through the preflight checklist.

After going through the checklist, Goalie said, “You do know that this is the first time since they've been here that we haven't been filmed?”

“It is?” Guru asked. “Been too busy to notice. Hope it's a good omen. Ready for engine start.” He gave the thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave him the “Start engines” signal in return. First, one, then both, J-79 engines started, and after the run-up, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight with four, requesting permission to taxi.” After getting permission to taxi, he gave the thumbs-up again to Crowley. The ground crew pulled the chocks away from the wheels, and Crowley gave the taxi signals.

Guru nodded, and he taxied 512 out, and as he passed his Crew Chief, Crowley snapped a salute. He and Goalie returned it, then 512 taxied to the nearest runway, with Kara in 520 right behind him, followed by Sweaty and Hoser. They taxied to the end of the runway, and held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. The tower gave permission to taxi onto the runway, and 512 taxied onto the runway, with Kara taxiing 520 right into the Four O'clock position. Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler One-one with four, requesting clearance for takeoff.”

The tower flashed a green light in reply.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said as he pulled down his canopy, and Goalie did the same. Then he glanced over at 520, where Kara and Brainiac gave the thumbs-up. Guru and Goalie returned it, then he applied full power, released the brakes, then he rolled 512 down the runway and into the air, with Kara right behind him. Then Sweaty and Hoser followed, and Rambler Flight was on its way.

[Matt Wiser]

Part VI: Another strike, and some air-to-air on the way back.. Guru is pissed that some F-15 jockey stole a kill from him, though.

Over Central Texas, 1500 Central War Time:


Rambler Flight had met up with the two F-4Gs that were their Weasel support, had a pre-strike refueling from the KC-135s, and was now past I-20, and that meant enemy territory. Fortunately, they were on their intended ingress, and there were no signs of Soviet or East German radars looking for them. “How long to Proctor Lake?” Guru asked from 512's front seat.

“Two minutes,” Goalie replied. She was handing the navigation, using compass, time, and distance, while Guru scanned the sky ahead for threats. It wasn't just SAMs or MiGs, but terrain features as well as obstructions like radio or TV transmitter towers could easily ruin their day.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He was concentrating on flying, but glanced ahead, and saw the two F-4Gs slightly above and ahead of them. They were at 450 feet AGL doing five hundred knots. Low and fast, that was his preferred way of penetrating enemy territory. “No threats on the EW.”

“Good to hear,”

'Always,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Rambler One-one, Say threats?”

“Rambler One-one, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing two-four-zero for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for eighty, Medium, steady. Third threat bearing zero-nine-seven for seventy-five. Medium, going away.”

“Copy, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied. So far, so good. No MiGs or Sukhois in the way. So far.

“Proctor Lake dead ahead,” Goalie called. Sure enough, the lake came into view.

The strike birds crossed the lake, then Guru led them into their turn to follow U.S. 67/377. Unknown to them, they drew some flak from the guns near the Proctor Lake Dam “How long to turn?”

“Forty-five seconds,” Goalie said.

“Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and stand by.”

“Two,” Kara.

“Three, copy,” Sweaty.

“Four, roger,” Hoser.


On the highway, an East German patrol from the Third Battalion, 9th Motor-rifle Regiment, was on a routine patrol of the area. Prewar, they had been equipped with BMP-2s, similar to the divisions in the Group of Soviet Forces Germany, but now, they had been equipped with BMP-1s taken from war reserve stocks. As they went along U.S. 67/377, many of the soldiers were glad to be off the front line, and in reserve, while their officers were hoping to not just get some new vehicles from the production lines, and they were hoping for new BMP-2s from either Poland or Czechoslovakia, but replacement personnel also. Here, in this part of Texas, there wasn't much bandit activity, though the occasional booby trap, or sniping incident reminded the East Germans that neither they, nor the Soviets or Cubans, were welcome in this miserable land called Texas, and that the locals cheered whenever they saw American aircraft overhead.

The Patrol had reached the lake called Proctor Lake on their maps, and that was the end of their Area of Responsibility. The patrol turned around, and as they did, the Company Commander, a young Lieutenant fresh from officer training, checked his map. Yes, this town named Proctor and the dam were the limit. He glanced to the left as the company reformed to head back north when his Company Staff Sergeant pointed. 'AIRCRAFT ALARM!” Six F-4s flew by, first over the lake, then turning to follow the road. The lieutenant moved the company into the small town of Proctor, and radioed his battalion commander. For some reason, the commander refused to listen to him.

“Thirty seconds to turn,” Goalie said. “So far, so good.”

“Careful, now,” Guru reminded her. “Almost time to turn the Weasels loose.”

“Turn in five, four, three, two, one, NOW!”

Guru put 512 into a right turn, headed for the IP. “Miller Lead, Rambler Lead. Time for you guys to go to work.”

“Roger that,” Miller Lead replied. He and his wingman pulled up, and then all sorts of radars came up. Followed by “Magnum” calls as HARM or Standard-ARM missiles hunted for the offending radars.

“IP dead ahead,” Goalie said.

“Flight, Lead. Stand by....and PULL!” Guru called, pulling 512 into a steep climb. He looked out to the east as he did, and saw the supply dump. “Target in sight. Lead's in hot!” He rolled right, then lined up the target for the bomb run.

“Switches set,” Goalie said. “Everything in one pass.”

“Good girl,” Guru said. He concentrated on lining up the northern part of the supply dump in his pipper, ignoring the 23-mm and 57-mm flak that was coming up. “And.....HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes came off the racks. “Lead's off target,” he called as he pulled away and headed north.

In Dublin's City Hall, the East German divisional commander was talking with his Chief of Staff, as well as the Mayor. For the moment, he was in command of the area, not the fat Soviet Colonel that commanded the local garrison. Though the garrison had largely left the local population alone, the arrival of the East Germans meant that “peace, law, and order” would be strictly enforced. “Mayor, though I have no intention of becoming a member of the Stasi, I will take whatever measures to see to it that offenses committed against my troops are punished.”

“And that means killing people who had nothing to do with anything that happened,” the Mayor replied. He had been a prewar City Councilman, and had been appointed to the job by the Soviet garrison commander after the untimely deaths of two of his predecessors.

“If we cannot find the culprits, then we must show that we mean business-” the Major General said. He was interrupted by an air raid siren sounding, then the sounds of antiaircraft fire and SAMs being launched.

At the supply dump, the divisional supply officer was going over requisitions from the various regiments and battalions. His musings were interrupted by the air raid alarm, then the anti-aircraft guns opening fire. He stepped outside his officer trailer-found at the site of a prewar construction company, and saw an F-4 coming right at his dump. The man stood frozen in fear as a dozen bombs came off the F-4, and one of the bombs landed only ten meters from him......

“SHACK!” Goalie called as Guru pulled away and their bombs exploded. “Got a few secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Guru asked as an SA-6, either launched optically or just plain “dumb” flew across their flight path.

'Looks like ammo going up.”

“Those are crowd pleasers,” said Guru as he headed north towards I-20.

“Two's in!” Kara called as she put 520 on its attack run. She took the south side of the dump, and saw the CO's bombs going off, and several secondaries followed as a result. Kara lined up some fuel tanks, and ignored the flak coming up. Just before she dropped, a GUN warning came up, then just as suddenly went off as a missile, probably a Standard-ARM, hit the battery's fire-control radar trailer. “Too bad, Franz,” she muttered as the fuel dump came into the pipper. “HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and her twelve Mark-82s came off the racks. Kara put 520 on a northerly course as she pulled away. “Two off safe.”

At the supply dump, the staff had taken shelter for the most part, but a political officer was running around, shouting uselessly. To the staff, who had been bombed or shelled numerous times, the Party man was a useless appendage, and would only get himself killed. No great loss, some of the enlisted men said to each other. Then they ducked as Kara's F-4 came over, and not only did the political officer get blown apart by a bomb, but several bombs fell on the fuel depot, sending several fireballs into the air.

“Righteous!” Brainiac yelled in 520's rear office. “You got the fuel dump!”

“Shit hot!” Kara yelled back. She, too, headed for I-20, and ignored the flak coming up. 'You listening to Preacher?”

“No, but that display would give anyone religion.”

“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She put her F-4 in on where the CO had laid his bombs, and with her CBUs, could make things hot for those in the target area-literally. Though the CO's bombs had set off quite a few secondaries, and more sympathetic detonations followed as fires reached ammo storage, there was still more to hit, and she chose the motor pool on the north side. She, too, ignored the 23-mm flak that was coming up, and even an SA-7 or SA-14 that flew past her bird without tracking. “Steady....” Sweaty muttered as she lined up the motor pool in her pipper. “HACK!” She called, hitting the pickle button and releasing a dozen CBU-58/Bs onto the motor pool. “Three's off target.”

Below, the assistant supply officer was yelling at his men to take cover. He had just seen his commander blown to pieces by an American bomb,and he knew from past experience that American aircraft didn't come singly or in a pair. Glancing southward, he saw an F-4 coming in, and he ducked into his slit trench. More Imperialist aircraft coming in.....

“Good hits!” Preacher yelled.

“How'd we do?” Sweaty asked as she banked to avoid an unguided SA-6 that came up suddenly. The SAM flew past the F-4, and as she headed north,

“Got a few secondaries, and Guru's are still going off, bless his heart.”

“I'll go with that,” replied Sweaty as she put her bird towards I-20.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called. He was last in, as usual, and though the Weasels were doing their job, the unguided flak was still intense. Hoser ignored the flak as he lined up the southern part of the fuel dump, where Kara had blasted the fuel depot, and he saw another section of fuel drums that hadn't been hit. Okay, then....He lined the unhit portion of the fuel dump in his pipper, while KT ducked involuntarily as an SA-7 or -14 flew past the right side of the F-4. “Steady.....HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, and twelve more CBU-58/Bs came off the racks. Then Hoser leveled off and headed north, clear of the target. “Four's off target.”

Below, the deputy commander stuck his head out of the slit trench. He saw the carnage at the motor pool, and started to get up when he saw another Fascist F-4 coming in at him. The East German Major stood there, transfixed, as Hoser's aircraft released its bombs, Just as the F-4 flew overhead, someone pulled him back into the trench as the bomblets found their mark,exploding the fuel drums.

KT yelled, “Barbeque time!” as their bomblets went off.

“We got what Kara didn't?” Hoser asked.

“We did.”

Hoser grinned underneath his oxygen mask. 'Time to get out of Dodge,” he said as he set course for I-20.

“Rambler Flight, Lead. Form on me,” Guru said.

“Rambler, Miller,” called the Weasel lead. “We'll keep 'em busy while you clear out. MAGNUM!” And a HARM missile flew off the F-4G.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. Just as he did, Kara in 520 joined up on him in combat spread. “Sweaty, where are you?”

“Got you in sight, and Hoser right behind me,” replied Sweaty.

“Copy that. Miller Lead, we're clear.”

“Roger, Rambler. Miller Flight coming out.”

The four F-4Es and two F-4Gs formed up and headed north, leaving a burning and exploding supply depot in their wake. And defenders who were now very nervous about any kind of approaching aircraft.

At the city hall, the divisional commander picked himself up from the floor of his office. “Well, Mayor, what do you have to say about this?”

“Well, General,” the Mayor replied. “Maybe you're worried about the wrong thing. It's not the Resistance you have to worry about. It's the Air Force.'


In 512, Guru scanned the way ahead. They were egressing right over the East German 11th Motor-Rifle Division, and he was gambling that the East German air-defense people would not expect any American aircraft to first appear behind them. As they headed north, an SA-8 came up, and Miller One-two fired his last HARM to kill the threat. Only when they crossed I-20 did anyone breathe easy. “Miller One-One, Rambler. Good job, fella. Maybe we can do this again.”

'Anytime, Rambler,” Miller One-one replied.

Both flights then headed for the tankers, and as they were refueling from the KC-135s, the crews noticed the HVUCAP breaking off and headed south. “What's up with those guys?” Kara called.

“Don't know, but I'll check,” Guru replied. “Crystal Palace, Rambler One-one.”

“Rambler, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied “Threat bearing one-eight-three for thirty-five, low, closing.”

Heads perked up in F-4 cockpits as they heard that. “They're close,” Goalie said.

“Lead, Sweaty. Want us to go after 'em?” Sweaty asked.

“Negative,” Guru called. He watched as four F-15s and four F-16s went after the inbounds.

“Rambler One-one, Crystal Palace. Say air-to-air ordnance.” The call came from the AWACS.

“Crystal Palace, Rambler. Four Heat and two radar, full guns.” Guru replied.

“Copy. Orbit, and assume CAP.” The controller ordered.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. The CO, and the others, assumed an orbit between the tankers and the threat, while four F-16s still orbited above the tankers. Off in the distance, they watched several aircraft fall in flames, while calls of “Fox One,” and “Fox two” came over the radio. Then four F-15s and three F-16s returned. “One of the -16s went down.”

“Who were they going after?” Goalie asked.

“That is a very good question,” Guru replied. “Crystal Palace, Rambler One-one.”

“Rambler, Crystal Palace. Go.” The AWACS controller replied.

“Crystal Palace, Rambler. We need to hit home plate. How long do you want us here?”

“Stand by,” the reply came. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only a couple of minutes, the controller got back to him. “Rambler, Crystal Palace. Waiting on Eagles and Vipers.” That last meant F-16s. “ETA four minutes.”

“Copy that,” replied Guru.

The flight orbited for four minutes, then four F-15s and four more F-16s came in from the north. “Glad to see those guys.” Goalie said.

“You're not the only one,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Rambler One-one. Are we clear to RTB?”

“Rambler One-one, Crystal Palace,” the reply came back. “Clear to RTB.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. 'Rambler, Lead. On me and let's go home.”

Rambler Flight headed north, back towards Sheppard, and as they did, Sweaty noticed aircraft off in the distance. “Lead, Sweaty. Have a look at your Nine.”

Then the call came from AWACS,as a female voice came over the radio. “Rambler, threat bearing Two-seven-five, for forty. Cobra, threat bearing Two-zero-zero for fifty. Mustang, threat bearing One-eight-one for fifty-five. Knight One-one, threat bearing one-nine-five for thirty-five.” And the controllers continued notifying aircraft of threats. Followed by, “Clear to engage. Kill. Repeat: KILL.”

“You heard her,” Guru replied. “Rambler One-one copies.” He put 512 into a turn, and the rest followed.

Unknown to anyone, the Soviets had not learned the lesson of going after AWACS, and sent another MiG-23 regiment after the AWACS, while sending squadron-sized elements of MiG-21s after the various tanker tracks. But there had been a mix-up, and two attempts at going for tankers had been botched. Which meant that there would be plenty of American fighters to go for the inbound MiG-23s.

In 512, Guru went to full military power, and headed for the MiGs. “See if you can pick them up.”

“I'm tryin,” Goalie said as she worked the radar controls. “They're low. Too much ground clutter.”

“Lightning One-zero-one, FOX THREE!” Someone called over the radio. Fox Three meant AIM-54 Phoenix, and that also meant F-14s in the area. Then several other Fox Three calls came from other Tomcats.

“Lead, two,” Kara called. “Somebody just blew away a bunch of MiGs.”

Guru looked ahead. Sure enough, there were at least a dozen aircraft falling in flames, while the remaining MiGs climbed on full power. Then the MiG-23s split. Some kept going ahead, while others turned to face their attackers. Then Guru's EW warning came. A radar signal appeared on the EW repeater, with a “23” next to it. “Flight, Lead. Music on, and let's go get 'em.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara said.

“Three copies,' Sweaty.

'Four,” Hoser.


Guru checked his radar repeater. Four blips appeared on the scope, and they were headed for Rambler Flight. “Go boresight,” he told Goalie.

“Roger that,” she replied. That meant that the radar was set to the pilot's pipper.

Guru went to auto-acquisition, and lined up a target. At ten miles, he had a full system lock. “FOX ONE!” He called, sending an AIM-7E Sparrow after the MiG. Then he fired again. “FOX ONE again!”

“Starbuck has a FOX ONE!” Kara called. She, too, sent two Sparrow missiles after the MiGs.

The MiG-23s were trying to lock up the Americans when their own Sirena-3 RWRs went off. The MiGs scattered as Sparrow missiles came towards them.

Guru watched as one of his Sparrows did a barrel roll before turning off to the left,away from the MiGs, while the second flew halfway to the target before exploding prematurely. “Damn it!”

Kara, too, watched helplessly as her first Sparrow plain missed the target. The second one appeared to track, then it just burned out and fell away. “Mother-humping.....They're breaking,” She called. The MiGs were splitting up. Two going left, two right.

“Copy. Two. On me. Sweaty, you and Hoser take your shots.”

“Roger that!” Sweaty replied, followed by her own missile call. “FOX ONE!” Two more AIM-7s flew off from an F-4. And Sweaty gave a scowl underneath her oxygen mask as one Sparrow just fell away, a dud. The second seemed to track a MiG, only to have the MiG-23 pull a turn tight enough to defeat the missile.

“Rambler One-four, FOX ONE!” Hoser called. He, too, ripple-fired his two AIM-7s, and one flew past the second element's wingman to the right. The MiG pilot turned to the right, which solved the problem for his second missile, for the AIM-7 speared the MiG just in front of the tail, blowing the tail off the Flogger, and sending it down in flames. “SPLASH!”

“Good kill, Hoser,' Guru called. He had switched from RADAR to HEAT, and both he and Kara were closing in on the lead element. Guru uncaged a Sidewinder, and it was growling in his headset. Then it growled loud. Missile lock. He squeezed the trigger on the control stick. “FOX TWO!”, sending an AIM-9P after the MiG.

The MiG leader saw the F-4 fire a missile, then he pulled a tighter turn. He knew the Sidewinder couldn't maintain missile lock in turns greater than 6G, so he buried the stick in his gut, hoping to defeat the missile.

“Double-damn!” Guru yelled. The MiG had defeated the AIM-9 shot. Then he calmed down, and did a barrel roll to try and gain another firing angle. Kara was right alongside her leader, as a wingmate should, and both were trying to get Sidewinder lock. Just as Guru gained lock, he heard a call.

“Outlaw One-four, FOX ONE!”

“Who's he?” Goalie asked.

“Who cares?” Guru replied, squeezing the trigger. “FOX TWO!” And another AIM-9 came off of 512's rails. The Sidewinder was tracking, then suddenly, one, then two, missile trails came down from above, as two AIM-7s tracked down the MiG-23 and exploded it.

“SPLASH ONE!” the call came.

“WTF?” Goalie yelled. “That sumbitch took our kill!”

“He did,” Guru angrily replied as his Sidewinder flew into the fireball and exploded. Then one, and another F-15C flew by, buffeting the F-4s in their jetwash.

“Lead, two,” Kara called. “Somebody just took your kill.”

“Tell me about it!” Guru replied. “Where's the other Flogger?” He was concerned about the MiG wingman.

In both 512 and 520, pilots and GIBs scanned the sky. Then Brainiac called him. “Flogger at Ten O'clock low, going away.”

Guru looked down and saw the MiG, with an F-15 hot on his tail. The F-15 then fired a Sidewinder, and the missile tracked down the MiG and exploded it. Then came a call that no fighter pilot wanted to hear. “Rambler Lead, Break!”

Instantly, Guru and Kara reacted. He broke high and left, while Kara went low and right. As he turned, he saw two MiG-23s coming down, with two F-4s right behind them. “Thank you, whoever you are,”

“My pleasure,” a familiar voice came over the radio. It was Dave Golen. “Cobra Lead, FOX TWO!” He fired a Sidewinder, and the AIM-9 flew up the first MiG's tailpipe and exploded it. The MiG-23 tumbled out of the sky in flames, and as it did, the canopy came off, and the pilot ejected. 'Splash one!”

“Good kill,” Kara yelled.

“Cobra One-two, FOX TWO!” Sandi Jenkins called. She had locked up the second MiG and fired her own Sidewinder. Again, the missile tracked to the target and the MiG exploded. This time, though, there was no chute as the plane disintegrated in a ball of fire.

'Good kill, Sandi,” Guru said. “Sweaty, what's your posit?”

“Two miles south, Hoser's pressing a bandit,” Sweaty replied.

Sure enough, Hoser was gaining on the last of the original four MiGs to confront Rambler Flight. He gained Sidewinder lock and fired. “FOX TWO!” Again, a Sidewinder came off the rail, and tracked down a MiG-23. The missile flew up the MiG's tailpipe and exploded. This time, the pilot managed to eject. “Splash!”

“Sierra Hotel, Hoser,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Rambler One-one. Say bogey dope? We are near bingo fuel and need to RTB.”

“Rambler One-one, Crystal Palace. Threats all outbound. Clear to RTB.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Rambler, form up on me and let's go home.”

All four F-4s formed up, and Dave Golen's Cobra Flight joined up as well. Then they headed back to Sheppard. As they did, the crews noticed quite a few aircraft crash sites with smoke coming up from where aircraft had crashed. After contacting the tower, they had to wait while several flights that were fuel critical came in. Once it was their turn, Hoser did a couple of victory rolls to signal MiG kills,while Dave and Sandi did solo ones, then they formed up and landed.

As they taxied, Ms. Wendt and her crew were filming. They had just sent their segment to Sydney via satellite when the alarm rang on the base, and instead of going to a shelter, the crew had gone outside to film whatever happened. Instead of an air battle overhead, they saw the action was elsewhere, but aircraft came in, and several pilots were holding up fingers to signal kills. Then Ms. Wendt noticed the CO's flight taxiing in. She saw the Major had no fingers up, nor did the Wild Thing. Sweaty taxied by, and she didn't have any up, either. Then the last plane, Hoser's, came by, and he held up two. And Ms.Wendt noticed the ground crew erupting. “They cheering because he got two?”

“That's it. He's top gun for the day.' Kodak Griffith replied.

Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, and after shutting down, stood up in his cockpit. “Four and done,” he said.

“Glad that's over,” Goalie said as she did the same.

Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, brought over the Crew Ladder, and both pilot and GIB got down. “Major, how'd it go?”

“Hit the target, and then got into a furball on the way back. Some F-15 jockey stole a kill from us,” the CO growled. “Like to know who that was.”

Goalie nodded. “Same here. Where are those guys flying from?”

“Not sure, but I'll find out,” Guru said, none too happy. “Sergeant, we still have an hour of daylight. Get her turned around for air-to-air at least.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get her ready. We've got weather coming in overnight and in the morning, but we'll be at it in the afternoon,” Major Wiser said. “No problems or issues, and she's working like a champ.”

“Thanks, sir,” Crowley said. “We'll get her up and ready. You heard the man,” he told his ground crew. “Let's get the CO's bird ready to go.”

“Good man, Sergeant,” Guru nodded as he and Goalie headed out of the revetment. When they got there, they found Kara and Brainiac there,and neither one was in a good mood. “Kara,'

'Boss. Remind me when I have a kid. He or she is NOT going to be an Eagle driver. That asshole stole our kill.” Starbuck growled.

“'Our' kill?” Goalie asked.

“If you had missed your second Sidewinder shot, I might have had a chance,” Kara shot back. “Who was that guy?”

“Probably somebody with buck fever. Can't get them all, and we know it,” Guru said. “Come on, let's see Hoser. He's now two away from ace, and Dave Golen got his fifth.”

“Sandi Jenkins got her third,” Goalie reminded them.

“She did,” Kara nodded.

“Let's go,” Major Wiser said. They rounded up Sweaty and Preacher, who were just as furious at the F-15 jocks, then they came to Hoser's bird. He and KT had just climbed down from their mount, and were shaking hands with the ground crew. “Hoser! Two more for you guys. You two need two more and you're officially aces.”

“That'd be good, Boss,” Hoser said, while KT was grinning from ear to ear.

'It would,” Guru nodded. Then Dave Golen, Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs came over. “Dave, Sandi. Looks like congratulations are in order. You're an ace in F-4s, Dave. Three in '73, four in F-16s back in '82, and now...”

“More kills in F-4s than you do in F-16s,” Sweaty said.

“Going back to Double-Ugly when you get back home?” Kara asked with a grin. “You can tell those F-16 guys of yours a few things.”

“I can,” Golen replied with a grin. “Too bad it wasn't a gun shot kill like in our book, but I'll take it. And Sandi here....two more for her and she'll be an ace.”

“Good work, Sandi,” Major Wiser said, shaking her hand. “Colonel Rivers with you again?”

“I think so, sir,” Sandi nodded. “I swear I heard him saying 'Good kill'. I can't explain it.”

Goalie looked at her squadron mate, then her CO. “What was that old movie with Spencer Tracy back in the '40s? Where he played a veteran pilot who'd been killed, and he was a ghostly mentor to a rookie?”

Kara quipped, “I don't care for ghost stories unless they're around a campfire.” She turned to the CO. “Now what?”

“Get ready to possibly go back out,” Major Wiser told everyone. “The birds will be turned around for air-to-air, just in case. Ivan sent at least a regiment out on that sweep, and I'd like to know what they were up to.”

“Going after the AWACS again?” Golen asked.

'If they were, they burned up most of a regiment at least. And they didn't even get close,” the CO said. “I'd also like to know who those F-15s were.”

“The ones who stole at least two kills?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“Those chumps?” The Major asked. Seeing several heads nod, he went on. “Yeah. If they were taking a BVR shot, one thing. But charging in unannounced and doing some poaching? Different story.”

“And where was AWACS?” Kara asked. “They were not on the ball.”

“Probably too busy,” Goalie said.

“Come on. Let's go debrief, see if Licon knows anything, and see if we do have to go back out,” Major Wiser said.

[Matt Wiser]

Part VII: Guru lays down the law to Frank, and the usual in the O-Club:


335th TFS Ops Building: 1615 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser went into his office, having finished the debriefing. He had told his flight to keep their flight gear handy, just in case of a scramble or other air defense mission on short notice, such as backing up the F-15s and F-16s that were CAP for the AWACS and tankers. It had been a while since the 335 had fly those missions, but one never knew. When the CO got to his office, he found the Exec waiting for him. “Mark.”

“Boss,” the XO said. “How'd you do in that furball?'

“Had an F-15 jock steal a kill from me,” the CO said, and by the tone of voice, Ellis could tell that the CO was still angry.”Do me a favor: try and find out who Outlaw One-four was. I'd like to tear him a new hole for poaching.”

“I'll try, but you know....”

“I know. Call signs change every so often. If you can't find out, I'll talk to Colonel Brady. How'd you do?”

“Got a MiG-23 confirmed and a probable,' Ellis said.

“A probable?” Major Wiser asked. “How'd that happen?”

Ellis showed with his hands, like all fighter pilots did. “Got in behind him, and took a Sidewinder shot, then someone called for me to break. I broke right and rolled, and saw an F-16 chasing another MiG. Then I rolled back in, and saw the -23 falling in flames. But since I didn't see the missile strike on the guy-”

“Licon couldn't confirm the kill,” the CO finished.

“Yeah,” Ellis said. “Then I rolled in behind another MiG-23, and took the shot. Sidewinder flew right up his tailpipe and he blew up.”

“That one, Licon could confirm.”

“Yeah,” the Exec said. “Happens sometimes. You've got probables, right?”

“Three or four,” the CO said. “So, what do you have for me before today wraps?”

“We have twenty birds for tomorrow, once the weather clears,” Ellis reported. “Everyone's back. No birds with battle damage, Kev O'Donnell says.” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the Squadron's Maintenance Officer.

“Okay, anything on the two birds due from McClellan?” Major Wiser asked. “We've been waiting for almost a week.”

“Should be here day after tomorrow, and before you ask, no word yet on the crews.”

“All right,” the CO nodded. “What else?”

“Scroungers will be out, Ross says,' The Exec handed the CO a list of material. “Before you freak out, half of the stuff they want is for horsetrading.”

The Major looked at the list. “That explains some of this stuff. I was about to ask why we need 40 cases of WD-40. The brake fluid, engine oil, and hydraulic fluid, I can understand.” Then the CO looked at another item. “Mark, we eat at the Marines' Mess Tent. What's with 350 canned hams?”

“Uh, for horsetrading with the Army,” Ellis said. “Ross knows somebody who has access to a lot of captured supplies from that Pueblo Pocket. A Polish division was one of those caught in the pocket, they say, so....”

“Say no more,” Major Wiser said. He finished scanning the list. “Just so you know. I talked with Ross earlier. He has orders to find us another Pave Tack pod.”

Ellis stared at his CO. “Boss, those things go for a million dollars a pop. What-”

“Mark, you and I have flown enough PGM missions that can be counted on one hand,” the CO reminded his Exec. “We've got crews qualified and trained to use Pave Tack and Pave Spike, and we have two of the former pods and three of the latter. Get another Pave Tack and we can go out and hit some point stuff. I'd rather spend a GBU-10 or two on some 'Liberation Broadcasting” radio or TV transmitter instead of walking a dozen Mark-82s across the transmitter site, to name one example. Hitting pontoon bridges is another.”

“Understood, Boss,” Ellis nodded.

'What else?”

“Frank Carson's got another complaint. This one's about Sandi Jenkins.”

“What?” The CO asked.

“He says she flashed him as she was coming out of the shower this morning.” Ellis said, handing the CO the signed complaint.

Major Wiser scanned the paper. “She said-and this is his version-'You saw me naked on your terms, so you get to see me on mine.' Then she opened the towel. Well, that might be the only payback she ever gets.”

“You're right about that,” Ellis said. “What about the complaint?”

“Feed it to the shredder.” the CO nodded. “Along with anything else he sends that is not a transfer request.”

“With pleasure,” replied the XO, who fed the paper to the office shredder.

“Now, before we hit the club, something just occurred to me, and it's about Frank.”

“What do you mean?” Ellis asked.

The CO looked at his Exec with due seriousness. “Pray we don't lose any flight leaders. Because he is technically qualified as a Flight Lead. I don't want to put him back in that slot unless I have no other choice.”

“I don't blame you, Major,” Ellis said. “Don't want to make that call if I can help it.”

“If anything happens to me, Mark? You will have to make that call.” The CO reminded his Exec. “Not that anything will, but...”

“I know. He's done okay as an element lead,” Ellis reminded his CO.

“And that's what he's best at,” the Major commented. “Other than making an ass of himself. I know, he's still Flight Lead qualified, but you know his record.”

“Having six crews shot out from under him is not the mark of a good flight leader,” Ellis nodded, remembering what the CO had told him and the other key players in the 335th about Carson's record.
“How about getting Kara qualified?”

“She's element lead qualified, but we haven't lost anyone there yet,” the CO said. “Hate to say this, but that's the only way she's getting an element is by attrition. And there's several others in the same boat she is.”

“And she has to have that combat time as an element lead before she's qualified for Flight Lead,” Ellis noted.

Major Wiser nodded. “You got it. Now, if Frank has to be bumped up, I don't want this just being my decision. I want your input, and Don Van Loan's as well.”

“I can tell you right now: I'll support that call, but I can tell you're not that happy about it. And neither am I.”

“And Don shares that view, in all likelihood,” the CO finished. “Still, I want to hear from him anyway. Just hope we don't have to make that call.”

“You and I both, Boss,” Ellis said.

The Major nodded. “Part of the job, either as CO or XO. Come on,” he said, standing up from the desk. “Let's hit the Club.”

Before they could even open the office door, there was a knock. “Now who's that?” Ellis asked.

“Come on in and show yourself,” Major Wiser said.

The door opened, and it was one of the Admin NCOs. “Sir,” the male Staff Sergeant said. “Major Carson wants to see you.”

“What does that twerp want?” the CO asked.

“He didn't say, sir,” the harried NCO said. “He just wants to see you.”

“Send him in,” Major Wiser said. “Mark, stay here, in case I need backup. Or help in throwing him out.”

“With pleasure,” the Exec said.

Major Wiser decided to show just how serious he took anything Carson said. He went to the front of his desk and sat on a corner. Then the officer everyone in the 335th loathed came in. Both the CO and XO saw that Carson had gotten out of his flight gear and into his undress whites. And his salute was Academy perfect.

“Sir,” Carson said as he saluted.

“What is it now, Frank?' Major Wiser said as he sketched a return salute. “It's been a long day, I'm a little pissed at some F-15 jocks, not to mention being tired, and right now, getting something to eat is at the top of my agenda. Not listening to you. So get it out of you.”

“Sir,” Carson said, and both the CO and XO could tell the contempt in his voice. “I am wondering what kind of action you'll be taking about the complaints I've filed.”

“You mean the ones about various female officers showing you portions of their anatomy?

“Yes, sir, and that kind of conduct-”

“You're lucky that's all they did,” Major Wiser shot back. “If it wasn't worth a possible court-martial, any one of them would've been justified in slugging you. Since one of them wanted to take that chance, they did the next best thing. Or were you deliberately trying to get one of them to slug you?”

“No....sir,” Carson replied. And again, the CO and XO noted the contempt in the Major's tone of voice.
“And what about the other complaint?”

“Sandi Jenkins doing the same thing to you this morning? Well, considering the history the two of you have? She found a way to get back at you.”

“There are still such things as Air Force rules and regulations, not to mention standards-”

“If I were you, Frank, I'd shut up before I said another word about that. Because of what's in your 201 File, you are a bloody hypocrite when it comes to that,” Major Wiser reminded Carson. “And I'll tell you this now: you have taken your last female airman to bed, because any of the enlisted women who work for you will bypass your signature and take their applications to the Exec here,” the CO said, nodding at the Exec.

“What?” Carson stammered.

“Yeah,” Ellis said. “Everyone in this unit knows your scam, and your price for signing a female airman's application for Airman to Pilot. So we're bypassing you. I sign'em instead, and then the CO gets the application.”

“We're cutting you out,” Major Wiser said. “You have had your last victim, Frank. And as for your complaints? I put them right where they belong.”

A smile came to Carson's face. “In their files, I trust?”

“No,” Major Wiser said. He nodded at the office shredder. “That's a more appropriate place, I'd say. And I'm sending anything you send me, other than a signed request for a transfer, straight there.”

“You shredded them!? The indignation in Carson's voice was clear to both the CO and XO.

Major Wiser grinned. “Colonel Rivers did the same thing, remember? I'm just carrying on in his stead.” Then the CO got into Carson's face. “The only thing of yours I'm not shredding is a signed request for a transfer. Anytime, Frank. Just come to me with that paper and I'll happily sign 'Approved.' The only regret is that I'd be inflicting you on a fellow officer who'd be wondering what he'd done to deserve you showing up.”

“And what about New Year's Eve, Boss?” Ellis asked.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Major Wiser said. He shot a thumb at the calendar. “Remember, Frank: 11:59 PM on New Year's Eve. If you haven't shaped up by then? You're out of my squadron. And if you fuck up just once before then? You are out. Period. And pray that any such fuckup doesn't get anyone killed. I'll kick you out of here so fast you'll never know what hit you. Comprende?”

Carson looked at this...OTS-trained peasant from California who was his CO, and his lackey, who had gone to Ohio State and AFROTC with a mix of contempt and anger. It galled him that both were in command positions above him and nothing he'd tried to do had changed that. “Yes....sir.”

“I hope you do, Frank. Now, is there anything else?” Major Wiser asked.

“No, sir.....”

“Good. Then get out of my sight!”

“Yes, sir....” Carson said. He snapped a perfect salute, did an about-face, and left the office, slamming the door on the way out.

“That is not a happy person, Boss,” observed Ellis.

'And thanks to General Tanner,” the CO said. “JAG and OSI will ignore anything Frank sends them, and so will the IG's office. Anything from Frank is considered a frivolous complaint. And there's nothing he can do. Other than wail to whichever Senator or Congressman his dad bought and paid for.”

“Who will complain to the Secretary of the Air Force, but can't do much otherwise,” Ellis said. “And the headlines in the Boston Globe if said Senator tried blocking AF promotions in the Senate over this would not be very complimentary. Even if it is Teddy Kennedy.”

“No doubt,” Major Wiser nodded. Then there was another knock on the door. “Show yourself and come in!”

Goalie came in, in her flight suit but no G-suit or harness. “Guru, we've been relieved of our air defense tasking, and Van Loan asked me to give you this.” She handed the CO a paper. “Hot off the fax.”

“What is it?” Ellis asked.

“Info on the two new crews we're getting. The pilots?” Guru said. “One's an astronomy major, the other's got a Master's degree in Applied Physics.”

Goalie looked at her CO and pilot. “Great, a future astronaut and a future egghead.”

“Down, girl,” the CO said. “We need those folks, too.”

“And the GIBs? Ellis asked.

“One's a criminology major from the University of Hawaii, the other? A Poli-Sci major from BYU.” Major Wiser handed the paper to his Exec. “Three men and one woman, Mark. See about billeting.”

“Will do, Boss.”

“What'd Carson want?” Goalie asked.

“The complaint about you guys flashing him. Put it right where it belongs,” Guru said. “In the shredder. He did one on Sandi Jenkins as well, and it got the same treatment.”

“Good to hear,” Goalie smiled. “See you in a few?”

“After I get out of my flight gear,” Guru said. “And tell Kara that if she wants to see how our guests from Down Under handle poker or the pool table? The leash is cut. We'll see how they handle it.”

“With pleasure,” Goalie said.

“All right: see you in a few,” Guru said.

Goalie smiled and headed on out.

“Why, Boss, do I get the feeling that everything we said to Frank went in one ear and out the other?”
Ellis said.

“I know. At least it was on the record, Mark. Come on, let's get out of our flight gear, and head to the Club. Some good food, a beer or three, and good company. At least twelve-hour doesn't kick in until 2200 tonight, with this weather coming in.” The CO nodded.

“One good thing about the weather. We get to sleep in.”

“We do,” Guru nodded. “Let's go.”


Officer's Club Tent, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1700 Hours Central War Time:


When Guru and Ellis went into the Officer's Club, they found the place already a bit raucous. With an ace to celebrate, as well as several other MiG-killers, and the partial stand-down the next morning, people were in a celebratory mood. Guru noticed Goalie, Sweaty, and Kara sitting at a table, and he nodded, as he fully intended to join them and the GIBs, but he had some business to take care of. He went to the bar and found Colonel Brady talking with Trevor Scott, Ms. Wendt's cameraman. “Colonel,” Guru nodded. “Mr. Scott,”

“Major,” Brady said. “How'd things go up there?”

“It was a brawl, Colonel,” Guru said. “Sir, can you find out who Outlaw One-four was?”

“What happened?”

“Took a Sidewinder shot on a MiG-23, and right after I fired, heard this guy call a Fox One.”

“Fox one?” Scott asked.

“That's the code for a Sparrow missile shot,” Brady explained. “Go on, Major.”

“Well, sir, my GIB and I see one, then two, Sparrows come down and take out the MiG I just shot at. The Sidewinder flew into the fireball and detonated. Then two F-15s came down and we got in their jetwash,” Guru spat. “That sumbitch took my kill.”

“Why the anger?” Scott asked.

“Fighter pilots are territorial,” Brady explained. “We don't like party crashers in our hunting grounds.”

“And this guy probably took the shot without checking IFF,” Guru added with a scowl. “He could've just as easily locked me up, and we could have had a fratricide incident.”

“What you in the media call 'Friendly Fire',” Brady pointed out. “No fun for all involved.”

“So, this guy pretty much came into your fight and started shooting?” Scott asked.

“If AWACS told him to, yeah, and nothing we can do about that,” Guru nodded. “But if this flight came in on their own, looking for some action, different story.”

“Don't worry, Major,” said Brady. “I was up there myself, and heard quite a bit. I'll see if I can find out who those F-15s were, and see if I can't tear them a new hole. And if I can't? General Tanner will.”

“Thanks, Colonel,” Guru said. “Chances are, though, we may never know, or, if we do, we'll find out it was somebody with buck fever.”

Colonel Brady nodded. “Chances are, that's what it was. Just take your anger out for a little swim, and go from there, Major.” Brady waved the barkeep over. “What'll it be, Major?”

“Any Sam Adams?” Guru asked the barkeep.

“Not for a couple more days, at least,” the barkeep replied. “Sorry, Major.”

“Bud, then.”

The barkeep nodded, then opened a bottle and handed it to him. “Here you go, Major.”

“Thanks,” Guru said. “Well, Colonel, we can celebrate a partial stand-down tomorrow, and I, for one will be glad to sleep in.”

“That we can, Major,” Brady said. “And you guys have another ace, even if he is technically an 'observer'. “ He was referring to Major Dave Golen.

“And we can't report it,” Scott said. “Jana said there were several things we can't touch, and Israelis over here doing more than observing happens to be one of 'em. Oh, well. Still a lot for us to cover.”

“There is that,” Guru nodded. “And we've got a crew that's only two kills away from making ace themselves. They got two today.” He nodded towards Hoser and KT, who were talking with a couple of Marine F-4 crewers.

Scott looked at him, then nodded himself. “Saw them as they came in.”

“Glad to hear that,” Guru said. “And good luck with Doc Waters tomorrow. Plus the survival training.”

'It'll be worth it.”


After some additional conversation, Guru and Ellis took their leave, and noticed Goalie, Kara, Sweaty, Hoser, and their GIBs sitting at a table. “Got room for your CO and XO?” Guru asked.

“Have a seat, Boss,” Kara said. When the two were seated, she went on. “Hell of a day.”

“That it was, but look at it this way,” the CO said.

“Boss?”

“We didn't lose anyone, and nobody came back with holes in their birds,” Guru said. “That's always a good day.”

“Won't last forever,” Sweaty noted. “Like clockwork: we go a few days without losing anyone, then BAM! One or two planes go down on the same day.”

“If that happens,” Guru said. “Pray we don't lose a flight lead or two. Because if that happens...”

Heads turned to face the CO. “Frank becomes a flight lead again?” Sweaty asked, a look of shock on her face.

“If I have to,” Guru said. “If we only lose one, I'll put Dave Golen in as a flight lead, even if he is just an 'observer,”. But, if we lose two, I'll have no choice.”

“God forbid,” Preacher said. He quickly muttered a prayer, and the former seminary student hadn't forgotten his initial calling. “Hope God heard that one.”

“He'd better,” KT said. “I pity the folks who fly with him already.”

“Same here,” Goalie said.

“We all have that,” the CO nodded. “Okay, a little bit more of shop talk. We're getting two new birds from Japan via McClellan day after tomorrow, if all goes well. And we get to keep the crews who fly them in.”

“Fresh from Kingsley Field,” Kara said. “Four new FNGs.”

“We were all that, once,” Ellis said. “Even those who flew on Day One.”

Goalie looked at Kara, “Wasn't that long ago you were an FNG,” the CO's GIB reminded her.

“Guilty,” Kara admitted.

“Still, she's right,” Guru said. “Over fifty percent of our losses are people who go down before their first ten missions are done.” He looked at the people around the table. “Don't want to write any letters over the next week or so.”

Heads nodded at that. Everyone had been in an element or flight where a new crew hadn't lasted long. “Here's hoping that doesn't happen,” Kara said, raising her beer bottle.

“Hear, hear,” Sweaty said.

Just then, the Marine mess people arrived with dinner. Either pork chops with mashed potatoes and gravy, with mixed vegetables, or, this being Texas, Barbeque chicken with chili and cornbread. After getting their meals and eating, the group kept yapping.

“Notice the food's gotten better since we got here?” Goalie asked.

“Except those sandwiches,” Kara growled. “They'll never change. Either something inside moves, or the tomatoes look back at you.”

'Yeah,” Guru said. “But, Colonel Brady told me this: they've got some civilians helping out. They used to be in the restaurant business in Wichita Falls prewar, and working with the military is one way they can pay us back. One of the guys working there used to run the BBQ joint to go to in Wichita Falls prewar. Because he had more than a dozen employees, the KGB called him a 'class enemy', and he went underground. They never found him, but they got back at him this way: when 23rd ID got here, some ALA die-hards made a stand in his establishment. The Army had to blow the place down around 'em. He wants to rebuild, but that'll have to wait. So he and a bunch of other restauranteurs are helping run the Marines' mess department. And using their old recipes.”

“And I doubt the Marine mess sergeants were happy about that, having a bunch of civilian chefs showing them how to do things,” Brainiac said.

“They weren't,” Ellis said. “Colonel Brady said that they either would get the help, or he'd send them to 5th Marine Division. They shut up pretty damned fast.”

“They won't change their roadkill sandwiches,” Kara said.

“No, but breakfast and dinner will be a whole lot better,” Guru said.

“Mostly,” Goalie laughed.

Then Guru got up, went to the bar, and rang the bell. “People! First, we got a couple things to celebrate. First, Hoser and KT from the 335th? They got two and three today, and miracle of miracles, one of 'em was a Sparrow shot, out of eight fired from my flight. Two more, and they become aces, so how's that?”

Shouts of approval, and applause, followed.

“Okay, next item! Major Dave Golen? Now, you may be an 'observer', but as far as the USAF is concerned? You're our latest ace. Five kills with the 335, add to that three from '73 and four from the Bekaa Valley Turkey Shoot in '82. Twelve kills, my friend, in three wars. And whoever the IDF's top scorer is? You can tell that guy that he's no longer top gun, because there's a few people here who have beaten him.”

“Will do, Guru,” Golen said, smiling. He wasn't too keen on telling the IDF's top ace that the Yanks had several people who had beaten his score.

“Now, Sandi Jenkins? You got number three today, and if you and your GIB get two more? Both of you are aces. And if you and Hoser get ace on the same day? This place will rock! Isn't that right, people?” Guru asked the crowd of mostly AF and Marine aircrew.

“Hell, yes!” Kara said, and quite a few echoed that.

“We get a chance to sleep in, but come noon? We're back in the game. So drink up, and enjoy the downtime.” Guru said, to loud applause.


After dinner, people began gravitating to the pool tables or poker games, but Guru, Goalie, Sweaty, and Mark Ellis were at their table, eyes glued to a rerun of a USC-Notre Dame football game on ABC. “Glad for reruns?” Sweaty asked.

'Beats no sports at all,” Goalie replied. “At least the pro sports teams can travel. But college?”

“As long as they stay close by,” Ellis said. “Ohio and Ohio State still play each other.”

“And USC and UCLA, or Stanford and Cal,” Guru pointed out. “As long as it's a bus or train ride.”

Then Don Van Loan and Dave Golen came to the table. “Boss,” Van Loan said. “Got today's Stars and Stripes.” He threw a couple of copies of the newspaper on the table, and eager hands grabbed for parts.

“Anything good?”

“Bush announced he's running for a full term in his own right. Next year's an election year, after all,” Van Loan said.

“Anyone running against him?” Goalie asked.

“Don't know, but whoever it is? They'll be a sacrificial lamb,” Ellis said. “No way is Bush going to lose the nomination, let alone the General Election.”

Golen looked at them. “How are you going to have a Presidential Election with parts of three states still occupied?”

“The best way we can, Dave,” Guru said. “We had Congressional Elections back in '86. Congress passed a law saying that Congressmen and Senators whose States were partially or completely occupied could keep their seats until the first election after their districts were liberated. Guess what? Next year is the first one.”

“And most of the members of Congress who were anti-military before the war? They got thrown out by the voters last year,” Goalie added.

“The rest'll get what's coming to them this time around,” Ellis said. “The Senators, anyway. The Congressmen? They all got kicked out.”

Golen nodded understanding “And their reward for such sentiments is political oblivion?”

“That's about it,” Guru said.

Goalie looked at her pilot and CO. “Anything else that's interesting?”

“Bob Hope's having two USO tours. The first one's around Thanksgiving, the second around Christmas. No word on which theater he'll be going to first,” Guru said.

“Ever have one of those USO shows come by?” Golen asked.

“Christmas last year,” Goalie said. “Not the Bob Hope Show, but it was pretty good anyway. Had a band and a comedy act.”

“Who was which?” Scott asked, coming by. He'd attended and covered USO shows when he was in Southeast Asia.

“The band? Katrina and the Waves,” Ellis said. “They have a version of The Animals' We Gotta Get Out of This Place that's pretty good.”

“Most requested song on AFN's rock station right now,” Goalie added.

“And the comedy act?” Golen asked.

“Just Steve Martin and Robin Williams,” Guru said.

“Hey, have a look at this,” Sweaty said. “Says here the Dutch Foreign Minister got exposed as a KGB asset.”

'One more of the 'neutralists' being exposed for what they are,” Ellis spat. “He'll be on the next plane to Moscow, I bet.”

“Not quite, XO. He got arrested. Their Parliament’s called a 'no-confidence' vote, whatever that means, on their government. What's that mean?”Sweaty asked.

“It means that if the Parliament votes no on the government, it falls,” Golen said. The Israeli Knesset had a similar system. “They have to call new elections.”

Guru nodded. “Which means more of these rats get exposed for what they are,” the CO spat.

“No argument there,” Goalie said.

Then Ms. Wendt came over.”Major, good news. The segment about you aired on our morning news, and it'll air on the CBS Evening News tomorrow night.”

“Well, now,” said Guru. “Guess we'll have to tune in.”

“I think you'll like it,” Ms. Wendt said. “And I have a favor to ask.”

“Let me guess: you want a sit-down interview.”

“When you have the time.”

“Okay,” Guru said. “But on one condition. You have a follow-up with my entire flight. I want you to see how folks with differing levels of experience handle combat.”

“Deal,” Ms. Wendt said. “When?”

'Two or three days,” Guru nodded. “Remind me then.”

“Fair enough,” Ms. Wendt replied. She saw Kara at the Pool Table. “And that's the 'Wild Thing', I see.”

“Be warned,” Sweaty said. “She doesn't take IOUs, and very rarely takes checks. Have cash on hand if you lose to her.”

“And she's in a foul mood,” Goalie added. “General Tanner was on a visit a few days ago, and he beat her two nights in a row. She's out for blood.”

“To prove it wasn't a fluke,” Scott said. “Reminds me of a few people I knew in Saigon. The hotel bars had their share of pool hustlers.” He went off to the pool table to watch.

“And if he can't pay what he owes her?” Ms. Wendt asked.

The aircrews all looked at each other. Then Goalie said, “Well.....since you did ask, it involves the supply tent, a Coleman lantern for ambiance, maybe some music over an AM radio, and a sleeping bag...”

“I get the rest of the picture,” Ms. Wendt nodded. “She's a nymphomaniac?”

“If they gave out board certifications in that, she'd qualify,” said Guru. “But she's the best I've got when it comes to flying. And before you ask, it's not just this unit, but all over military aviation. We have a phrase that sums up our attitude: Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow they may not separate us from the rest of the airplane.”

The reporter thought for a minute. “Because you people, as aircrew, do most of the fighting in the Air Force, and take most of the casualties?”

“That's about it,” Sweaty said. “Pararescue, Combat Controllers, and other 'special mission' guys, they do their share, and bases got overrun early on, and there's still Spetsnatz and air raids, but yeah.”

“TAC and SAC do most of the combat, and take most of the losses,” Goalie added.

“And so the Air Force, and presumably the other services, feels that you all have a right to get a little crazy when the occasion demands,” Ms. Wendt finished.

“That's pretty much it,” Guru said. He turned to Goalie. “Want one more? Two's my limit, even with twelve-hour kicking in at 2200.”

“Yeah, I'll take one more,” Goalie nodded.

“Got you,” Guru said. He got up and headed for the bar.

“Twelve-hour?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Twelve-hour Rule,” Sweaty said. “No alcohol twelve hours before flying.”

“Oh.”

Guru went to the bar, got a couple more beers, then went back to the table. Then he noticed Kara and Scott talking. “Excuse me,” he said politely, then went over to Kara. “Kara, a word of warning.”

She came over to her CO. “Boss?”

“He's been around the block, and knows your kind of drill. From his old hangouts in Saigon. Just so you know.”

“Gotcha.”

“And Kara? If he beats you? Smile, nod, be polite, pay him, and come back tomorrow night. If he loses to you? Don't get him into a position where your.....alternative payment kicks in. Take a check,” the CO told her.

“Is that an order?” Kara asked. She could tell the seriousness in her CO's expression.

“Consider it as such,” Guru said. “They're our guests, remember?”

Kara looked at her CO, then nodded. “Understood, Major.”

“Okay. Now kick his ass.”

She let out an evil-looking grin. “Yes, sir.” Then she went over to the pool table.

“What'd you tell Kara?” Goalie asked.

“Be gracious in defeat, take a check and avoid the, uh, alternative payment plan, and to kick his ass.”
Guru said.

It didn't take long for Kara's skills to show, and soon, the Aussie cameraman had his wallet lightened by $50.00. He smiled, paid her, then came back to his reporter and soundman in a fit of the sulks, much to the amusement of the aircrews. “I'll get her one of these days,” Scott muttered.

“Just like Saigon?” Sweaty asked.

“Yeah,” he said, then Scott went to the bar.

Before he came back, the air raid siren began to sound. “Air raid?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Haven't been on the ground for one in a while,” Guru said. He and the other crews ran outside, while the reporters got their equipment. They got out of the tent to see two aircraft, both dropping flares, but no bombs falling. Then a Marine I-HAWK SAM shot into the night sky, and one of the aircraft became a fireball and tumbled out of the sky, exploding on impact a mile or so away.

“What's going on?” Wendt asked. “Where's the bombs?”

Goalie recognized it, and so did the others. But she said it out loud. “Those aren't decoy flares, but photo-flash ones. That's a recon run.”

Scott had gotten the SAM launch and the explosion on tape. “What?”

“Night photography,'” Darren Licon, the Intelligence Officer for the 335th, said. “You're on Ivan's version of Candid Camera.”

The second recon plane, MiG, Yak, or Sukhoi, made its run over the base, dropping flares, then turned away. A second HAWK went up after the aircraft, but missed. A second pair of aircraft came in, but one took a HAWK and blew apart in midair, while the other aborted its run and turned away. Then two Marine F/A-18s scrambled after the intruders.

“Shouldn't we head for a shelter?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“If a strike was coming in behind them? It would've been here by now,” Guru said. He turned and saw Colonel Brady talking into a walkie-talkie. Then the all-clear sounded. He went over to Colonel Brady. “Sir?”

“Got Marines out now, looking for the crash sites, and any downed pilots,” Brady said. “The Army's been notified, and they've got people out, and they'll get the locals involved.”

“The Resistance?” Ms. Wendt asked. She'd overheard the conversation.

“They haven't turned in their guns, and when it comes to looking for downed pilots? They know every nook and cranny around here,” Guru said. “If anybody bailed out of those two planes?”

“They'll find 'em,” Brady finished. “And bring them in.”

“They will,” Guru said. “Come on, people! Two more hours to twelve-hour!”

People headed back into the Club, and the party continued until 2200, when Doc Waters rang the bell. “Twelve-hour in effect!”

Hearing that, people finished their drinks, and quite a few headed off to their tents. Guru and his flight among them. “Where are you headed?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“We've got a chance to do something we don't get to do that often,” Guru said. “So we're going to crash out.”

“Crash out?”

“Sleep,” said Sweaty.

“For at least ten hours,” Guru added.

The reporter looked at the aircrews, then nodded. “Oh,”

“Have a good night, Ms. Wendt.” the CO said.

Ms. Wendt nodded. “Good night, Major,”

“And remember, you've got an appointment with Doc Waters tomorrow morning.”

“We'll be there.”

The aircrews headed over to the tent city, and found where the 335th's people were billeted. They found their tents, and it wasn't long until they were all fast asleep.

[Matt Wiser]

Part VIII: They have the morning off, then CAS....


335th TFS Operations, 2 November, 1987, 0800 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser entered the Ops Building, and took off his flight jacket. Though the rain had stopped for the most part, it was still wet outside. As he headed for his office, he smiled. Someone had a radio on their desk, and AFN's morning show was playing Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band's Old Time Rock'n Roll. Smiling, he began humming the song as he went to his office, and found the Exec waiting for him. “Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Boss,” Ellis said, handing his CO a cup of cocoa. “Got a few things for you.”

“Eaten yet?” the CO asked as he took a clipboard that Ellis handed him.

“Not yet. Just got up myself about twenty minutes ago.”

“Same here,” Major Wiser said. “Okay, what have you got before I go eat?”

“Morning Report for MAG-11,” said Ellis.

Major Wiser nodded, scanned it, then signed it. “How many birds this morning?”

“Twenty birds, same as last night's report,” Ellis said. “No one down for maintenance or BDR.” BDR meant Battle-Damage Repair.

“That won't last,” the CO noted. “Like clockwork. We'll either soon have somebody down for a maintenance issue, or somebody getting shot up.”

Ellis nodded. “Or worse: we lose people.”

“To be avoided as long as we can,” Major Wiser commented. He flipped to the next paper on the clipboard. “Scroungers out?”

“They were, and got some of the stuff on their list. During that recon run.”

The CO looked at his Exec. “Let me guess: 'In confusion, there is profit,' or words to that effect.”

“I plead the Fifth on that, Boss.” the XO smiled.

Major Wiser looked at his Exec, then smiled back. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Ross is checking on both of your requests on specific items.”

“As long as he tries,” the CO said. “That's all I ask. Any word on last night's visitors?”

“They found both wrecks,” Ellis reported. “Both were Yak-28Rs. Pilot and nav found from one aircraft and Intel's chatting with them, while the other crew was found in the wreck.”

“And Intel hasn't found out where these fellas came from,” Major Wiser finished. “Hope they do, so we can return the visit. With interest.”

Ellis nodded .”We'll know soon enough. But paying them a visit might belong to the A-6s and F-111s.”

'As long as somebody does. Our Fourth Estate guests are with Doc Waters right now?”

“They are.”

“All right. Once they're cleared, we'll find a couple of check rides for 'em. Maybe scaring them back to Nellis might involve getting Ms. Wendt airsick,” the CO said. He recalled a prewar incentive ride one airman got, and the kid had been advised-strongly-to take some airsickness bags with him in the flight suit pockets. The young man wound up using every one of them as Guru had given the airman the ride of his life.

'We'll find out soon enough, but she may be an adrenalin junkie,” Ellis reminded his CO.

“Maybe.” Then someone knocked on the door to the CO's office. “Show yourself and come on in!”

Goalie came in, with a cup of coffee for the CO. “Morning, Guru.”

“Lieutenant,” Major Wiser replied. “Still bribing me with coffee?”

“Always,” Goalie smiled, handing her pilot and CO a plastic cup with the steaming liquid.

The Major nodded, then took a sip. “Okay. Anything else, Mark?”

“Weather report. We should have good flying weather beginning at 1100. I know, we got a light shower out there, but it'll clear up by then. First missions on the ATO begin at that time,” the XO replied.

“And I'll be first out the gate,” Major Wiser said, glancing at his GIB, who nodded. “That it?”

“It is for now,” Ellis said.

“All right: let's go eat,” the CO said, draining the rest of the coffee. He had just opened the office door when they heard a familiar-and loathed-voice berating an airman. “That's Frank.”

“It is,” Goalie said. “What's this about?”

Major Wiser went over to Carson, and asked, “What now, Frank?”

“Sir,” Major Carson said. “Listening to the radio while on duty in the office?”

“Frank, if the office crew wants to listen to Casey Kasem's morning show on AFN, Shadoe Stevens during the day, Don Steele evenings, or for the overnight shift, Wolfman Jack? That's fine with me. Just because nobody here cares about what you listen to at your desk is no reason to shut them out. If you don't like the AFN rock station? Get a Walkman and tapes of whatever you listen to. Comprende?”

“Sir, you're not taking this seriously!”

“No, I'm not. Why are you?”

Ellis grinned. “Somebody exercised the good out of him and saddled us with what's left.”

“Sir!” Carson said.

“Frank, none of these admin people are career Air Force. Ninety percent of these folks are wartime volunteers who joined after the balloon went up. They're in for the duration, and six months to a year after the war's over, they're going home. This is the war for them. And if listening to AFN makes the office day go by a little faster? That's fine by me. Got that?” The CO glared at the despised Major.

“Yes....sir.”

“I hope so, but I doubt it. Now get out of my sight!”

Carson saluted, then left the building.

“Major,” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, who was the squadron's senior maintenance officer, asked. “When are you kicking out that POS?”

“By New Year's Eve, if he doesn't fuck up sooner than that,” Major Wiser said. “People, if you've got a radio by your desk, and want to listen to whatever AFN station you want? It's fine by me.”

There was some applause at that from the admin folks.

“And pass that on to the overnight shift,” the CO said. He turned to the Exec and his GIB. “Come on. Let's eat.”


The CO, XO, and Goalie went on over to the Mess Tent, where they found most of their squadron's aircrew getting into line for breakfast. Sweaty, Kara, Don Van Loan, and most of the usual faces were there. “Morning, all,” the CO said.

“Morning, Boss,” Kara said. “When are we flying today?”

“First wheels up at 1100,” Major Wiser nodded. “And that's us. We'll be first out the gate.”

Kara sighed. “Couldn't wait until Noon? Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted.”

“We'll be here for the winter, it looks like. So we'll have snow days as well. I'm sure the RED HORSE guys and the Seabees handle snow removal,” the CO said. “Anyone seen Frank?”

“He came out just as we got here,” Van Loan said. “Headed right for the office.”

“And he got there just in time to try and tear the admin people a new hole over listening to AFN at work,” Major Wiser noted. “He definitely got up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”

“You're kidding,” Preacher said. He then saw the expression on the CO's face. “No, you're not. Trying to keep people from listening to AFN at work? What's with him?”

“Remember,” Goalie said. “He's from Boston. The phrase 'Banned in Boston' comes to mind.”

“Come on,” Major Wiser said. “Let's eat, then we got a little time to kill. Mission brief at 1030.”


After eating, the aircrews headed to their briefing rooms, while the CO went back to his office to kill any late-appearing paperwork that showed up. Then, just before 1030, he went to the Ops Desk, and found Van Loan waiting for him. “Don,” the Major said. “What have you got for me?”

The Ops Officer handed the CO a sheet. “Your favorite. On-call CAS.”

Major Wiser stared at his Ops Officer. “Don, we were just there yesterday. Two back-to-back CAS runs.”

“Ivan's trying to take advantage of the weather,” Van Loan replied.

“Okay,” Major Wiser said. He scanned the sheet. “Northeast Sector, which means anyplace between Lake Ray Hubbard and Greenville. And expect air defense threats from Regiment on up. Nice. MiG threat still the same?”

“That's right, and Terrell Municipal is now operational again.”

“You're full of good news today, Don.” replied the CO. “Okay, do me a favor.”

“Name it,” Van Loan said.

“Find us an airfield, or maybe one of those 'Liberation Radio and TV' transmitters. We'll get two at least today, maybe three. So....”

“Will try, Boss,” Van Loan handed the CO another sheet. “Here's some alternate targets in case the FACs don't give you anything.”

The CO nodded. “Okay, thanks, Don. You have a good one yourself.”

“Got it, Boss.”

Major Wiser nodded, then headed to the old classroom his flight used as a briefing room. When he got there, he found the rest of the flight waiting. “Okay, people, we've got a mission.”

“What's up?” Kara asked.

“Probably everyone's temper, because it's our favorite-not. On-call CAS,” said the CO.

“What?” Sweaty asked as jaws dropped. “We did two of those yesterday. Back-to-back, if you'll remember.”

“We did, and I do,” Major Wiser replied. “Northeast Sector, between Lake Ray Hubbard and Greenville. Ivan's mounting some kind of counterattack, and though the Hogs are there, we need to give the A-10 folks a hand.”

“Swell,” Hoser said. “Uh, Boss.”

“I know, the A-4, A-7, and A-10 guys live and breathe CAS, but there's too much tasking for them to handle. So we give them a hand,” Major Wiser reminded them, and heads nodded at that. “Questions?”

“Ordnance load?” Sweaty asked.

“Antiarmor, which means twelve Rockeye CBUs each bird, plus the usual air-to-air load of four Sidewinders and two Sparrows, and full 20-mm. Element leads have the ALQ-119 pod and wingmates have the ALQ-101.”

“Bailout areas?” Kara wanted to know.

“Anyplace rural and away from roads,” Major Wiser told the crews. “Best place of all is north of I-30: that's the front lines in this particular area, if you'll remember. Usual divert fields such as Perrin AFB near Sherman, or Gainesville Muni in a pinch.”

“Tanker tracks?”

“Tanker track SHELL is over Denison, Oklahoma,” Major Wiser said.

Hoser then asked, “What if we can't get a FAC tasking?”

“I'll call Hillsboro and ask for either armed recon or free strike,” the CO said. “We don't get paid for bringing ordnance home.” Hillsboro was the EC-130 Airborne Command Post that controlled ground-attack missions, and the FACs got their birds from Hillsboro.

“MiG threat?” Preacher asked.

“Good question,” Sweaty added.

“Same as when we've gone into the Dallas area,” Major Wiser said. “The Su-27 threat is still the same, and MiGs at Tyler, Terrell Municipal-which is now operational again,” the CO added. “Plus Waco, Corsicana, Temple, and both Austin Regional and Bergstrom AFB. All have either -21s or -23s. MiG-29s are still at Gray AAF at Fort Hood. As for ground-based air defense? Expect the threat from regimental level on up. Minimum SA-9 and they go up from there. No SA-15 reported, which is good. SA-11 is the most advanced one we may see. Expect the usual guns and MANPADS as well.”

“Thanks a lot, Boss,” muttered Kara.

“Comes with CAS, and we know it,” Major Wiser reminded them. “Any other questions?” Heads shook no. “All right! Gear up and meet at 512.”

The aircrews geared up and headed on out, and as they did, they ran into Maj. Dave Golen and Lieutenant Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs. “Guru,” Golen said, calling the CO by call sign.

“Dave,” the CO replied. “Looking for your sixth with us?”

“If it comes, I'll take it,” Golen said. “If not...oh, well.”

“Sandi?” Major Wiser said. “Stick to him like glue. He's your older brother from another mother, remember, and if you get MiG action? Hope you get your fourth and fifth.”

“Yes, sir,!” Sandi replied. She was hoping to make ace. And make the late Colonel Rivers proud.

“Okay, then. Have a good one, but be careful.”

“Always,” Golen said.

“Dave, we're Corvette Flight. What's yours?”

“Cobra again.”

“Good. If we get air-to-air and we can't handle it? I'll call you.”

“We'll be there.” Golen said.

“Good to know, Dave.” Major Wiser said. They shook hands. “You take care up there.”

“You too, Guru.”

Major Wiser then went to the revetment where his bird, 512, was parked, and found the rest of the flight there. “Have another chat with Dave?” Kara asked.

“Yep. He and Sandi are Cobra Flight, so if we hit serious MiG trouble, I'll holler and he'll be there,” Guru said.

“He's bailed us out of a few jams,” Sweaty nodded. “Glad he's here.”

“So am I,” Goalie said. Dave Golen had shot MiGs off of 512's tail at least twice.

“You're not the only one,” Guru said. “Okay, listen up. Mission code to AWACS, Tankers, Hillsboro, FACs, and other interested parties, as usual. Call signs between us.”

“Got it,” Kara said, and the others nodded.

“Okay, we have at least one more today, probably two. We could have a hot turnaround when we get back, so take it in stride, as we haven't had one of those in a while. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss,” Hoser said.

“Good. Anything else?” The CO asked. Heads shook no again. He clapped his hands. “Okay. Mount up and let's hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, and both Guru and Goalie went to 512, where Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting. “Major, Lieutenant,” Crowley said as he snapped a perfect salute. “We're good to go.”

The CO and GIB sketched salutes in return. “Good to know, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their walk-arounds, then Guru signed for the aircraft. After getting strapped in, and going through their preflight checks, Guru said, “Hope our guests enjoyed getting poked and prodded.”

“The joys of a flight physical,” Goalie said. “Ejection Seats armed?”

“Top and bottom. Check yours,” Guru replied. “Unlike the flight surgeon at the RTU, Doc Waters doesn't go out of his way to look for anything bad. That guy....he was looking for the slightest reason to ground me when I came back from Colorado.”

“What's his name? Cottle?” Goalie asked. She, too had encountered the man in question. “We're good. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“That's him,” Guru said. He gave the thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who then gave the “Start Engines” signal in return.

“Engine start,” Goalie noted, and Guru nodded.

First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the run-up was complete, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

The Tower cleared him to taxi, and Sergeant Crowley signaled the ground crew to pull the chocks away from the landing gear. Once that was done, the Crew Chief signaled Guru to taxi, and 512 began to ease out of the revetment. When Guru cleared the revetment Crowley snapped a salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it.

Guru then taxied 512 to the runway, with the rest of the flight right behind him. They held at the runway so that the armorers could remove the weapon safety pins, and now the ordnance was live. Then Guru was cleared to taxi 512 onto the runway, and Kara in 520 followed. She was right in his Four O'clock, tucked in for takeoff. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting permission for takeoff.”

The Tower flashed a green light, and both crews closed and locked their canopies. Guru then ran both engines to full power, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's bird right alongside him. Then Sweaty and Hoser taxied into position, and they, too followed the lead element into the air.



Over North-Central Texas, 1150 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was orbiting, somewhere between Bonham and Greenville, at 18,000 feet. They had topped up from the tankers over Oklahoma, and were now waiting in a holding pattern Major Wiser had checked in with Hillsboro, the EC-130E Airborne Command Post that handled air-to-ground tasking, and had been told to wait. The flight crews had watched as A-4s (both AF and Marine), A-7s (AF and Navy), and A-10s had gone in ahead of them, but the F-4s, both AF and Marine, had been told to wait.

“How long have we been here?” Goalie asked.

“About fifteen minutes,” Guru said. “Wing tanks are empty and we're on internal fuel.”

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. She was going by the book in case someone on the AWACS was listening. Not that anyone had ever called them on the carpet for that, but one never knew. Once they were doing their thing, and the flak was coming up, different story, though. “How long we going to wait here?”

“Stand by one,” Guru called back. “I'll check with Hillsboro. Need to remind those guys we can't stay up here all day.”

“Standing by.”

“Hillsboro, Corvette One-one. Any tasking for us?” Guru radioed the ABCCC.

“Stand by, Corvette,” the controller replied.

“He'd better not take his time,” Goalie muttered.

A couple of minutes passed, then the controller came back. “Corvette, contact Covey Two-eight-two for tasking.”

“Copy, Hillsboro,” Guru replied. “Covey Two-eight-two for tasking.”

“Who's that?” Goalie asked.

Guru recalled a briefing back before PRAIRIE FIRE got going. Covey was the call sign used by ground FACs. “Ground FAC.” He then called the FAC. “Covey Two-eight-two, Corvette One-one. You have tasking for us?”

“Copy that, Corvette. Say aircraft and type of ordnance, please,” the FAC called back.

“Corvette Flight is four Foxtrot-Four Echoes, with twelve Rockeyes and full twenty-mike-mike.”

“Roger that, Corvette,” the FAC said. “We've got armor moving north on Route 34 past Cash, and we need to make them go away. How many passes can you give me?”

“One pass only,” Guru said. That was a squadron rule unless the threat allowed multiple passes.

“Roger that,” the FAC replied.

“Covey, Corvette, say threat,” Guru said as he brought 512 around, quickly consulted a map, and began to descend in a left turn, with the flight following.

“Corvette, Covey. Threat is regimental level and above. Immediate Sierra-Alpha threat are Grails, but be advised heavy stuff is around.”

“Roger that, Covey. We can give you one pass, east to west.”

“Your call, Corvette,” the FAC said.

“Covey, can you mark the target or have the ground-pounders do that?”

“That's affirm,” Covey replied. “Will have Willie-Pete in the target area.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as he passed through 10,000 feet. He flew past Greenville, then headed south, descending as he led the flight in. “Two mikes to target.”

As the flight descended, they could see the Army moving south, with Greenville Municipal Airport now swarming with armor and other vehicles, then the crews saw the bursts of WP. That meant their target area. “Corvette, Covey. Target marked. Can you identify?” The FAC called.

Guru saw the WP bursts. “Roger that, Covey. Target in sight. Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and time to go to work. One pass only! Meet up over Lavon Lake.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called.

“Three copies,” replied Sweaty.

“Four, roger,” Hoser said.

“Target in sight, and Lead's in hot!” Guru said as he rolled in on his attack run.


Down below, the 83rd Mechanized Infantry Division from XIX Corps had retaken the Greenville Municipal Airport, and was pushing south towards Route 34 and the town of Cash. The Soviet 1st Guards Army was alarmed at that, and the Army commander wanted to send the 41st Guards Tank Division to counterattack, but they were committed to another counterattack near Rockwall, so the 204th MRD and the newly-arrived 70th Tank Division, both mobilization only units, to push the 83rd back. The Americans had the M-60A3TTS tanks, along with a battalion's worth of captured T-72s with mostly female crews, and were waiting for the counterattack force. Unfortunately for the Soviets, the 204th MRD's armor was mainly old T-54A models, with open-topped BTR-60Ps for APCs, while the 70th TD, newly arrived from Chernigov in the Ukraine, had IS-3Ms in its tank regiments and T-34/85s in the motor-rifle regiment, with early-model BMP-1s for APCs.

When the FACs informed the 83rd that tac air was coming in, the tank gunners began looking for and picking out any mobile AA guns or SA-9 launchers, and began taking them out.

As he advanced in his IS-3M, the commander of the 698th Tank Regiment from the 70th TD was furious. His regimental reconnaissance company had suddenly gone off the air, and were not answering his calls. The regimental commander, a Major, had been wishing for additional training time before their deployment to America in the spring, but the division had deployed, and what additional training they had gotten after arriving in Texas was clearly not enough. He made a mental promise to relieve the recon company commander later on, but fireballs ahead meant that the Americans might have saved him the trouble. Then a cry came over the radio, and what it said chilled him. “AIRCRAFT ALARM-EAST!” He looked out the hatch and saw smoke trails descending on him.

Guru lined up the tanks in his pipper, and to his surprise, his RWR repeater was quiet, and there was no flak coming up. Ivan had been caught fat, dumb, and happy. Their mistake, and they won't live to regret it. “Where's the damned flak?” He asked.

“Complaining?” Goalie asked from the back seat.

“Not at all. Steady, steady.....HACK!” He hit the pickle button and a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off 512's racks. He pulled wings level and headed off towards the west, and I-30. “Lead's off safe”

The Soviet regimental commander watched as an F-4 unloaded cluster munitions on his regiment, and he saw a number of tanks erupt in fireballs, or skid to a stop, their treads broken by the bomblets. Several tank commanders tried to fire at the attacker as it headed off to the west, but it was no use. Then he saw a second F-4 coming in....


“SHACK!” Goalie called. “Got some secondaries.” That meant they had killed some tanks.

“Good enough,” Guru said as he headed for I-30. As he did so, he saw several A-10s and A-7s working the area to the west, and more fireballs erupting on the ground. Ivan may have had a good morning, but the rest of the day would not be so pleasant.

Kara made her call as she rolled in. “Two's in!” As she rolled down the chute, she saw the Rockeyes the CO had unloaded go off, and a number of tanks erupt in fireballs. A few tracers suddenly started to come up, either from tank machine guns or ZU-23s mounted on either trucks or BTR-152s. Not enough, Ivan....Kara lined up on more tanks, and then hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Another dozen CBUs came down on the Soviet armor....

“Disperse!” The Regimental Commander yelled into his radio. His tankers, either overage reservists or boys fresh out of the training division, were in combat for the first time, and it was showing. Then a second F-4 came in from the east, and put its bombs onto the tanks of his 3rd Battalion. Several more IS-3Ms erupted in fireballs, while one came to a stop, a bomblet having scored a freak hit on the tank's main gun, blowing the 122-mm gun in two.

“Good hits!” Brainiac called from Kara's back seat. “There's some secondaries.”

“Anything coming behind us?” Kara asked. She meant SAMs.

“Nada.”

“Their bad day,” Kara replied as she headed for the rendezvous.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She rolled in, and as she came down the chute, saw some tanks and APCs together. That meant a command group. Fine by me, she thought as she lined the vehicles up in her pipper. And like Guru, she was wondering about the flak-or lack thereof. “Where's god-dammed flak?” She asked Preacher.

Her WSO smiled underneath his oxygen mask. Though one shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, he felt that in combat, there had to be an exception. “Maybe the Army took them out?”

“They did the Air Force a favor,” Sweaty said as she hit the pickle button. “HACK!” More Rockeyes came down on the Soviet armor. As Sweaty pulled away, she called, “Three off target.”

“You idiots!” The Soviet regimental commander yelled into his radio. “I said disperse!” Now, his command group had pulled up in their APCs and another IS-3M, and were acting, in his mind, like cowardly sheep. Then his Zampolit, riding in an APC next to his tank, yelled. “AIRCRAFT!” and pointed to the east. Another F-4 was coming in, and as it came over, more cluster bombs came off. The Major dropped into his tank and closed the hatch. It wasn't enough, as he heard screams and explosions as bomblets went off, and then two bomblets struck the thin top armor of his tank. Their shaped-charge warheads burned through the top armor-and him. The last thing he heard was his crew screaming as the tank's ammo began to burn, and then exploded.....

“Good hits!” Preacher yelled at Sweaty.

“Good enough?”

The ex-seminary student replied, “A couple of somebodies just went up.”

“Righteous!” Sweaty said as she headed for the rendezvous point.


Hoser rolled in. “Four's in!” He rolled in as Sweaty pulled off target. Now, he saw some flak coming up, and even a couple of SAMs, either Grails or SA-9s, coming up at him. Those old missiles didn't have all-aspect seekers, and they flew right on by. He lined up some more tanks in his pipper, while KT, his backseater, ducked involuntarily as one of the SAMs passed very close to their bird. “HACK!” Hoser called as he hit the pickle button, and more Rockeyes came down on the Soviet armor.


For the 698th Regiment's 1st Battalion, a bad day had just gotten worse. The battalion commander had just been killed by an anti-tank missile, and the company commanders were arguing on the radio over who should take the battalion forward. None of them had gotten along at all in training, and with no one senior above them to give orders, they were still arguing. No one saw Hoser's F-4 until it was too late, and CBU bomblets rained down on the stalled tanks. Several tanks fireballed, including one of the company commanders.....

“SHACK!” KT called.

“Good hits?” Hoser asked as he took his F-4 to the rendezvous point.

“Got some,” came the reply. Then another SAM passed very close to their plane, and she ducked again as the missile flew by.


“Covey Two-eight-two, Corvette One-one.” Guru called the FAC. “Four birds in and out. We are RTB at this time.”

“Copy that, Corvette. I give you guys one hundred percent bombs on target. Nice job, fella.” Covey replied.

“Thank you. Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's go,” Guru said.

“On your wing,” Kara replied, and both Guru and Goalie looked at their Four O'clock. Kara's 520 was there in combat spread.

“Three and Four right behind you,” Sweaty said.

“Copy that, Sweaty,” Guru said. “Form up and let's go home.”

The four F-4s joined up and cleared the area, and as they climbed to altitude, a voice came on over the radio. “Corvette Lead, Cobra Lead. Mind if we join you?” It was Dave Golen, and he and Sandi Jenkins pulled up alongside.

“Not at all, Cobra,” Guru replied. “Get any?”

“Negative,” Golen replied. “No one came up to play.”

“Their problem, Cobra Lead,” Kara said.

The impromptu six-ship headed back to Sheppard, with Cobra Flight behind Corvette, a couple miles in trail and a thousand feet above. Given what had happened on several past occasions, Dave Golen thought it was a good idea to tag along behind the CO's flight. Only this time, everyone was disappointed that the MiGs didn't come up.

When they got back to Sheppard, both flights had to wait as several outbound flights, both 335th and Marine, had priority. Then they got into the pattern and landed. As the CO taxied 512 toward its revetment, he told Goalie, “One and done for the day.”

“Yeah, but how many more? Did you see all that armor?”

“Even a blind man could have seen all those tanks,” replied Guru. “But where was the flak? Hardly anything came up.”

“No Shilkas? I'll take that any day,” Goalie said.

“Join the club,” Guru said. He then taxied 512 into its revetment and got the “Shut Down” signal from Sergeant Crowley. He and Goalie then popped their canopies and raised them, as the ground crew came with the crew ladder. Both pilot and GIB did a quick post-flight walk-around, then Guru turned to his Crew Chief. “Sergeant, she's working like a champ. No problems or issues. Get her turned around.”

Sergeant Crowley was beaming. Anytime “his” plane came back without any holes was a good time. “You got it, Major! Okay, people!” The Crew Chief turned to the ground crew. “Let's get her ready to go again! NOW, PEOPLE!”

Guru and Goalie then went over to the end of the revetment, and found Kara, Sweaty, and the rest of their flight gathered there, and were joined by Dave Golen, Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs. “How'd it go?”

“Where'd they get those old tanks?” Sweaty asked. “Some of those looked like IS-2s or -3s from World War II or the '50s.”

“IS-3s,” Dave Golen said. “My older brother fought in Sinai in 1967 as an M-48 tank commander. They faced Egyptian IS-3s. Hit some myself in 1973.”

Kara looked at Golen, then her CO. “That's what? Ivan's fourth or fifth string?”

“Something like that,” KT said.

Then a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup pulled up to the group, and both Capt Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, and Capt. Darren Licon, the Intel Officer, got out. “Don?” The Major asked. “What's up with you and Darren?”

“Lunch will have to wait, Major. You guys are going back out. As soon as you're turned around,” the Ops Officer said.

“WHAT?”

“You guys saw it. That was a two-division attack going in, and the Army's hollering for more air support. Both Corvette and Camaro flights are going back there,” Van Loan replied.

“Okay, Don. Darren, who are we facing?” the CO asked.

“Two divisions from 1st Guards Army,” Licon replied. “Both are Mobilization-Only outfits. So no radar SAMs, or if they do, they're the oldest SA-6 or SA-8s they have.”

“We didn't pick up anything on the RWR gear,” Kara pointed out.

“Assume they're there,” the Intel said. “How'd you guys do?”

“Made some tanks go away,” Guru said. “Pretty much the same for all of us.”

“I think I hit a command group,” Sweaty added. “A couple of tanks, plus some APCs around them? Had to be.”

“Either a regimental level or maybe a divisional HQ on the move,” Licon nodded. “The Army's going to appreciate that. Watch for Hogs, A-7s, Marines, the works. This is shaping up into a decent brawl.” The intel looked at the pilots. “Could you show where you made your runs, please?” He spread out a TPC chart of the area on the hood of the truck, and the crews did so. “All right, sir. I'll write it up. Armor hit with secondaries noted, and possible command group taken out. Oh, and Major? There's some bottled water in the truck.”

“Get a drink, folks, and hit the latrine,” the CO said. “It'll have to do until we get back.” He picked up a bottle of water and promptly drained half of it.

The others took his advice, then Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, the Maintenance Officer, came over. “Major? Your flight and Major Golen's are good to go. Twelve Rockeyes each bird, and air-to-air unchanged.”

“Thanks, Kev,” Guru said. “All right, people, listen up! Same drill as this last one. Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss,” Sweaty said, while the others nodded.

“Any questions?”

“What about MiGs? Sandi Jenkins asked.

“MiG activity's been light, because of the weather,” Licon replied. “Same for their attack helos. That will change as the afternoon wears on and the weather clears.”

“That answer your question, Sandi?” Guru asked, and the response was a grin from ear to ear.

“I'd say it does,” Golen said.

The CO looked at them, then the rest of his flight, and both Kara and Hoser had matching grins. “No trolling for MiGs, people. Air-to-mud is tops right now. If somebody crashes the party, fine. But that's it. Understood?” Heads nodded in the affirmative.

“Major?” Van Loan said. “Be careful. The Exec's not here to say it, so I will. And good luck.”

“You too,” Guru said. “You headed that way?”

“As soon as they finish loading Mavericks,” Van Loan replied. His flight would be loaded with six AGM-65s each to take on armor from standoff range.

“Okay, we might see you up there. Pass this to everyone headed that way. If they're hit? Get their asses north of I-30 if they can. The Army'll pick them up.”

“Will do.”

“All right,” the CO turned to Dave Golen. “See you guys up there.”

“We'll be up there,” Golen replied, then he and Sandi, along with their GIBs, headed for their aircraft.

“Anything else?” Guru asked his flight.

Kara looked at him. “We doing this all afternoon?”

“We just might,” replied Guru. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right, let's hit it.”

The crews headed to mount their aircraft, and as 512's crew went back to their aircraft, Staff Sergeant Crowley was waiting for them. “Major, she's ready to go.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru replied. He and Goalie did a quick walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. As they did their preflight, he told Goalie, “Too bad our guests are busy. They'd love to see this.”

“Maybe they'll get out early,” Goalie said.

“Maybe.” Guru replied. He got the “Start engines” signal from Sergeant Crowley. One, then both, J-79 engines started up, and after the run-up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to runway Three-Three Left. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower.”

The ground crew pulled back the chocks, and Guru released the brakes. He taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he did, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute. He and Goalie returned it, and the CO led his flight to the runway. There, they held so that the armorers could remove weapon safeties. “Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Whenever you are,” Goalie replied. “All set back here.”

Guru nodded, then called the Tower for permission to taxi for takeoff. It came quickly, and he taxied onto the runway, and Kara taxied 520 right alongside his aircraft. She gave her flight lead a thumbs-up, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting clearance for takeoff.”

The tower didn't respond, but flashed a green light in reply. Clear for takeoff.

“Here we go,” Guru said as he pulled his canopy down, and Goalie did the same. He looked at 520 and saw Kara and Brainiac pull their canopies down. Then he applied full power, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara right behind him. Then Sweaty and Hoser followed, and a minute later, Cobra Flight followed the CO's into the air.

[Matt Wiser]

Part IX: Another CAS Run...


Over North-Central Texas, near Greenville, 1245 Hours Central War Time:



Corvette Flight was orbiting at 15,000 feet, just north of Greenville. When they got to the orbit point, Hillsboro had simply told them, “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.” Ahead of the flight were Marine F-4s, some 335th F-4s, Marine and AF Skyhawks, Navy and AF A-7s, even Marine Intruders. Clearly, this was a maximum effort, and given that the Army down below was being hit by two Soviet divisions, Ivan was definitely going to feel some serious hurt this day.

As he descended, and with a glance above showing more aircraft coming into the pattern above, Guru remarked, “Feels like a traffic jam.”

“Haven't had one of those in a while,” Goalie said. “Not since PRAIRIE FIRE. Remember Highway 287?”

“Yeah, when Ivan was running south towards Wichita Falls from Amarillo. Those guys were in anything and everything with wheels and tracks, trying to get away.”

“And a lot of 'em didn't,” Goalie reminded him.

“Yep,” Guru said, remembering a whole day of strikes on Soviets, Cubans, and others trying to escape the rampage of Sixth Army during that operation.

Then Sweaty called him. “Lead, Three. Any word?”

“Just follow me,” Guru replied. “You heard Hillsboro.”

“Lead, I did. Just hate waiting.”

“Join the club, Three,” Guru replied. Then he called Hillsboro. “Hillsboro, Corvette One-one. Say tasking?”

“Stand by one, Corvette,” the ABCCC controller replied. A minute passed, then he came back. “Corvette One-one, contact Nail Six-two for tasking.”

“Roger, Hillsboro,” Guru replied. “Nail Six-two, Corvette One-one.”

“Corvette, Nail,” the FAC replied. The Nail call sign was a dead giveaway it was an airborne FAC, probably in an A-7K. “Say aircraft and type of ordnance.”

“Nail, Corvette has four Foxtrot-Four Echoes with twelve Rockeyes each bird. Full cannon load and air-to-air.”

“Copy, Corvette. Target is a concentration of armor at the Route 34-FM 1564 interchange.”

“Roger, Nail,” replied Guru. “Can you mark the target?”

“Affirmative, Corvette,” the FAC replied. “How many passes can you give me?”

“One pass only, Nail.” Guru told the FAC. “Say air defense threat?”

'Corvette, threat is mixed. Some guns, some missiles.”

“Copy, Nail, Making run South to North.” Guru said as he led the flight past 7,000 feet.

“Your call, Corvette,” the FAC said as his A-7 orbited, then rolled in and fired two WP rockets. As he did, some AAA fire came up, but exploded well behind the A-7. “There's your target area.”

“Roger,” Guru said as he made a 180 turn to line up on the target area. He then called Goalie on the intercom. “Set it up. Everything in one pass.”

“Got it,” his GIB replied. “All set.”

“Roger that. Flight, Lead,” Guru called the flight. “Follow me in. Switches on, music on, and time to go to work.” That meant arm their weapons and turn on their ECM pods.

“Two copies,” Kara.

“Three's ready,” Sweaty.

“Four, copy,” Hoser.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Born ready,” Goalie replied.

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “Lead's in hot!” Guru then rolled in on his attack run.


Down below, the acting commander of the 70th Tank Division, a Colonel who had been pulled from a teaching position at the Kharkov Guards Higher Tank Command School and sent to the division, was having a fit. He had always taught his students never to attack without proper maps, and to his fury, the only maps available were American maps from the local area, and while they showed the local roads, the maps did not show the terrain. The Colonel had gone forward, as the eyes and ears of the Divisional Commander, only to be told over the radio that the Divisional Command Post had been hit by an air strike, and everyone there was either dead or seriously wounded. The Divisional Commander was among the dead, and so the Colonel was now in command. He decided to lead the division's attack from the front, and had watched as the 698th Tank Regiment and the 1124th Motor-Rifle Regiment had led the division's attack, only to run into American armor and anti-tank missile fire that, along with air strikes and enemy attack helicopters, had cut both regiments to ribbons. His command tank, an IS-3M, pulled up to where the remnants of a battalion from the 698th were gathered, and a Captain was trying to rally the men. The Colonel pulled up and asked the Captain how his efforts were going.

“Comrade Colonel, I never thought I'd be doing this again. I went through something like this back in May. At Wichita,” the Captain said, not caring a bit if he sounded insubordinate or defeatist. He had come from the 12th Guards Tank Division, a unit that had been shattered at Wichita, and pulled out of the line to refit and reorganize. But he had been sent to this unit, along with several other officers, to give them the benefit of combat-experienced officers in key positions.

“Comrade Captain, do your best,” the Colonel said. His Zampolit, a Captain younger than the tank officer, tapped him on the shoulder. “Yes?”

“Comrade Commander, request permission to form blocking detachments with the KGB troops and the GRU Field Security Unit. We must take steps to combat cowardice.” The Party man said.

“Comrade Zampolit....” the Colonel started to say, then the sound of an aircraft came over, then two White Phosphorous rockets exploded among the tanks. He knew right away what that meant. “AIR ALARM!”

Guru rolled in, and as he did, he saw several tanks and APCs at the intersection. Command group? Might be. Sweaty probably killed a regimental commander this morning, he thought. This might be a divisional commander.....He lined a tank and APC in his pipper, then hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Twelve Rockeye CBUs came off of 512.

“Take cover!” the Captain yelled, then jumped into a roadside drainage ditch. His men jumped into the ditch, or bomb and shell craters. Anyplace but their tanks. He knew from experience what was coming as Guru's F-4 flew past, and the Cluster munitions came off the aircraft. He ducked his head as the bomblets exploded, killing not just APCs, but tanks.

“SHACK!” Goalie yelled. “We got some tanks!”

“Secondaries?” Guru said as he beat a path for I-30.

“Got some!” Goalie said. Then she turned her head as an SA-7 flew past 512. “Whoa!”

“Saw it,” Guru said. “Lead's off target,” he called.

“Copy that, Lead,” Kara called. “Two's in!” She rolled 520 in for her attack run.


The Colonel was stunned. The General had been told they'd been promised air cover and air support, and it was nowhere to be seen. His air-defense assets, weak to begin with, had been hit by enemy air strikes and attack helicopters, and now, he was being hit from the air again. The ZSU-57s that had provided AA defense for the tank regiment, and the BTR-152s with ZU-23s that had done the same for the MR regiment, had been hunted down by American attack helicopters and knocked out. The Colonel waved for his command group to move forward. Get out of the Americans' kill zone as quickly as possible. Then a tank commander began firing to the south. More American aircraft were coming in.

“Steady....” Kara said as she saw the small group of tanks and APCs pull away from where Guru had dropped his bombs. “Steady....and HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and a dozen more CBUs fell onto the Russians. She pulled 520 away, and called, “Two's off.”

The Colonel dropped into his IS-3M and closed the hatch, ordering his driver to hit the gas and move forward. He and his crew heard the explosions all around as the bomblets exploded, and then two large explosions as either tanks or APCs went up. Then there was an explosion behind him. And then another. CBU bomblets had hit the engine deck and external fuel tanks. “Out!” he ordered. The crew popped the hatches, but before they could do so, the fuel tanks exploded, which also set off the ammunition.....the last thing he felt was the heat....

“Good hits!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat. “Got some secondaries.”

“Good enough,” Kara said as she followed the CO north. She kept her head on a swivel, checking for any Grails or AAA tracers as she headed to I-30.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she rolled in. She noticed more armor coming up along Route 34, and since they were coming into the target area.....Sweaty checked her RWR, and it was clear. No radar-guided guns or missiles around. Good. This looked like a tank regiment on a road march.....bad day, Ivan..She lined up the lead vehicles in the column in her pipper and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Twelve Rockeye CBUs fell onto the lead battalion of the 699th Tank Regiment. “Three's off target!” Sweaty called as she pulled out and headed north.

The Captain stuck his head out of the ditch, and saw the Colonel's tank and the command APCs burning, with the tank turret blown off. He didn't know who was in command of the division now, and frankly, he didn't care. Then he saw what looked like a fresh regiment moving up along this Route 34, and then another F-4 came in. Not wanting to see what happened, he got back into the ditch as Sweaty's F-4 came over and then past him.

“SHACK!” Preacher called. “Good hits!”

“Got some tanks?” Sweaty asked as she headed north.

“Got some!”

“Time to go,” Sweaty said, heading for I-30 and the rendezvous, not noticing the SA-7 that flew past their aircraft.


Hoser then rolled in. “Four in hot!” He called, seeing where Sweaty had laid down her bombs, and there was still plenty of armor behind that. He lined up some tanks in his pipper and hit the pickle button. “HACK!”

The First Battalion, 699th Tank Regiment, had been ordered to pass through the 698th and continue the attack north, and retake the airport south of Greenville. The battalion commander, a Captain who had been with the division since its mobilization in 1986, watched as Sweaty's F-4 flew over his battalion command group and put its bombs on the lead company. After the company commander didn't respond on the radio, he moved his command group forward to rally the survivors, and found the company commander's tank a burning wreck. The senior platoon leader, a junior lieutenant fresh from an officer's training course at the University in Donetsk, seemed to have the situation in hand, even if he was shouting orders right out of the manual. Then he heard the sound of an aircraft, and then many small explosions around his tank. Then suddenly, he felt heat all around him, then his tank exploded as a fuel fire started by a CBU bomblet hitting his fuel tanks exploded the tank's ammunition storage.

KT yelled from the back seat, “Great hits!”

“Good ones?” Hoser asked.

“Got secondaries,” came the reply.

“Copy that,” Hoser said. “Four's off target.” He, too, headed for I-30, then the rendezvous.

The Captain from the 698th heard Hoser's F-4 fly past, then a number of explosions. When the sound of the aircraft had faded, he and his men stood up, out of their trench. They looked around and saw IS-3Ms and BMPs either burning, or disabled and abandoned by their crews. He also looked at where the battalion command group had been, and the command APC was a burning wreck. At least that useless Party hack went up with it, he thought. As the tanks from the 699th passed by, he saw the expressions on the commanders' faces. Their first combat, and it's a repeat of Wichita. Shaking his head, he went back to trying to get some order in what was left of his battalion.


“Four in, four out,” Goalie said from 520's back seat.

“Copy that,” Guru said as I-30 passed beneath them. “Flight, Lead. Meet up over Lavon Lake.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called. “Right in with you.”

Guru turned in his cockpit and saw 520 right with him in combat spread. “Sweaty, you there?”

“Behind you, Lead.” Sweaty replied.

“Copy,” Guru said. “Nail, how'd we do?”

“Corvette, Nail. I give you a four-decimal-zero. Nice work, fella,” the FAC called.

“Roger that,and thanks. We are RTB,” Guru said as Sweaty and Hoser joined up, and then they headed northwest towards Wichita Falls.

“Corvette Lead, Cobra Lead,” Dave Golen called. “Mind if we join you?”

“Come on in,” Guru said, and he saw Dave's and Sandi's Phantoms come in slightly behind and above them. Golen was in the top cover slot, and for that, he was thankful. “How'd you guys do?”

“No kills,” Golen said. “The MiGs are not coming.”

“We'll talk on the ground,” Guru said.

A few minutes later, they were in the traffic pattern for Sheppard. Guru contacted the tower, and they were told to wait, as a battle-damaged F-4 had priority in the pattern. He watched the cripple come in, and the SEA scheme told him it was a 335th bird. Then the rest of that flight landed on an adjacent runway, then it was their turn. Corvette flight came in and landed, and as they taxied towards their dispersal area, they could see that it was Mark Ellis' bird, 519. The flight then taxied into their revetments, with the canopies raised.

When Guru arrived at 512's revetment, he taxied in, then Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, gave the “Shut down” signal. Guru shut down the engines, then the ground crew came up with the crew ladder, and put the chocks around the wheels. “Good one,” he said after taking off his helmet and standing up.

“Killed some more tanks,” Goalie said. “Want to bet we'll be doing that all afternoon?”

“No bets. That's a given,” Guru said as he climbed down from the front office, and Goalie followed.

“How'd it go, Major?” Sergeant Crowley asked.

“Killed more tanks,” Guru said. “And no battle damage. Get 512 turned around ASAP, Sergeant. We'll be at this all afternoon, looks like.”

“Yes, sir!” His Crew Chief replied. “You heard the Major! Let's get this bird ready to go!” Crowley shouted at the ground crew.

Guru and Goalie went to the revetment entrance, and found Kara there with Brainiac, and they were soon joined by Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT. “Well?”

“Killed more tanks,” Kara said, and the rest of them nodded. “We doing this the rest of the day?”

“Even money bet,” Major Wiser said. Then Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins, with their GIBs, came over. “Dave, how'd things go with you?”

“Killed some FROG rocket launchers,” Golen said. “The FAC said they were the old tracked ones.”

“Not anymore,” Sandi added. “They went up pretty good.”

Then the XO and the Intel Officer arrived in a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup. “Major,” Mark Ellis said.

“What happened with you, Mark?” The CO asked.

“Took an SA-7 in the outer wing panel, the one that folds on a Navy bird,” Ellis said. “Didn't go off, though. Kev O'Donnell says it's a two hour job to patch the hole.”

“Okay, Bryan has your second element, right?” The CO was referring to 1st Lt. Bryan Woods.

“He does, and let me guess: he's going out as a two-ship?”

Guru nodded.

“Fair enough,” Ellis said.

“Major,” Capt. Darren Licon, the SIO, asked. “Can you guys debrief here? Then you guys can go eat.”

“Might as well, since you're here,” the CO said. “Made some tanks go away.”

The Intel unfolded a TPC map and laid it on the hood of the pickup. “Could you show me where, please?”

Guru, then the other pilots, showed him. “Lot of tanks there,” the CO nodded.

“Target-rich environment,” Sweaty added, and the others nodded.

“Any flak?” Licon asked.

The CO shook his head. “Hardly any,”

“Saw a couple SA-7s, though,” Kara said.

“Major Golen? How'd things go with you?” Licon asked.

“Killed some FROG rocket launchers,” Golen said, pointing to the location on the map.

“Got the resupply trucks,” Sandi added.

“Thanks, everyone,” the Intel said. “I'll get these off to Tenth Air Force.”

The CO nodded, then drained a bottle of water. “What's next, Mark? Or have you been inside yet?”

“Not yet, but Licon says the Marines have chow ready. Fried Chicken with Cole Slaw and French Fries” Ellis said.

“Okay, people, let's take a deep breath, get something to eat, then we're going back out,” Major Wiser said. “Just like PRAIRIE FIRE.”

Kara nodded. “At least we won't be pulling a seven-mission day,” she quipped.

“Never say never,” Sweaty poked her in the elbow.

“Let's go, people,” Major Wiser nodded. “Get some food, something to drink, then we're back at it.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part X: The CAS Routine keeps on going:


335th TFS Operations, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1330 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat at his desk, going over some paperwork, while Ratt's Round and Round played on his radio, which was tuned to Shadoe Stevens' midday show on AFN. Even though he and his flight had had a quick lunch, the ongoing war with “the other enemy”, namely, the AF bureaucracy, never stopped. Though most of those parasites had slithered away when the balloon went up, there were still enough to cause trouble and get in the way of fighting the war. Once he was finished, and put the material in his OUT box, there was a knock on his office door. “Show yourself and come on in!”

Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, came in. “Got a few things for you,” he told the CO.

“Lay it on me,” Major Wiser said.

“First, our....guests are now cleared for their backseat rides. Doc Waters OK'd them physically, while Master Sergeant Madden gave them their parachute and ejection training.” Master Sgt. Leo Madden was the NCOIC of the 335th Life Support Shop.

“Well, that's out of the way,” the CO said. “Their ride, though, may have to wait. What else?”

“Van Loan's back,” Ellis reported. “He's with the Intel right now.”

“They sent him out with Mavericks, right?” The CO asked, and the Exec nodded. “Well, not often we're on the ground and Kara's running the Ops office.” Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace was not only his wingmate, but the Assistant Ops Officer.

Ellis laughed. “She does do a good job as Assistant Ops Officer.”

“That she does,” admitted the CO. “If, and I do mean if, anything happens to Don, the Ops Office is in good hands. Anything else?”

“Ross has found your first item. It'll be here on tomorrow's C-141.”

The CO grinned. “He found a Pave Tack pod.”

“He did,” the XO said. “How he did, and how he managed to get it shipped here, I have no idea.”

'Leave the scroungers be, Mark,” Major Wiser said. “Still no word on a PAO?”

“Not yet, and I did ask.”

“Tell him to keep trying,” the CO nodded. “That it?”

“Your flight's bombed up and ready to go. So is Dave Golen's.”

“Looks like time to go, then,” Major Wiser said, standing up. “Guess I'll get us a mission.”

“Good luck,” Ellis said as he held open the office door.

“Thanks, Mark. Tell Kev O'Donnell to light a fire on the BDR guys and get your bird mission-ready.”

“Will do.”


Major Wiser went over to the Ops Desk, where Capt. Don Van Loan had just arrived. “Don, how'd it go?”

The Ops Officer nodded. “Six Maverick shots, six hits. Killed us some tanks and APCs. You guys killed some IS-3s, right?'

“We did,” Kara said.

“Okay, you guys went in on a tank division. We got sent only a few miles west, and went after a motor-rifle division. Old stuff: T-54s and open-topped BTRs. No radar SAMs or Triple-A. Another flight went in on some towed artillery that was set up to fire. Old stuff as well.”

The CO looked at his Ops Officer. “What's the term? Mobilization-only division for those guys?”

“Something like that,” Capt. Darren Licon, the Intelligence Officer, said as he came by.

“Okay,” Major Wiser said. “Kara, what have we got?”

“CAS,” Kara said as she handed the CO a paper. “Every squadron in MAG-11's committed to that until sunset.”

“Okay, round up the gang, tell them to gear up, and we'll meet at 512,” the CO told his wingmate. “Find Dave Golen and have him and his people do the same.”

“Will do, and I'm gone.” Kara said as she got up and went to corral the rest of the CO's flight.

“Don, any MiGs?” Major Wiser asked.

“BARCAP's keeping them at bay for now, but some leakers are a given,” the Ops Officer said. “Helos are around too. Saw an Army AH-1 shoot down a Hip while we were there.”

“Good to hear, Don,” Major Wiser said. “And time to go.”

“Good luck, Boss.”

“Thanks,” replied the CO. He then went to the locker room to gear up, and he found his GIB, 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, waiting for him outside. “Ready?”

“More CAS?” she asked.

“More CAS,” Major Wiser nodded. “Be busy with it the rest of the day.”

“Well, let's get it over with.”

The two headed on out, and went over to the revetment where 512, the CO's bird, was parked. They found the rest of their flight there, as well as Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer”, with his wingmate 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins, and their respective GIBs. “Okay, people, listen up.”

“Let me guess: CAS,” 1st. Lt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard, his second element leader, said.

'If you were hoping Kara was wrong, you're mistaken,” the CO said. “CAS is the order of the day, and we're committed to it the rest of the afternoon.”

“Swell, Boss.”

“Okay, listen up,” Major Wiser said. “Dave, you're not technically in the flight, but you're headed the same way. Come in behind us.”

“Will do, Guru,” Golen replied. Guru was the CO's call sign.

The CO nodded, then glanced over to his aircraft. The ordnance load was the same as they had in the two morning runs, namely, twelve Rockeye Cluster Bombs: Three on each inner wing station, and six on the centerline MER rack. “Okay, we could be going after anything: armor, artillery, APCs, supply vehicles, whatever. Be advised that MiGs are now active. BARCAP's keeping them away for the most part, but there's always leakers. Helos are also reported, and if you do engage a helo? Make sure of the ID, because Army choppers are up, too. Weather's improving, and the usual divert fields and bailout areas are the same as the morning. Ditto for tanker tracks.”

“Same drill otherwise?” 1st Lt. Nathan “Hoser” West, Sweaty's wingman, asked.

“You got it,” Major Wiser said. “Call signs between flight members, mission code to other parties. Now, we could get a hot turnaround when we get back, because as I said, we're committed to CAS until sunset.”

“Lovely,” Kara said. “Haven't had one of those for a while.”

“If it happens, we're due,” Major Wiser said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no on that. “Okay,” the CO said, clapping his hands once. “Let's hit it. Mount up.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie went to 512, where Staff Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru nodded.

“Major,” Crowley said. “512's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did a quick walk-around, then got strapped in and began their preflight. As they did, Crowley climbed up the crew ladder. “What's up, Sergeant?”

“Sir, you guys have been kicking ass and taking names all day. Keep it up, sir, if you don't mind my saying,” the Crew Chief said.

“We'll do that, Sergeant, and I don't mind at all,” Guru said.

Nodding, the Crew Chief smiled as he got back down, and he took the crew ladder with him.

“They don't get enough credit,” Goalie said as she went through the preflight.

“Not enough,” Guru admitted. “They work longer than we do. And we can't fly without 'em,” he added, referring to the ground crews.

“True that,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom,” Guru replied. “Check yours. We're ready.”

“We are. Preflight complete and time for engine start.”

Guru nodded, then gave Sergeant Crowley the thumbs-up. Then he saw the Crew Chief give the “Start Engines” signal. One, then both, of 512's J-79 engines were quickly up and running. Once the warm-up was done, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, requesting clearance for taxi and takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower, Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Three Left. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Lead rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up, the ground crew pulled the chocks away from the wheels, and Crowley signaled him to taxi. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he did, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute. Both pilot and GIB returned it, then Guru taxied 512 to the runway, with the others following. They held prior to the runway so the armorers could remove the weapon safeties, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting permission to taxi for takeoff.”

“Roger, Corvette Lead, clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-eight-two at ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara in 520 followed. “Ready?” He asked Goalie.

“Let's go,” she replied. “Get it done.”

“Tower, Corvette Flight requesting clearance for takeoff.”

The tower replied by flashing a green light. Clear for takeoff.

Guru replied by closing his canopy, and Goalie did the same. He looked to his Four, and saw Kara and Brainiac doing the same. That done, he went to afterburner, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Sweaty and Hoser followed, and a minute later, it was Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins' turn.


Over North-Central Texas, 1345 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight had refueled from the tankers over Oklahoma, and was now waiting in the CAS Que over Farmersville, Texas. It had been the same as the previous two missions that morning. “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn,” Hillsboro had told Guru when he checked in. Now, as they descended, the crews in Corvette Flight could see other CAS missions going in, fireballs erupting on the ground, and Army helicopters going about their business, whether it was tank-busting or dustoff. When they cleared 10,000 feet, Guru called Hillsboro. “Hillsboro, Corvette One-one. Any trade for us?”

“Stand by, Corvette,” Hillsboro said, and Guru could tell there was a hint of disgust in the controller's voice.

“Want to bet every flight lead today has asked that question?” Goalie asked.

“No, because that's a given,” Guru replied.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “How close are we to showtime?”

“Not long, Three,” Guru replied.

“Corvette Lead, Hillsboro. Contact Nail Six-six for tasking,” the EC-130 controller said. “Good luck.”

“Roger that, Hillsboro, Nail Six-six, and thank you.” Guru then called the FAC. “Nail Six-six, Corvette One-one.”

“Corvette, Nail. Say your ordnance and type of aircraft,” the FAC replied.

“Nail, Corvette has four Foxtrot-Four Echoes with twelve Rockeyes each airplane, full air-to-air and guns,” Guru called back. “What's the target?”

“Corvette, got some armor for you. Moving northeast past the F.M. 36-F.M. 2275 junction. Regimental strength at least, mixed tanks and APCs,” Nail replied.

“Copy that, Nail. Say threat?”

“Threat is mixed. Negative radar missiles, but IR, and no radar Triple-A. Lots of 23-mike-mike, though.”

“Roger that. Can give you one run only, south to north,” Guru replied.

“Your call, Corvette. Will mark with Willie-Pete,” the FAC said. The A-7K rolled in, and fired two rockets, and the WP exploded among the Soviet armor. “That's your target area,”

“Roger that,” Guru said. Then he checked his EW repeater. A radar came up, and there was a “4” next to the strobe. That meant an SA-4 radar was now active. “Nail, any Weasels around? Just had a SAM radar come up.”

“I've got it, Corvette. Will advise,” Nail replied.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and let's go to work.”

“Roger, Lead.” Kara replied.

“Three's ready,” Sweaty.

“Four, copy.” Hoser.

“All set back there?” Guru asked Goalie.

“We're set.” Goalie replied.

“Hang on,” Guru said. “Corvette Lead in hot!” He rolled the F-4, then went in on his attack run.


Below Corvette Flight, the 1261st Motor-Rifle Regiment from the 204th Motor-Rifle Division was moving forward. The regiment was moving, with the rest of the division, to counterattack the Americans who had taken the Greenville Airport, and to assist the 70th TD, The Regiment had been hit hard by air strikes, and not only had the regimental commander been killed, but his deputy, an overage Colonel, had suddenly dropped dead from a heart attack, and the Chief of Staff was now in command. Turning things over to his deputy, the new commander went forward, and found his three motor-rifle battalions moving forward, but with American aircraft and attack helicopters attacking his regiment. Ordering his battalion commanders to disregard the aircraft, and keep moving forward, Fireballs erupted as TOW missiles from the cursed AH-1s took out his BTR-152 gun trucks, which mounted ZU-23s as ADA vehicles, and even picked off the occasional T-54A tank. Peering through binoculars, he made out some writing in English on the side of one of the helicopters, and his Zampolit, who spoke fluent English, read it.

“It says, 'This girl eats T-80s,' Comrade Commander,”

“Hmpf,” the Commander replied. “Forward, you scum! Forward!”

Then the Zampolit turned to the rear of the BTR-60 command vehicle and pointed. “AIRCRAFT ALARM-SOUTH!

“What are you babbling about-” the Commander said, then he saw the chevron tails and the smoke trails. F-4 Phantoms were coming in, if his Air Force liaison officer was right. And they were headed right for his regiment.....”Deploy! NOW!”


“Steady...” Guru said. He lined up some tanks and APCs in his pipper. Looked like a battalion's worth of vehicles on the move. Then the armor began to deploy. He'd been spotted, likely. Not your day, Ivan.....Guru lined up some tanks and hit the pickle button. HACK!” A dozen Rockeye CBUs came off of 512's racks. “Lead's off target.”

The Soviet commander watched as Guru's F-4 flew over his command vehicle, and released its load of cluster bombs on his lead battalion and the tanks supporting it. He howled with anger when several T-54As and BTR-60s took hits from the CBUs. Some exploded at once, others simply caught fire, while a couple of tanks skidded to a halt, their tracks broken by the bomblets. “Don't stop! Keep moving!” he shouted into his throat mike.

“SHACK!” Goalie called as Guru pulled 512 up and away. “Got some secondaries!”

“Anyone shooting at us?” Guru asked as he headed north for I-30, then Lavon Lake.

“Nada.”


“Two in hot!” Kara called as she rolled 520 in. She saw Guru pull off, and fireballs erupt where he had deposited his CBUs. Noting some armor moving to the right of that, she made those vehicles her target. Lining up some APCs and tanks in her pipper, she was surprised to see no flak coming up. Maybe they don't have any, she thought. Bad day, Ivan....HACK!” She hit the pickle button and a dozen Rockeyes fell on the Soviet battalion......”Two's off safe.”

The Soviet Colonel watched with anger as a second F-4 rolled in, and hit his Third Battalion. More BTR-60Ps and a few T-54As fireballed as CBU bomblets did their deadly work, and to his anger, the air defense platoons were not firing their Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles. Several BTRs did stop, and their troops deployed, but they were more concerned with taking cover than in firing back. Ordering his battalion commanders to get their air defense assets into action, he roared for his regiment to keep moving, not noticing the second pair of F-4s coming in....

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as she followed the CO north.

“Got some, and nobody shooting at us,” he replied.

“Good enough for me,” Kara said as 520 cleared the I-30.


Sweaty rolled in on her run. “Three's in!” She called. Sweaty noticed some armor to the left of where Kara had made her run, and decided it was their turn. Lining them up in her pipper, she saw that no one was shooting at her, and that, she decided, made it a good run in her book. Sweaty lined up some APCs that had just stopped, and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Rockeye CBUs came off the racks, and as Sweaty pulled away, she called, “Three's off target.”

The Soviet commander watched in horror as his First battalion was hit this time, and several BTRs that had stopped to deploy their troops exploded under the rain of CBUs, He saw the F-4 that had done the deed pull away, leaving several burning BTRs and a couple of burning tanks in its wake, and numerous dead and maimed men. He pulled up to the Battalion Commander's vehicle, and ordered him forward. The Captain in command began to argue, and the two were still arguing, not noticing another F-4 coming in...

“SHACK!” Preacher called to Sweaty from the back seat.

“Good hits?” Sweaty asked as she headed for the rendezvous point.

“Good secondaries,” Preacher said.

“I'll take that,” Sweaty said as they cleared the I-30 freeway.


“Four's in!” Hoser called. He saw where the other three had laid down their ordnance, and he was looking for something that hadn't been hit. Then he saw some APCs moving together, which meant a command group. Good enough, he thought as he lined them up. Seeing that nobody was shooting at him was a bonus as he lined the APCs up. “HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, and released his CBUs. He then pulled away, and called, “Four off target.”

The Soviet Colonel was busy shouting at First Battalion's commander, completely oblivious to Hoser's F-4 coming in. He only saw the aircraft as it flew over, and a rain of CBUs came down around him. His command BTR took several bomblets and exploded as the fuel tank took a hit and fireballed. His last sensation was the heat, and he never knew if the screams he heard were the vehicle's crew or his own....

“GOOD HITS!” KT called. “Got some secondaries!”

“How many?” Hoser asked as he headed north.

“Enough!” KT replied. 'And nobody shooting at us.”

Hoser nodded as he headed for the I-30 and then the rendezvous point. A strike where nobody shot at you was always a good one, he thought.


Guru made it to Lavon Lake, and as he did, he saw 520 right with him. “Three, where are you?” He called Sweaty.

“Right on you,” she replied, and Guru could see Sweaty joining up, with Hoser's F-4 right behind.

“Nail, Corvette One-one. Four in and out. How'd we do?”

“Corvette, Nail, I give you one hundred percent bombs on target. Great job.” the FAC called back. “The Army says 'Thank you.'”

“Tell 'em 'You're welcome,'” Guru replied. “We are outbound and RTB.”

“Roger that, Corvette, and thanks again.”

As Corvette Flight formed up for the trip home, Cobra Flight came in behind them. “Corvette, Cobra, mind if we join you?” It was Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins.

“Come on in,” Guru said.

The six-ship then headed back to Sheppard, and after receiving clearance, got in the landing pattern. This time, they didn't have to wait, as they were first in, and the two flights came in and landed. As they taxied to their dispersal area, the crews popped their canopies, and raised them. The ground crews waved, and the crews waved back, and the crews also noticed their media guests were back, filming them as they taxied in. “Surprised?” Guru asked Goalie.

“No, now that they're cleared,” she replied. “We on the news tonight?”

“That's what she said,” Guru replied as he taxied 512 into its revetment. “Have to check AFN to see when the CBS Evening News is on.”

“And Walter Cronkite talks about us,” Goalie finished.

“We'll see,” Guru said. He saw Sergeant Crowley give him the “Shut down” signal, and he shut down the engines. The ground crew came with the crew ladder, as well as the chocks for the landing gear. After going though a quick postflight in the cockpit, Guru, then Goalie climbed out of the aircraft. They did a quick post-flight walk-around, then Guru called to Sergeant Crowley. “Nobody shot at us this time, Sergeant. Get 512 turned around ASAP.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “You heard him,” he told the ground crew.

Guru and Goalie then went to the edge of the revetment, and the other crews joined them there. Then Dave and Sandi, with their GIBs, came over. “How'd it go?” Guru asked.

“Pretty good, Boss,” Kara said. “Got some tanks,and nobody was shooting back.”

“I'll go along with that,” Sweaty added.

“Where were the guns?” Preacher asked. “Didn't see a single gun down there.”

Guru nodded. “That is a very good question. Maybe those AH-1s we saw had something to do with it. A TOW missile rips apart a ZSU-23 a lot better than it does a tank.”

A Dodge Crew-cab pickup pulled up to the revetment, and both the Exec and the Intel Officer got out. “Boss,” Mark Ellis said. “You guys have to debrief here. As soon as you're turned around, you're all going back out.”

“Haven't had that for a while,” Goalie said.

“No kidding,” the CO said. He turned to his Crew Chief. “Sergeant? How long on the turnaround?”

“Twenty minutes, sir,” Crowley replied. “Easy.”

“There we go, then,” Kara said.

“Just like PRAIRIE FIRE, remember?” Goalie asked. “Been a while, though.”

“It has,” Guru admitted. “So, we debrief here?”

“You do, sir,” Capt. Darren Licon, the SIO, said. He unfolded a TPC chart and a USGS map of the area in question. “Could you show where you hit, and what?”

“Tanks and APCs,” Guru said, showing the Intel on both maps where they had hit armor. “Right here, and nobody shot at us.”

“I'll second that,” Sweaty said. “No SAMs, no flak, nothing.”

“The rest of you agree?” Licon asked, and both Kara and Hoser nodded, along with the GIBs.

“Had an SA-4 radar come up before the bomb run,” added Guru. “The FAC said he'd call in Weasels.”

“What kind of armor?” Licon wanted to know.

“Old stuff,” Kara said, and the others nodded. “Looked like T-54s or -55s, and open-topped APCs.”

“BTR-60s or -152s,” said Licon. “All right, Major Golen?”

Their IDF “observer” pointed on the map. “Hit some artillery pieces, here. Just south of that regiment. Towed guns, and they were lined up, getting ready to fire.”

“Any secondaries?”

“With those ammo trucks going up?” Sandi Jenkins asked. “Those guys came back down-in pieces.”

“Had to ask,” Licon said. “Any MiGs?”

Golen shook his head sadly. “Not a one. No helicopters, either.”

“Same for us,” Guru said. “Only choppers we saw were friendlies, AH-1s. And only friendly aircraft.”

“Thanks, Major, everyone,” Licon said. “I'll write these up and get them off. “

The CO nodded. “Okay, Darren.” He then turned to his Exec. “It may be a half day, but it's a long one.”

“It is, Boss,” Ellis said. “Got some drinks in the truck, and sandwiches as well.”

“Marine roadkill sandwiches?” Preacher asked. “Whatever's in them has been dead for a while and can only improve with age.”

“Unless it's a BLT,” Kara said. “Then something in the tomato looks back at you,” and everyone laughed.

“Get something to eat, and something to drink, people,” Guru said with due seriousness. “Won't be long until it's time to go again,” he nodded, and pointed to 512, where the ordnance people were bringing Mark-82 five-hundred pound bombs to the aircraft.

“You heard him,” Dave Golen said, and everyone went to get a sandwich and some water. Guru waited, as he had to talk with the Exec.

“Mark, when are you going back out?”

“Kev O'Donnell says forty-five minutes,” Ellis said. “The repair's an easy one.”

“Okay,” Guru replied. “Keep things humming while I'm gone.”

“Will do,” Ellis said.

Guru nodded, then got himself a turkey sandwich and some water. While they ate, the crews watched other flights going in and coming back, and then Ms. Wendt and her camera crew came over. He asked the reporter, “How'd things go with you?”

“Getting poked and prodded for an hour was no fun, then the other training, though?” She replied. “That was more interesting.”

“Now you guys know what a flight physical's like,” Kara laughed. “With you, it's one and done. We have to have one every year.”

“Once is enough, thanks,” Wendt said. “Going back out, Major?” She asked the CO.

“Getting ready to,” Guru admitted. “Haven't had one of these in a while.”

“You should've been with us back in May,” Sweaty said. “Had three straight seven-mission days.”

“How was that?” the reporter asked.

“Day three?” Kara said. “They were lifting us out of the cockpit after the last mission because we were dead tired. Had the next day off, and slept for ten hours.”

“Hope it's not like that for tomorrow,” KT added.

While they were talking, Guru noticed Sergeant Crowley checking 512. Then he went to the other aircraft in the flight, and Cobra Flight's birds as well. Then the crew chief came back. “Sergeant?”

“Major, all of your flight are ready to go. Major Golen's birds as well,” the crew chief said.

“All right, people! Finish up, and get ready to fly.”

Everyone finished their sandwiches and water, then gathered around Guru for his final instructions. “Same drill, Boss?” Sweaty asked.

“Same drill,” Guru said. “Radio procedures, MiG threat, tanker tracks, and so on. Nothing's changed.”
He looked at Dave Golen. “Dave, you guys are a separate flight, but you might as well tag along with us until we call Hillsboro.”

“We'll be there,” Golen said.

“Okay, same rendezvous as last time: Lavon Lake. Anything else?” Guru asked.

“And we're at this until sunset,” Kara said. It wasn't a question.

“We are,” Guru nodded. “That it?” Heads nodded at that, then the CO clapped his hand.”All right, let's hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, while Mark Ellis and Kodak Griffith got the camera crew out of the way, as it would be pretty noisy in a few minutes.

“Everything set, Sergeant?” Guru asked his Crew Chief.

“All ready, Major. If you're wondering, the ordnance guys brought was was immediately available. They're not running low on CBUs, if that's what you're wondering.”

“Okay, Sergeant.” Guru said. He and Goalie did a quick walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. Their cockpit preflight was equally quick, and both thought that their RTU instructors would be apoplectic at that. After Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal, Guru started, then ran up, the two J-79 engines. Then it was time to taxi. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, request taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Left. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied, then it was time to taxi. After clearing the revetment, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. Guru taxied to the runway, and held for the armorers to remove the safeties. He then called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi. Winds are two-seven-three for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara did the same with 520. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clearance for takeoff.”

The Tower flashed the usual green light in response. Clear for takeoff.

Both crews closed their canopies, and the pilots ran their engines to full power and then afterburner. Then Guru released his brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara taking 520 right with him. Then it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, and after that, Dave Golen led Sandi Jenkins into the air.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 11: The day heats up as a pair of 335th crews take the big hit...


West of Greenville, Texas, 1515 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight had a quick trip back to the holding area, and after Guru had checked in with both AWACS and then Hillsboro, had been told to get in line. After getting in line at 25,000 feet, they had listened in to strikes going in, and were past 17,000 when they heard Dodge Flight, which was normally Mark Ellis' flight, but with his plane damaged, his second element had gone out as a two-ship, going in. The two Phantoms had just made their runs when Dodge Two-three, who was 1st Lt. Bryan Woods, called “Dodge Two-four is down.”

“Oh, shit!” Goalie said over the IC in 512.

“I'll second that,” Guru said. Then an SAR beeper came over the radio. “Somebody got out. Crystal Palace, Corvette One-one.”

The AWACS controller replied. “Corvette, Crystal Palace. We heard it. Jollys on the way.” That meant the HH-3 or HH-53 Jolly Green Giant rescue choppers.

'Roger that,” Guru replied. “Dodge Two-three, Corvette Lead. What happened?”

“Corvette, Dodge. Don't know, Boss,” Woods replied. “He called off target, then said he was taking fire. Next thing I hear is the beeper.”

“Copy that, Dodge. Hold at Lavon Lake if you have the fuel. If you can't, RTB.”

'Roger, Corvette. Will orbit.”

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “We going to help out?”

“Flight, Lead. Only if the FAC tells us we're needed. Still got a job to do.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara replied.

Three, copy,” Sweaty added.

“Four, Roger,” Hoser said.

They kept descending as others ahead of them got called in by FACs, and when Corvette Flight got to 10,000 feet, the ABCCC controller got a hold of Guru. “Corvette One-one, Hillsboro. We have tasking for you.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “What have you got?”

“Contact Nail Seven-one for tasking.”

“Copy, Nail Seven-one,” Guru replied. “Goalie, do me a favor.”

“Name it,” his GIB said.

“Use your radio and get on the CSAR frequency,” Guru said. “Try and listen in.”

“Will do,” Goalie replied.

“Nail Seven-one, Corvette Lead.”

“Corvette, Nail Seven-one, I copy. Say aircraft and type of ordnance, please.”

Nail, Corvette Flight is four Foxtrot-Four Echoes, with twelve Mark-8-2 Snakeyes and full air-to-air each airplane. Can give you one pass in the target area,” Guru said.

“Roger that, Corvette. I have mixed tanks and APCs moving northeast, east of the F.M. 36-F.M. 2276 intersection,” the FAC told Guru.

“Copy, Nail. Say ground-to-air threat?” Guru had heard one of his planes shot down, and sure didn't want any more sharing that fate this day.

“Corvette, Nail. Threat is mixed. Some radar SAMs are now in the area. Mostly guns and MANPADS at present,” the FAC replied.

“Roger that. One pass, south to north,” Guru told the FAC.

“Your call, Corvette. Marking the target now,” the FAC said.

Guru and the rest of the flight watched as an A-7K orbited the area, then rolled in and fired two rockets, with WP exploding amidst the armor below. “Nail, Corvette. Have Willie Pete in sight.”

“Roger, Corvette, they're yours.”

“Goalie, anything?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Jolly inbound. Two HH-3s coming in with Cobras in support,” Goalie replied.

“Okay, back to work,” Guru said. “Set everything up. All in one pass.”

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. She worked the backseater's armament controls. “All set here.”

“Good girl,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Target is marked and in sight. Follow me in. Lead is in hot!” He rolled 512 in onto the target.


Below, the 1278th Motor-Rifle Regiment was assuming a hasty defense, as the 204th MRD had run into serious American resistance, and two regiments had been shot to pieces, and the regiment had been ordered to hold in place, along with the 1180th Tank Regiment. The tank regiment was moving into position on their right flank so as to be able to counterattack, but their old T-54As would likely be facing M-60A3s or the IPM-1.

The regimental commander, a Colonel who had been with the 41st Guards Tank Division before this division had been mobilized, was concerned. He had no accurate information on the enemy, other than two regiments had been ahead of his own, and both had been shattered by American air and fire strikes before encountering the enemy defenses, and now the Americans were reportedly moving in a counterattack of their own. His regiment, with old T-54As and “monkey model” BMP-1s originally meant for export, was in for it. But his air defense people were in high spirits, as the last American air attack on the regiment had an F-4 shot down, and though a parachute had been seen, the pilot was about a kilometer at least in front of the regiment, and though regimental reconnaissance was out, a downed pilot was the least of their concerns, with a reported brigade of American armor and mechanized infantry coming at the regiment. He had just ordered his battalions to stand-to when he noticed white phosphorous exploding on his unit's positions. That meant an air attack inbound. But where? He never saw the F-4s coming in on his regiment until it was too late....

Guru rolled 512 in, and saw the tanks and BMPs. He couldn't make out any obvious command groups, so he picked out some BMPs and lined them up in his pipper. “Steady....Steady..”

“No flak?” Goalie asked.

“Not yet...” replied Guru. “And...HACK!” He hit the pickle button and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes came off 512's racks. He pulled up and away, towards I-30, and called, “Lead's off target.”

The Soviet Colonel ducked into his command vehicle as an F-4 came over and released a dozen five-hundred pound bombs onto his Second Battalion. Several BMPs exploded from direct hits or were flipped onto their sides by the force of the blasts, while bodies were tossed like rags in the wind. Only then did he yell into his throat mike, “AIRCRAFT ALARM!”

“SHACK!” Goalie yelled.

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as he headed for the I-30 line.

“Can't tell,” Goalie said. Then she looked at their One O'clock. “Jollys at One, and they're going to work.”

Guru glanced in that direction. He saw an HH-3E helo moving into hover, while Army AH-1s were either making rocket passes or using their 20-mm guns. “Good,” said Guru. If they did their job, he'd only have one letter to write....

“Two's in!” Kara called. She rolled 520 in, and as she saw Guru's bird pull away, she noticed where he'd planted his bombs. Right behind that was a battalion's worth of tanks, probably the regiment's tank battalion. How nice of them to deploy in the open.....Kara lined up the center company in her pipper, and even a thirty-year old T-54 couldn't stand up to a Mark-82 if laid down right...and just before she hit the pickle button, she noticed tracers coming up. Tankers using their machine guns. “Not today, she muttered. “And....HACK!” A dozen more Mark-82s landed on the Soviet regiment. “Two's off” she called as she pulled 520 out and headed north.

The Soviet regimental commander watched with a mix of admiration and anger as Kara's F-4 pulled away from its run. Admiration for the pilots, who were disregarding the tracers from machine guns and small-arms fire from his men as they made their runs, and anger at the losses being inflicted. The Colonel saw two tanks take direct hits from bombs and blow apart, while another tank's external fuel tank was sliced open by shrapnel, and exploded, drenching the T-54 in flaming fuel. A couple of other tanks shared that fate, and another tank had driven into a bomb crater and was thus immobilized. Watching this, the Colonel knew it wasn't over yet, as more aircraft were bound to come in.

“GOOD HITS!” Shouted Brainiac from 520's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as she followed the CO out of the target area.

“Looks like a couple,” her GIB said. “Hey, Jolly at One.”

Kara glanced at her One O'clock, and saw an HH-3 Jolly Green with someone on its rescue hoist, then she turned to follow Guru out. “They got somebody.”

“Who?”

“We'll find out on the ground.”


“Three's in hot!” Called Sweaty as she rolled in on her run. As she did, she noticed flak to the right, 57-mm by the looks of it. Ignoring it, Sweaty picked out what looked like Regimental artillery deployed, and those were towed guns. As she lined up a battery in her pipper, a couple of SA-7s came up, but with no all-aspect seekers, the SA-7 was just fireworks, though Preacher involuntarily ducked in the back seat as the missiles flew past the F-4. “Not today, Ivan..” Sweaty lined up the guns and hit the pickle button. 'HACK!” More Mark-82s fell onto the Soviet regiment, and she pulled away, “Three's off!”

The Colonel's chief of staff tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to the rear. Both saw Sweaty's F-4 pulling away, and a dozen bombs exploding on the regiment's artillery battalion. One battery position was covered in smoke and debris as bombs landed on the battery, and exploded not just the old M-20 122-mm howitzers, but ready ammunition, and some of the prime movers and ammunition trucks. The Colonel was in a rage, as his own regiment's anti-aircraft battery consisted of old BTR-152s with ZU-23s mounted on top, and, lacking the Strela-1 (SA-9) battery, had an extra air defense platoon with soldiers armed with Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles. A couple of Strela-2s followed the F-4 as it streaked away to the north, but failed to hit.

“SHACK! Great Hits!” Preacher called from the back seat.

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as she headed for I-30.

“Big ones! You hit the ammo trucks!” Preacher replied.

“Good!”


“Four's in!' Hoser called, and as he came in, he, too, noticed the flak. He ignored it so he could concentrate on the bomb run, and decided to hit the guns his element lead had gone after. Hoser lined up another battery in his pipper, and KT was calling out the altitude, and she also saw the flak coming up, not just ahead of them, but to their right. Hoser lined up another battery of guns in his pipper, and, despite the tracers and the flak, hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Twelve more Mark-82s landed on the Soviet artillery battalion, and Hoser pulled away, “Four off target.”


The Soviet Colonel watched as Hoser's F-4 came in and released its bombs, and again, bombs landed on one of his artillery batteries. Guns and gunners were tossed around like toys, while ready ammunition and ammunition trucks went off in secondary explosions. As he watched the F-4 pull away, it was bracketed by anti-aircraft fire from the nearby tank regiment and its ZSU-57-2s.

“SHACK!” KT called, “We got secondaries! Break left!”

“What?” Hoser replied, then several flak bursts bracketed the F-4, then they took a hit to the nose, and there were a couple of near-misses. “Lead, Four. We're hit!”

“How bad, Hoser?' Guru called. He was orbiting over Lavon Lake, and as he maintained his turn, Kara joined up on him.

“Radar's out, controls are sluggish, and we're losing fuel,” Hoser replied. “Can make the fence.” That meant I-30 and friendly lines.

“Copy that, Hoser,” Guru replied. .

Dodge Two-three was orbiting with them, and soon, Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins in Cobra Flight arrived as well. Hoser made it past the I-30, then he called, “Got a fire warning light, We're getting out. See you later, Boss.” Then both he and KT punched out, and there were two good chutes.

“Good luck, Hoser,” said Guru. “Crystal Palace, Corvette One-one. One-four has ejected. Two good chutes, and request SAR.”

“Roger, Corvette One-one. Jolly Six-seven is en route. We have you orbiting the position.”

“Copy that, Crystal Palace. Can orbit for two-zero minutes.”


Jolly Six-six and Six-seven were two HH-3Es, from the 305th Rescue Squadron at Selfridge AFB in Michigan, but instead of going to the Northern Theater, the squadron, with HC-130s and HH-3Es, had gone south. This detachment from the 305th had been colocated with the Army, and the unit they were currently with was the 8-229 Attack Helicopter Battalion, the “Cobra Girls” or “Cobra Chicks.” The unit was famous for its combat debut at Wichita, and had built on that record during the drive south during PRAIRIE FIRE, but also had a well-deserved reputation for debauchery, hell-raising, and general rowdiness, much to the chagrin of the mostly AF Reserve crews. Though the AF people did attend the unit's parties, they were more.....restrained than their Army colleagues.

Now, they were back in their element, with Jolly Six-six having recovered an F-4 crew member from right between two Soviet motor-rifle regiments, and Six-seven having been in a holding area as backup. Now, with another F-4 down, though north of the front line, Jolly Six-seven was closest. In fact, the flight crew watched the F-4 crew eject, and they were already speeding to the area before the call came from the AWACS.

Six-seven's pilot was Capt. Beverly Lynne, who had been a cheerleader for the Philadelphia Eagles in her college days to help pay for school, and had joined the Air Force after graduation. Her original flying assignment had been flying UH-1Ns on missile site support for SAC at Whiteman, but with the war, and the end of the ban on women in combat, she had asked for Combat SAR. After a year with the 305th, she was one of the best pilots in the squadron, and was the deputy commander of the detachment. Now it was showtime. She brought the helo in next to a field where both F-4 crew members were coming down, and she saw several Army Hummers converging on the scene as well. Anxious to beat the Army and get the credit for the rescue, Lynne had her Pararescue men waiting to go as the first crew member landed in the field. She brought the helo in just as the second crew member landed, and all four PJs jumped from the helo and ran for the survivors.

The Pararescue men got to the survivors just as the first Hummer entered the field, and when they asked the survivors if they were okay, both replied in the affirmative. The PJs conducted the survivors to the waiting helo, and after everyone was aboard, Capt. Lynne gunned the big Sikorsky skyward, and after turning it over to her copilot, she asked the F-4 crew “Where are you guys from?”

“335th TFS,” Hoser said, introducing himself and KT. “The Bastard Orphans of the Air Force.”

“Heard about you guys,” Lynne said. “Wait one. Crystal Palace, Jolly Six-seven has two survivors. We are RTB at this time.”

“Roger, Jolly.” AWACS replied. “Will notify Corvette Lead.”

“Copy,” Lynne said. “Hey, you guys know Guru Wiser? He's an OTS classmate of mine.”

“Sure do,” KT said.

“He was the Ops Officer last I heard,” Lynne said.

“Not anymore. He's the CO now, and a Major,” Hoser said.

“Well, I'll be damned. If that other survivor we picked up is from your unit, I'll take you back myself. You guys need to get checked out, then we'll get you to your base later tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Hoser replied, and KT nodded.


“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Jolly has the survivors. They are RTB at this time.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied with a big sigh of relief. “Flight, Lead. Jolly has Hoser and KT. Time to go home. Dodge Two-three, form up on us. Cobra Lead, you with us?”

“Right with you,” Dave Golen replied.

The impromptu flight then headed back to Sheppard, relived that two of their own had been rescued, but anxious to hear the fate of Dodge Two-four's crew. Who had made it, and who hadn't? Pilot or GIB?

The flight arrived in Sheppard's traffic pattern, and after waiting on a couple of outbound flights, was cleared in. First Dodge Two-three, then Corvette, then Cobra. At the 335th's Ops Building, several pilots and GIBs were watching, along with Kodak Griffith, Master Sergeant Ross and the news crew. As the aircraft taxied in, those watching made out the tail numbers. Then the group, led by the Exec, piled into a Crew-cab pickup and headed over to the squadron's dispersal area, and the revetment used by the CO's bird.

Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, and after popping his canopy and shutting down, took a deep breath. He knew that tonight, he'd be writing a letter to a family, and that, he knew, would not be pleasant. Colonel Rivers had told him that of all the jobs he had to do in the service, that was the lousiest, as he never really knew what to say. But somehow, he did, and Guru knew he'd have to as well. “Not a good one,” he said.

“How'd they get that lucky?” Goalie wanted to know.

“Some Kasha-eating Son of a Bitch got lucky. He just sprayed Hoser with 57 fire, and that was that.” Guru spat, standing up in the cockpit as the ground crew brought the crew ladder.

“Bad luck,” Goalie said as she stood up.

Guru nodded as he climbed down, then he turned to Sergeant Crowley. “Sergeant, 512's still truckin'. Get her turned around ASAP. We lost a couple of birds, but we still got a job to do.”

“Yes, sir,” the crew chief responded. “Sir, do we know who didn't....?”

“Not yet,” the CO said. “We need to hear from the RCC.” That meant the Rescue Coordination Center at McAlister Regional Airport in Oklahoma. “All we know is that someone got out of Two-four.”

“Yes, sir,” Crowley said. “Okay, people! You heard the Major. Let's get this bird ready to go!”

Guru and Goalie left the ground crew to their work, and headed to the entrance of the revetment, and found Kara, Brainiac, Sweaty, and Preacher gathering there. “Well, our bad luck today,” Guru said.

“WTF happened?” Kara asked. “All we got was light stuff-either machine guns or 23s!”

“ZSU-57, probably,” Preacher said. “We got some of it, and Hoser's bad luck he got the worst of it.”

“Preacher's right,” Sweaty added. “When are they coming back?”

“Need to hear from the RCC,” Guru said. “Sometime tonight, if they're not hurt.”

Then a Crew-Cab pickup arrived, and several pilots and GIBs jumped out, along with the Intel Officer. It was the Exec who got to the Major first. “Boss, what happened?”

“Not sure with Two-four,” Guru said. He motioned to 1st Lt. Brian Woods and 1st Lt. Paul Landon. “Brian, what happened from your viewpoint?”

“Not sure, Major,” Woods said. “All I know is that Razor called in hot, then said they were taking fire. Next thing I hear is the beeper.”

The Intel Officer, Capt. Darren Licon, pulled out a map of the area. “Could you show me where, please?”

Woods nodded, then indicated on the map where they had been sent to hit armor.

“We were south of that,” Major Wiser said.

“Okay, sir. Can you show me where you all went?” Licon asked.

Nodding, Woods, then Guru's flight, then Dave Golen's, indicated where they had gone and what they had hit. And where Hoser and KT had been hit and then had gone down. In friendly territory, but the crash site had to be marked.

“Thanks, everyone. I'll get this off to Tenth Air Force,” Licon said, with a touch of concern in his voice. He knew that he had briefed everyone about the threat, and was wondering if he'd missed something.

“Not your fault, Darren,” the CO said, knowing what Licon was feeling. “You just pass on what they send you.”

“Yes, sir,” the Intel said.

Then another pickup arrived, and Kodak Griffith, Sergeant Ross, and the news crew piled out. Ms. Wendt came over to the CO, and she knew right away something was wrong. Two faces she'd gotten familiar over the past two days were missing. “Major, what happened?”

“Not a good day,” Major Wiser said. “Two birds down, and someone didn't get out of the first one.”

“And the second?” Then she realized who.... “Hoser and KT?”

“They made it out, and got picked up,” said the CO. “Still waiting on who the other survivor is.” Major Wiser then turned to Kara. “Got a job for you.”

“Name it, Boss,” Kara replied.

“Have Sergeant Ross take you back to Ops. Call the RCC and find out who the other survivor is, and when we're getting Hoser, KT, and the third one back. Get our Frag Order while you're at it.”

Kara nodded, “I'm gone,” and climbed into Ross' pickup, and the Master Sergeant drove her back to Ops. While she was gone, people made small talk, or otherwise killed time, but it was only a few minutes until Ross brought her back. She jumped out of the truck and came over to the CO. “Got some news, Major. Frag order first.”

“More CAS.” The CO said. And the way he said it, it wasn't a question.

“You got it. Same AO,” Kara nodded. “And the lost sheep?”

“Who's coming back?” Major Wiser asked.

“Hoser and KT, you know,” Kara said. “The other one?”

“Yeah?” several people said at once.

“Revlon,” Kara said. 1st Lt. Julie “Revlon” Cole was backseat in Dodge Two-four. That meant that Capt. Paul “Razor” Gillette wasn't coming back.

“Damn it,” Mark Ellis said.

“Not your fault, Mark,” Major Wiser said, putting a hand on the Exec's shoulder.

“I know,” the Exec nodded. “Still....”

“It sucks, no doubt about it,” the CO said. “Three out of four coming back, but that doesn't make the letter-writing any easier.”

“Nope,” Ellis agreed. “This time, I have to write one. Razor was in my flight.”

“Part of the job,” Major Wiser nodded sympathetically. “One not covered in the recruiting brochure.”

“Or taught at the Academy, ROTC, or OTS,” Kara added.

“No,” the CO said. “Okay, Mark, when are you going out again?”

“Fifteen minutes,” said the Exec. “My element's being armed and fueled right now.”

Major Wiser looked at his Exec. “Mind going out as a two-ship?”

“Planning to,” Ellis said. “You want to borrow Brian?”

“Yeah,” Guru nodded. “Sweaty needs a wingman for the rest of today and tomorrow.”

“You got him,” Ellis said. “Just do me a favor: bring him, his GIB, and his plane back the way you found it.”

Major Wiser nodded. “Will do, Mark. Have a good one, and good luck.” Then CO and XO shook hands.

“Thanks,”

Then the CO addressed the pilots and GIBs gathered there. “Okay, people! Get back in the groove. There's two hours of daylight left. We've got missions to fly and bad guys to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

Kara looked at the Exec, who nodded. Then she clapped her hand once. “You heard the Major, Let's get with it.”

As the crowd broke up, the CO turned to Kara. “Get back to Ops. Find out when Van Loan's due back, and when our lost sheep are as well.”

“Will do.”

“Okay, then. Go.”

Kara nodded, then jumped into Ross' pickup, and the Master Sergeant drove her back to Ops.

“Sweaty?” Major Wiser turned to his number three. “You and Brian talk things over. He's your wingman for the rest of today and tomorrow.”

“Gotcha, Major,” Sweaty nodded, and so did Preacher.

Then the CO told his flight. “Get something to eat, something to drink, because we're out again in twenty minutes or so. Get back into game mode.”

While people were getting a snack or a bottle of water, Kara came back. “Major, got some news.”

“What is it?”

“Van Loan's on his way. Four out and four on the way back. The chopper with our friends should be here around 1830,” Kara reported.

Heads nodded at that, while Sweaty said, “Something to celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Goalie muttered.

“And we're on AFN tonight. CBS Evening News is at 1730,” Kara reminded everyone.

Then Sergeant Crowley came over. “Major? Your flight's ready to go. Lieutenant Wood's bird is all set, and so is Major Golen's element.”

Major Wiser took a look at 512 and found Rockeyes loaded. “All of us have Rockeyes?”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” the CO said. “Gather round, people. Birds are up and ready.”

The flight gathered around the CO, as he gave his final instructions. “Antiarmor, I see,” noted Sweaty.

“You got it,” the Major said. “Okay, Dave? You guys stick close. If the MiGs show up, it'll be interesting.”

“That it will, Guru,” Golen replied.

“All right, just put what happened an hour ago out of mind, and get on with the job,” Major Wiser told his flight. “Okay, Scorpion?' He nodded at Brian Woods. “Got things set with Sweaty?”

Woods nodded. “All set, Boss.”

“How'd he get that call sign?” Dave Golen asked Goalie.

“He made a flight at the RTU with a scorpion in his flight suit,” Goalie replied “He never knew about it until after he landed. Didn't get stung, either.”

“Judge?” the CO asked Paul Landon, Scorpion's GIB. “Clear with Preacher?”

Both GIBs nodded.

“And how'd he get that one?” Golen whispered to Goalie.

“His BA degree's Pre-law.” Goalie replied.

“Okay,” the CO went on. “We've got this one, and maybe time for one more. Do NOT get complacent, people! We've had two birds go down, and I don't want any more today. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Major,” Kara said.

“Scorpion? Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us.”

“XO does it the same way, Major,” Scorpion replied.

“Good. MiG threat, tanker tracks, divert fields, and bailout areas are the same as before,” said the CO. “Anything else?”

“Maybe the Army put the hurt on the chumps who were throwing up the flak,” Sweaty said.

The CO nodded. “To be wished for. That it?” Heads nodded in the affirmative. “Okay,” Guru clapped his hand. “Let's get it done. Mount up and time to hit it.”

As the flight crews headed to their aircraft, Guru and Goalie went to 512 and did a quick walk-around. Then they got into the cockpit and got strapped in. As they did another rushed preflight, Goalie said, “Want to bet the instructors at Kingsley would be docking us for the rush?”

“The ones I had at Homestead prewar sure would,” Guru said.

“Okay, checklist complete and ready for engine start.”

Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal, and Guru started the two J-79 engines. After the run-up, he called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, ready for taxi and takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Center. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Lead is rolling.”

Sergeant Crowley gave the taxi signals, then he snapped a salute, as usual, when 512 was clear of the revetment.

Guru and Goalie returned it, then Guru taxied 512 to the center runway. Holding prior, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, then Guru contacted the tower again. He was cleared to taxi onto the runway, and Kara followed him. After a final cockpit check, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clearance for takeoff.”

A green light flashed from the Tower. Clear for takeoff.

Guru and Goalie pulled down and locked their canopies, and a quick glance saw Kara and Brainiac do the same. Then Guru applied full power, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right behind him. Sweaty and Scorpion followed, and so did Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 12: Last run of the day, and some necessary letter-writing when they get back...


Northeast of Dallas, TX: 1610 Hours Central War Time:



Corvette Flight was in the holding area, waiting in the holding pattern. It had been the same drill as before, when they had checked in with Hillsboro, they were told, “Get in line at 25 Grand and wait your turn.” As the flight orbited, the crews noticed not only the strike aircraft going in, but also MLRS rockets from the Army down below.

“Hope some of that goes for the flak that got Razor and Hoser,” Guru said to Goalie.

“I'll second that,” Goalie said, watching some of the rockets land on targets below. Each rocket had 644 submunitions, and even one MLRS vehicle's salvo was enough to take out an artillery battery.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “Enjoying the fireworks?”

“Looks good from here, Sweaty,” Guru replied. He checked his RWR display. “Sky's clear for SAM and Triple-A radar.”

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. 'Maybe the Army's good for something?”

“Maybe, Two,” Guru replied. “Don't count on it, though.”

“Corvette Lead, Hillsboro,” the ABCCC called. “Contact Nail Seven-one for tasking.”

“Roger, Hillsboro, Contact Nail Seven-one,” replied the CO. “Nail Seven-one, Corvette One-one.”

“Corvette, Nail Seven-one,” the FAC replied. “Say aircraft and type of ordnance, please.”

“Nail Seven-one, Corvette Lead,” Guru said. “Corvette has four Foxtrot-Four Echoes, with twelve Rockeyes, full air-to-air, and full twenty-mike-mike.”

“Roger that, Corvette,” Nail replied. “Got some mixed armor and APCs for you. Northeast of Route 34.”

“Copy, Nail. Say surface-to-air threat.”

“Air defense threat is mixed,” Nail called back. “Some guns, some MANPADS, and possible SA-4 around. Weasels are working the area.”

“Roger, Nail. Say gun threat.” Guru said. Having had two of his squadron's planes downed by Triple-A made him want to know that.

“Corvette, Nail. Gun threat is mixed. Best I can give you.”

Guru sighed beneath his oxygen mask. Oh, well. “Copy that. Can you have ground-pounders take on any air defense?”

“Will do, Corvette. Stand by, and will mark the target.”

“Copy,” Guru said. “Get ready. Set it up: everything in one pass.”

“Gotcha,” Goalie replied. She quickly worked the weapons control panel in the rear cockpit. “All set.”

Below, an A-7K rolled in and fired several WP rockets. As the FAC pulled up, there were some tracers coming at him, and even what looked like an SA-7 or two. “There's your target area, Corvette,” Nail said.

“Copy. One run, south to north,” Guru told the FAC.

“Your call, Corvette,” Nail replied.

Guru watched as several fireballs erupted on the ground; evidently, Nail had told the Army the fast-movers needed a hand. “Flight, Lead. Target area in sight. Switches on, music on, and let's go.”

“Two copies,” Starbuck replied.

“Three's ready,” Sweaty.

“Four, roger.” Scorpion said.

“Roger that, Flight. Lead's in hot!” And Guru rolled 512 in on his attack run.


Down below, the acting commander of the 70th Tank Division was in a fit. One of his regiments had been split from the division's main effort, pinned up against the west side of Lake Tawakoni, and was in the process of being annihilated, if it hadn't happened already. Another regiment had been hit hard by American air and fire strikes, and caught by an American ground attack, and been reduced to tattered remnants. His remaining tank regiment, and his motor-rifle regiment, were trying to hold what they had, while awaiting reinforcements from 1st Guards Army. He had asked the Army Commander for assistance from the 204th MRD, but was told that the 204th was in need of help just as much as his division was. An independent tank regiment with T-64s was on its way from Kaufman, but would not be there until dusk, and he wasn't sure if his division would still be there. The Soviet Colonel knew now that he was up against the 83rd Mechanized Infantry Division and the 15th Armored Cavalry Regiment from XIX Corps, and they clearly meant business, for they had ample attack helicopter and tactical air support in quantity. Wondering where his own air force was, the Colonel braced himself for another attack. He stuck his head out the hatch of his command vehicle, and saw an F-4 diving past him, headed north. The Colonel shook his head and groaned. Why me?


Guru lined up a group of tanks and APCs in his pipper, and was lining up the lead tank when he saw a vehicle explode. Somebody had a bad afternoon, he thought. And some of his friends were going to share that experience.....”Steady, Steady.....” he called as some tracers started to come up at him. “HACK!” Guru called as he hit the pickle button, and a dozen Rockeyes came off of 512's racks. He pulled up and away, calling, “Lead's off target.”

Unknown to Guru, he had picked the remnants of the 698th Tank Regiment as his target. These were largely stragglers who had vehicles damaged during the morning's fighting, as well as a few survivors from the Regimental attack. They had coalesced into an “assault group”, built around Second Battalion's commander, who was the senior surviving officer, though the young Captain in command wasn't too thrilled about it. He'd seen a motor-rifle lieutenant literally shouting orders out of a field manual, while many of the rank and file who were not tankers were mostly overage reservists from the Ukraine. The survivors were gathered around his location at Highway 34 and F.M. 2261, trying to defend the intersection from the Americans who were coming down from the north. The Captain had just talked with the senior survivor from 1st Battalion, a Senior Lieutenant who was a platoon commander, when his Sergeant Major shouted the words all dreaded. “AIRCRAFT ALARM!”

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “Good hits!”

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as an SA-7 flew past 512. Somebody was on guard down there....

“Got a few.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Guru said as he headed for I-30 and “the fence.”

The Soviet Captain picked himself up from the ground. Several of the IS-3Ms and BTRs from what had been 3rd Battalion and the motor-rifle battalion were either burning or knocked out, and he saw a tank crew bail out of their burning vehicle just before a fuel fire exploded the tank's ammunition. He glanced to the south, and saw a second F-4 coming in. “TAKE COVER!” He shouted, jumping into a roadside ditch.

“Two in hot!” Kara called. She saw where Guru had planted his bombs, and noticed what looked like some trucks headed north towards those same vehicles. Resupply under fire? Not today, Ivan....Kara picked out the trucks, and centered the lead truck in the pipper. “And....HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and a dozen Rockeyes came off of 520. Ignoring the light tracer fire coming up, she pulled up and away, following the CO north. “Two's off safe.”

The Soviet Captain looked up as Kara's F-4 flew past. To his relief, the bombs didn't land on him or what he still felt was “his” battalion, but impacted to the rear. At first, he didn't know what was there, then when there were explosions of fuel and ammunition, he realized it was the regiment's supply vehicles, and that was the ammunition and fuel his men needed to hold off the Americans. He stood up, trying to see what had happened, when another officer pulled him back into the ditch. More American aircraft were coming in.

“SHACK!” Brainiac yelled. “We got secondaries!”

“Got those trucks?” Kara asked as an SA-7 flew over 520.

“We got some of 'em!”

“Good enough!” Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask, and she followed the CO north.


Sweaty called, “Three's in!”and she rolled in on her attack run. She noticed that there was hardly any flak, and to her, that was a good thing. Maybe those Army pukes are good for something, she thought.
She saw where Kara had laid her bombs, and noticed several intact trucks backed up on the road. Nice try, Ivan....she lined up the trailing truck in her pipper, and noticed tracer fire coming from it. Gun truck. All right.....Sweaty lined the truck up, and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” A dozen more Rockeyes fell onto the Soviet column, and as they did, Sweaty pulled up and away. “Three's off safe!”

The Soviet Captain heard Sweaty's F-4 as it flew overhead, and to the south, there were more explosions. He stood up in the ditch, and saw several more of his regiment's supply vehicles exploding.
Cursing whoever had promised that the Air Force would be overhead in strength, he turned to issue orders, when a soldier pushed him back into the ditch. He started to bawl out the man, but saw several nearby tank commanders firing their machine guns to the south. Another American aircraft....


“Four in hot!” Scorpion called. He saw where Sweaty had put down her bombs, and noticed some tracers coming up to the left of that. The dots in his pipper soon revealed themselves as tanks, and he decided to make those go away. He lined up the tanks in his pipper......'Steady....”HACK!” Another dozen Rockeyes fell on the Soviet “Assault Group.” Ignoring the 12.7-mm tracers coming up, Scorpion pulled away. “Four off target.”

Across from the Captain, the tanks of what had been First Battalion's Third Company were firing at the approaching aircraft. The Junior Lieutenant who was now the Company Commander-company, all of four tanks, ordered his commanders to fire, but the F-4 was too fast, and they didn't lead the target. Scorpion's F-4 flew overhead, and suddenly, it was raining cluster bombs. The Lieutenant slammed the hatch shut on his IS-3M, and heard several explosions on and around his tank. Then a Rockeye bomblet landed on top of the turret armor, and detonated. The shaped-charge warhead burned through the top armor and exploded the tank's ammunition storage, blowing the tank-and its crew-apart. No one had a chance to scream....

“We got secondaries!” Judge, Scorpion's backseater, yelled.

“Got some tanks?” Scorpion asked.

“Two or three.”

Scorpion nodded, then followed Sweaty north, out of the target area.


“Nail, Corvette Lead. Four in and out. We are Winchester.” Guru called the FAC.

“Roger that, Corvette Lead. Thanks for the help, fella. I give you a four-decimal-zero, Corvette. Nice work!”

“Copy that, and thanks, Nail.” Guru replied. He was orbiting over Lavon Lake. “Two, with me?”

“Right on you, Lead.” Kara replied. She formed up on her CO, and was right there in combat spread.

“Three, where are you?”

“Comin' in,” Sweaty said, and Four's right on my tail.”

Guru nodded, and heard Cobra Flight make their runs, hitting some of the same armor they had. Only when Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins came up from the South did he call Hillsboro. “Hillsboro, Corvette One-one. We are Winchester and are RTB at this time.”

“Copy that and good work, Corvette,” the ABCCC controller replied.

“Roger, Hillsboro, and thank you,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Let's go home.”


Behind them, the Soviet Captain was trying to put some order back in his “Assault Group.” Despite having his supply trucks hit, there was still enough fuel and ammunition to make it hot for somebody, and he was having his officers and NCOs get a grip on things. While his Sergeant Major and the other sergeants shouted at the soldiers to get the ammunition loaded and the tanks fueled, he noticed several T-34s from the motor-rifle regiment pull up behind his own grouping, and he decided to go over and talk with their commander. Before he could, his political officer, a bright young man fresh from the Military-Political School in Riga, tapped on his shoulder. Several T-72s and BTRs were coming from the North. Who were they? They must be from another unit of 1st Guards Army. Before he could make contact with them, the T-72s suddenly opened fire on his tanks and BMPs, destroying several with the first shot.

“DON'T SHOOT!” He yelled at his men. He climbed onto his tank and tried contacting the tanks by radio. This was a fratricide incident of the worst kind. But when one of the tanks turned broadside to avoid a wrecked IS-3, he saw the inverted V symbol on the side, and a pit formed in his stomach. Those T-72s were American-operated! Somehow, they had captured enough T-72s to make use of them. Before he could order his tanks to open fire, a 125-mm sabot round slammed into the left side of the IS-3M, and penetrated the ammunition storage. The tank fireballed around him, and the Captain's last sensation was the heat....


In his command tank, the Commander of the 5-67 Armored Regiment grinned. Once again, the Rag-Tag Circus had pulled a fast one on Ivan, and as both IS-3s and T-34s fireballed, he radioed his people to continue the attack until they had reached the intersection, then they were to hold. Two other battalion task forces, both equipped with M-60A3s and M-113s, would pass through his position and continue the attack south until they reached the town of Cash. Then they'd wait until the rest of the division arrived, and see if Ivan really wanted this part of Texas. The Major looked at his gunner, who, prewar had been a heavy equipment operator at Fort Hood. She always seemed to have this evil smile when she had a Soviet tank or APC in her sights. Her boyfriend had been killed in Central Texas in September '85, with 2nd Armored Division, and she wanted revenge. Now, using Ivan's own tanks against him, she was getting it.


“Cobra, Corvette,” Guru called Dave Golen. “How'd it go?”

“Hit some armor,” Cobra Lead replied. “And no flak.”

“That's always good,” said Guru.

It wasn't long until the two flights were approaching Sheppard. This time, they had to wait as two outbound Marine F-4 flights, and a 335th F-4 flight, went out, then came the first Marine A-6s right after that. Then the two F-4 flights came in and landed. As they taxied back to their squadron's dispersal area, the mood was a lot more positive than it had been a couple hours earlier. When they popped their canopies on the way to dispersal, and the crews gave the thumbs-up sign, there was applause from the ground crews. Though the crews didn't notice Ms. Wendt and her crew filming them. Only when Guru took 512 into its revetment did he notice. “Looks like we may be on TV again tomorrow.”

“The crew?” Goalie asked as she went through the post-flight checklist. “Didn't notice.”

“Been a little busy,” Guru agreed. Then Sergeant Crowley brought the crew ladder, and the CO stood up. “Let's hope this is the last one.”

“You and me both. And I don't envy you. You got a letter to write.”

“Don't remind me,” Guru said. “I'm going to write that letter, then I'll come over to the Club, have dinner, then get slightly drunk in the time remaining before twelve-hour.”

Goalie nodded as she stood up in the rear cockpit. “In your shoes, I'd do the same.”

The CO nodded again, then got out of the aircraft. “Sergeant,” he said to Crowley. “She's still truckin'. No issues or problems. Get her ready for the next one.”

“Yes, sir!” Replied the Crew Chief. “Sir, How'd things go?”

Guru nodded. “Made some armor go away, but having a couple of SA-7s come by was no fun.”

“No kidding!” Goalie said. “How many times today have we had those things shot at us?”

“Enough,” Major Wiser said. Pilot and GIB then went through the post-flight walkaround, then went to the edge of the revetment, where they found Kara and Brainiac. “What'd you hit?”

“Tore up some supply trucks,” Kara said. “Those things had fuel or ammo. Because when they blew, they blew.”

“I'll go along with that,” Sweaty said as she came up with Preacher. “We dropped on some more of 'em.”

“Good for you,” the CO said. “How was it, Scorpion?”

“Dropped on some armor, just west of where you did, Major,” Scorpion said.

A Dodge Crew-Cab pickup arrived, and out came the Exec and the Intelligence Officer. “Major,” Mark Ellis said. “Nobody goes out after 1630.” He handed the CO a fax.

“More of the same tomorrow?” Kara asked. “We've had enough CAS for a while.”

“Down, girl,” Major Wiser said. “Says here to be prepared for either CAS or for striking assigned targets per the ATO. So get ready for either one.”

The Intelligence Officer, Capt. Darren Licon, came over. “Major, you guys want to debrief out here?”

“Might as well,” the CO said. “Hit some armor right about here.” He pointed to the Route 34/F.M. 2261 intersection. “Tanks and APCs mixed.”

“Any secondaries?” Licon asked.

“Got a few,” Goalie said, taking a swig from a bottle of water.

“Captain Thrace? Uh,...Kara?” Now that Licon was a Captain, he could call Kara by her first name, though he was still getting used to it.

“Took out some supply trucks,just south of the intersection.” Kara said, pointing the location out on Licon's map.

“And we got some big-ass secondaries,” Brainiac added. “Fuel and ammo, looked like.”

“We'll second that,” Sweaty said, and Preacher nodded. “Dropped on some trucks just south of that.”

“Same kind of secondaries?” Licon wanted to know.

“Big ones,” Preacher said.

“And you guys?” Licon asked Scorpion and Judge.

“Just like the Major,” Scorpion said. “Dropped on some tanks.”

“Got a couple of secondaries,” added Judge.

The Intel nodded. “Thanks. And Major Golen? How'd it go with you?”

The IDF “Observer” with the 335th pointed to a spot on the map, just north of Cash. “Divisional artillery, the FAC said. Towed guns, not self-propelled.”

“Secondaries?”

“A lot,” Sandi Jenkins said. “And I mean a lot!”

“What do you expect? Ammunition stacked near the guns, the ammunition trucks, and the prime movers?” Golen added.

“Had to ask,” Licon said. “All right, thanks a bunch, people. I'll write these up and get them off to Tenth Air Force.”

“Okay, Darren,” Major Wiser said. “And you did good yourself today. Not your fault you missed those guns earlier.”

“Sir...”

“You can only report what they pass on to you. Somebody above you screwed up. No sense beating yourself up about it, because what's done is done.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man,” the CO said. “Mark, who's out?”

“Van Loan, you saw leave. Other than that? Just Frank. He left fifteen minutes before Don.”

Major Wiser sighed. But then again, as long as that skunk Carson was out, it was a good thing. “Okay, people, get out of your flight gear, check your desks, and clear any paperwork. Make sure that's all taken care of before you head to the Club.”

Heads nodded at that, and Major Wiser's flight piled into the pickup. Sweaty drove while the CO and Ellis talked. “And before hitting the Club?” Ellis asked.

“The two of us have something to do,” the CO said. “Something we're both not looking forward to.”

“Not your first, though. You sent one to Colonel Rivers' widow.”

“After six drafts, and after I finally got something good enough to send off? I went to the Club and got slightly drunk. Which is what I'm going to do. Write that damn letter, get something to eat, watch the news and see what our guests say about us, then get as drunk as I can before twelve-hour kicks in.”

“Looks like I'll have company,” the XO said.

“And the next person who says they know what to say in these things will be the first,” the CO nodded. “Something not covered in OTS, ROTC, or the Academy.”

Ellis looked at his CO. “Ain't that the truth, Boss.”

The CO nodded again as the truck pulled up to the 335th's Operations Building. “And so it is,” he said as the got out. “Might as well get it over with.”



335th TFS Operations, 1635 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser and the other crews from his flight went into the Ops Building. He turned to Kara. “Find out if they've told us we're back to the ATO, or still doing CAS in the morning.”

“Got you, Boss,” Kara said.

“And one more thing? Find out when those two new birds from Japan get here. They're due sometime tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Kara nodded, then she went off to the Ops Office. With Don Van Loan out, she was acting Ops Officer.

“Rest of you? Check your desks and clear any paperwork,” the CO said. Then he turned to his XO. “Aircraft status for the morning?”

“Eighteen birds for the morning, Kev O'Donnell says,” Ellis reported. Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the squadron's maintenance officer. “And Ross is still looking for that special item you want.”

“Well, he made no promises, so I'm not holding him to it,” Major Wiser said. “Anything else?”

The XO shook his head. “Nada.”

“Okay, you've got a letter to write and so do I.” the CO said. He saw the Exec nod. “I'll see you in a while.”

“Misery loves company,” Ellis said.

“It does,” Major Wiser agreed. The CO then went to his own office, and talked to the female Staff Sergeant who was his unofficial secretary. “Trish? Unless it's one of the Department Heads like Captain Van Loan, Lieutenant Eichhorn, or the Exec, I'm not to be disturbed.”

“What about Major Carson, sir?” Staff Sergeant Tricia Lord asked.

“I don't want to see him under any circumstances. If he makes an ass of himself, call Captain Blanchard and have her come over with a couple of CSPs and throw him out,” Major Wiser ordered.

“Yes, sir!”

The CO went into his office, and found his coffee maker. After pouring himself a cup of coffee, there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

The door opened, to reveal one of the Ops Sergeants. “Sir, got a couple things for you from Captain Thrace. The killed-in-action notice to sign.”

“I was afraid of that,” Major Wiser said. He took the form and signed it, then he gave it back to the NCO. “What else?”

“Message from Tenth Air Force. The Army found the wreckage of the plane. And Lieutenant Gillette's body.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” the CO said. “Let me know when Captain Van Loan gets back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That'll be all, Sergeant.”

“Sir.” the Sergeant came to attention and then left the office.

The CO then took out some paper and a pen. “Here goes,” he said, as he began to put pen to paper.


A few minutes later, after two cups of coffee and several drafts sent into the wastebasket, the Major thought he had it. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

It was Trish Lord. “Sir, Lieutenant Eichhorn wants to see you.”

“Goalie, come on in,” the CO said. “Thanks, Trish.”

“Sir,” she nodded. After Goalie went into the office, Lord closed the door.

“Well, how goes the letter-writing?” Goalie asked. “Or do I want to know?”

“Five drafts, five wadded-up pieces of paper into the can,” Major Wiser said, indicating the trash basket. “I think I've got it this time.”

Goalie looked at her CO and lover. Both confided in each other, and they had no secrets. She was one of a handful of people who knew the full story of his E&E. “Why don't you read it? I'm a good sounding board.”

The CO nodded. “Okay, here goes: 'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Gillette; It is with deep regret that I have to tell you that your son Paul was shot down and killed earlier today. He was flying in support of the Army when his plane was hit by antiaircraft fire, and though his Weapons Systems Officer managed to eject and was rescued, Paul did not. The Army has found the wreckage of his plane, and recovered his body, so there is some comfort in that he will receive a proper burial.' How's that so far?”

“Not bad, but then again, I don't have much experience in this department,” Goalie said.

Guru nodded. “Neither do I, so here's the next part: 'Paul was a good friend, and a fine officer. He was well liked by the other officers, and not just for his flying. He never let being an Academy graduate go to his head, and earned the respect of not just the other officers in the squadron, but of the Sergeants and enlisted airmen. He will be missed by his friends in the squadron.' How's that?”

“So far, so good,” Goalie nodded. “What's left?”

“The final part,” Major Wiser said. “I hope you can take comfort in that Paul died as a fighter pilot. He was flying to free his fellow Americans from the jackboot of Soviet occupation, and gave his life so that, as President Lincoln said, 'Government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the Earth.'

“Again, please accept my sympathies for your loss. If any new information becomes available about what happened when he was shot down, you will be informed as soon as possible. I wish I could say more, other that I'm sorry for your loss.

“Sincerely, and with sympathy, Matt Wiser, Major, USAF. Commanding Officer, 335th TFS.”

Goalie nodded. “Not bad. I hate to say this, but chances are, you'll get good at this. Still got a ways to go before the Rio Grande.”

Guru looked at his WSO and girlfriend. Then he nodded reluctantly. Because he knew that she was right. “Yeah. You're right about that.” He got up and opened his office door, and handed the handwritten letter to Sergeant Lord. “Type that up, Sergeant. Right now, if you please.”

“Right away,sir.” she replied. It took only a couple of minutes, then she pulled the typewritten copy out of the typewriter. “Here you go, sir.”

“Thanks,Trish,” the CO said, then he went back into the office. “Mail's already gone out, right?”

“It has,” Goalie said.

“Okay, this goes out first thing in the morning.” Guru said. “Razor's friends packing his stuff?”

Goalie nodded. “Mark collared them and had them get on it. Before they do anything else.”

“Good. Now, let's get to the Club. I need to take my sorrows for a little swim, get something to eat, see how our news guests show us on the news, and welcome our lost sheep back,” Guru said. “Not in any particular order.”

“Bad day,” Goalie said.

“Bad day,” Guru agreed.


On the way out, they ran into Don Van Loan and his flight. They had just landed, and had debriefed out on the flight line, just as the CO's flight had. “Don,” Guru said. “How'd things go?”

“Not bad, Boss,” the Ops Officer said. “Made some division's field HQ go away. Or at least, that's what the FAC told us.”

“Anyone shooting at you?” the CO asked.

“No, thank God. The FAC had the Army dump some of those multiple-launch rockets on a couple of flak batteries. We had a free ride,” Van Loan said. “Had a couple of SA-4s come up, but nobody fired.”

“Anytime they don't fire is a good thing,” Goalie nodded.

“It is,” Major Wiser said. “Okay, Don. Get back to Ops and clear your desk. Kara'll be glad to see you, since she's been running Ops since we got back ourselves.”

Van Loan laughed. “No doubt, Major.”

“No doubt,” the CO agreed. “Mark says we're getting the two new birds from Japan tomorrow. Hoser and KT get the first one, and we'll give it to one of the new crews. And one other thing?”

“Yeah?”

“Hoser and KT, along with Revlon, are off the flight schedule tomorrow.”

“What about Scorpion and Judge?” Van Loan asked.

“They stay with Sweaty for tomorrow, then go back to Mark's flight,” Major Wiser said.

“Will do,” nodded the Ops Officer. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Find out if we're getting an ATO, or doing more CAS,” said the Major. “I'd rather do preassigned targets or armed recon than CAS.”

“I'll check into it.”

“Thanks, Don,” Guru said “See you in a few.”

“I'll be there,” Van Loan grinned, then he led his flight back into the Ops Building.

“Come on,” Guru told Goalie. “Let's go on to the Club. I need two or three beers.”

“Yeah,” Goalie nodded. “So do I.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part 13: Lost sheep return, and the Animals in the Zoo blow off some steam:


Officer's Club Tent, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1715 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and Goalie went into the O-Club Tent, and found the mood there a bit subdued than normal, since it hadn't just been the 335th that had taken lumps, for two Marine F-4 squadrons had lost birds and crews, and a Navy A-7 squadron had also lost two aircraft and a pilot. The CO and his GIB found Colonel Brady at the bar, along with Maj. Bill Poore, the CO of VMFA-134. “Colonel,” Guru said.

“Major,” Brady replied. “And Lieutenant. Word's gotten around about your losses.”

“Yes, sir. Two birds down and three of four crew recovered by the Jollys. The other crewman didn't get out.”

“Join the club,” Poore said. “Lost a bird and a crew. Just before you guys lost your two, and pretty much in the same place.”

Guru nodded. “Sorry, Bill. Still, losing only one crew member doesn't make the letter-writing any easier.”

“No, Major, it doesn't.” Brady said. “How'd that go?”

“Took five drafts and two cups of coffee,” Guru said. “I think I got it, but there's no real guidelines.”

“No, there isn't,” Brady agreed. “So, going to drown your sorrows?”

Guru nodded. “At the very least, sir? Take them for a little swim.” He gestured to the barkeep. “What do you have?”

“Major, Sam Adams arrived today,” the barkeep smiled.

“Good. Two: one for me, and one for the Lieutenant,” Guru said, nodding at Goalie.

The barkeep nodded and produced two bottles. “Here ya go, Major.”

“Thanks,” Guru said. He paid the man, then he and Goalie found a table and sat down. “Well...hell of a day.”

“That it was,” Goalie agreed. “So, what'll we drink to?”

“Just getting through the day,” the CO said.

“I'll drink to that.”


A few minutes later, Kara, Brainiac, Sweaty,and Preacher came in. They got their drinks, then came over to the CO's table. “Boss,” Kara said.

“Where's Don?” Guru asked.

“He'll be here in a few minutes. But we did get this from Tenth Air Force: we're getting an ATO. Hopefully, no more CAS,” Kara said.

“Here's to that,” Sweaty raised her bottle of Bud.

“Amen,” Preacher added.

“I'll go with that,” the CO said. “Anything else?”

“That's it,” Kara said.

Then the Marine Mess staff brought in dinner. Chicken-fried steak with corn on the cob and mashed potatoes, or Roast Chicken with the usual trimmings. After getting their dinner, people were eating and talking, when Ms. Wendt and her crew came in. After chatting with Colonel Brady, she came over to Guru's table. “Major,”

“Ms. Wendt,” the CO nodded politely. He was already on his second beer. “Hope you don't mind seeing a squadron CO get slightly drunk.”

“After what happened today? I don't blame you at all,” Ms. Wendt said. And the aircrews were surprised to hear that. Clearly, she was settling in as a combat correspondent. “At least we're now cleared to fly.”

“Like I said,” Guru nodded. “We'll see about getting you that check ride. Can't tell you when. But when it comes, be ready.”

“Thank you, Major.”

“You're welcome,” Guru said. He checked his watch, then turned to Kara. “It's 1728. Get the barkeep to change the TV to AFN's news channel.”

“Walter Cronkite and the CBS Evening News?” Kara asked, though she knew full well what the CO meant.

“You got it.” Guru said.

Kara nodded and went to the bar, talked to the barkeep, then not only got him to change the channel, but also brought back beers for her flight mates. “Here you go, people.”

“Thanks, Kara,” Guru said. Just then the Opening titles came on the screen, then the most trusted man in America came on.

“Good evening from Los Angeles,” Cronkite began. “U.S. Forces near Dallas engaged several Soviet divisions east of the city, and were engaged in heavy fighting to clear parts of East Texas from the Soviets. Richard Threkeld has a report.”

The veteran reporter, who had been in Vietnam and the Middle East, gave an account of being with the 83rd Infantry Division, as they pushed south from I-30. Images of M-60A3 tanks and M-113 APCs moving forward, IS-3M and T-34 tanks either burning or blowing apart, artillery falling (both friendly and enemy), and aircraft overhead. Images of grey-painted Phantoms and Skyhawks, Olive Drab A-10s and SEA-painted A-7s and F-4s also filled the screen, and that drew applause from the aircrews. As did some scenes of Soviet prisoners being sent to the rear.

“Glad to see they caught us,” Goalie said.

“You never know who's down there,” Sweaty said.

After a report from a carrier that was launching strikes into Cuba, and another from Philadelphia, mentioning Congressional action on a new GI Bill to go into effect when the war ended, came a commercial break. When that was over, a new segment came up. “The Army and Marine forces in Texas have been getting heavy air support. Jana Wendt, from our sister network in Australia, 9 News, filed this report from an air base in a liberated part of the Lone Star State.”

“Phantom, Skyhawk, Corsair, Intruder, Ardvark, Hornet. To the Marines and soldiers fighting in this part of Texas,” Ms. Wendt said, as footage of armed fighters taxiing to the runway and then taking off ran, “they are the brothers and sisters who take on enemy MiG fighters and take out targets ahead of them on the ground. To the pilots and navigators, these are the chariots that they go to war in. In one unit, an Air Force fighter squadron, their Phantoms look just like those that flew in Southeast Asia fifteen years ago. But none of the crews are Vietnam veterans. The average age of a pilot or navigator is 27. And the squadron's commander isn't that much older than the people he flies with. But today, it's just another mission, as far as he's concerned.”

The screen then showed Guru, with no titles on the screen, but anyone watching could see his nametag with wings, and the gold oak leaves on his shoulders. “How'd it go, Major?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Not bad,” Guru said. “Tore up an airfield and made some of Fidel's Su-25s become scrap metal.”

“How was the resistance?”

“You mean ground fire? There was a lot of shooting. Didn't touch us, though.”

“And what's next? The Major had this answer,” Ms. Wendt's voice-over said.

“We debrief, get something to eat, then we get ready and go out again.”

“And so they did,” the voice-over continued. Images of F-4s taxiing out and taking off. “Just as their grandfathers did in World War II and Korea, and their fathers in Vietnam. And one more day, as one officer told me, until the Russians and Cubans get sent back where they came from. Or, as one female officer said, and I'll paraphrase her, 'sent someplace a lot more hotter.' To the men and women on this base, every bomb dropped means friendly lives saved on the ground, and fewer enemy for their countrymen in the Army and Marines to face. Jana Wendt, CBS News, with the U.S. Air Force, somewhere in Texas.”

After the segment aired, there was applause. Given how many military personnel still felt about the media, even after two years of war, the applause was a surprise to Ms. Wendt and her crew.

“Well, Ms. Wendt,” Kodak Griffith said. “Looks like they think you did a good enough job.”

“Still some bad feelings about the press, I was told,” she replied.

“You could say that,” the Marine PAO said. “Leftover from Vietnam and the years after. Now, different story.”


“Well, Guru?” Goalie asked. “How's it feel to be a TV star?”

“Got my TV exposure,” Guru nodded, taking a swig from his beer bottle. “Just hope some GRU analyst recording that didn't catch my nametag.”

“You think they have a file on you?” Sweaty asked. This was news to her.

“Probably on all of us. I was told in OTS that, after graduation, the Air Force would have one file on us, and there would be another one: in Moscow.”

Kara stared at her CO. “WHAT?”

“Yep. They ever tell you that in ROTC?” The CO replied. “Or the Academy?” He nodded in Goalie's direction.

“They did, but I thought they were pulling our legs,” Kara admitted.

“Same here,” Goalie said. “How would they find out?”

“Simple,” Darren Licon said. He'd been overhearing the conversation. “Prewar, the Soviet Air Attache either picked up a copy of Air Force Times, or had a source who did. New Lieutenants, promotions, all of that got printed. Same for the other services. I imagine they had people at their Washington Station going through all of that..”

'They don't do that these days,” Preacher said. “Print those lists, I mean.”

“No, but back then, different story,” the intelligence officer noted. “There's probably dossiers on every prewar officer in the 335th, and who knows how many others?”

“Too many,” Braniac nodded.

Kara and Goalie were incredulous, though. “There's files on all of us in Moscow?” Goalie asked.

“Probably,” Licon said.

“On that happy note,” Kara said. “I'm definitely getting drunk before Twelve-Hour.” She went to the bar and bought another round for their table.

“You going to the pool table?” Guru asked his wingmate.

“In a heartbeat,” Kara said proudly.

“Remember, as long as the newsies are here? Take a check if they can't pay you.”

Kara nodded. “Will do, Major.” She then headed to the pool table.


Soon, those inside the O-Club heard the sound of a large helicopter. “That's probably Jolly Green bringing our people back,” Mark Ellis noted.

“It probably is. Okay, Mark. Do me a favor. Find Ross,” Guru said.

“Let me guess: we need to get the SAR guys their reward.”

“You got it. A case of beer per rescued crew member,” said the CO. “That's the rule. Unofficially speaking.”

“On my way,” the Exec said.


A few minutes later, Ellis came back and went over to Guru. “Got it taken care of.”

“Good,” said Guru. “That was them?”

“It was,” the Exec replied. “Doc Waters is giving them a quick checkup, then they'll be over here. And the Jolly pilot? Friend of yours.”

“Oh?”

“Says she's an OTS classmate of yours.”

“There were a few women in my class,” Guru recalled. “A couple of them got flight, as I recall.”

“She says she was one of 'em,” Ellis said.

It wasn't long until Hoser, KT, and Revlon came into the Club, to the applause and cheers of everyone there. Even the loathed and despised Major Frank Carson was showing his gratitude, much to everyone's surprise. They were followed by the Jolly Green crew, who also got a round of applause. Everyone there knew that one day, they might need the Jolly Greens' services, and the arguments between “Zoomies” and “Rotorheads” stopped at that point. After Major Wiser bought drinks for the three lost sheep, he rang the bell. “People, I know we've all got mixed emotions right now, as the Air Force, Marines, and Navy here have all lost people today, but three of our lost sheep are back. Hoser, KT, and Revlon? Stand up and be counted.” They did, and there was yet another round of applause. “Here's to them. They came back to fly and fight another day.”

“Here, here,” Don Van Loan said.

'And here's to our CSAR brethren,” Guru went on, nodding at the two HH-3 pilots. “Don't laugh at those guys, because tomorrow's another day, and you might be needing their services,” the CO reminded everyone. “You guys get a case of beer per downed crew member recovered, so drink up when you can.”

The Jolly drivers grinned. And Guru still hadn't noticed the blonde female HH-3 driver nodding in his direction.

Guru then nodded to Colonel Brady and the other squadron commanders. They came up, and it was Colonel Brady who started it. “To our lost friends,” he said. And each CO gave the name or names of the aircrew lost that day.

When it was his turn, Guru nodded. “To Razor.”

“To Razor,” the 335th members said as they raised their bottles or glasses.

“Colonel?”

The MAG-11 CO nodded. “Okay, people! Twenty minutes to Twelve-Hour, so drink up!”

Guru got his fourth beer, then went back to Hoser, KT, and Revlon. “You guys okay?”

“Cleared for flight,” Hoser said. “Hardly had time to get out of our chutes when the PJ found us.”

“Same here,” KT said. “First guy I see is a PJ asking me if I'm hurt.”

“Revlon?” Major Wiser asked the survivor of Dodge Two-four. “What about you?”

“I'm okay, Major,” Revlon said, brushing back her cropped brown hair. “Landed between two Soviet Regiments, they told me. But a downed pilot was the least of their problems.”

“What happened with Razor?”

“Don't know. We took fire, then got hit. Right in the nose and next to the front cockpit. He might have bought it right there. So I got out.”

“Okay. You three are off the flight schedule tomorrow. Hoser, KT? You guys get a new bird due in from Japan tomorrow. And we'll get a new pilot for Revlon,” the CO said. “If you guys want to get drunk, be my guest. Sleep in, and get up when you feel like it. But sometime tomorrow, I'm going to want to hear from you all. I want to know what happened out there.”

“Will do, Major,” Hoser said, and the others nodded.

“All right, get loaded. That's an order.”

Revlon nodded. 'Major, that's an order we're glad to obey.” And the trio headed to the bar.

Guru then went back to his table. “Hell of a day,” the CO said. “Fourth, and last, beer before Twelve-Hour.”

“You're drunk, Boss,” Sweaty said. “And glad to be?”

“I am,” Guru said. Before he could sit down, there was a tap on his left shoulder. He turned, and saw a face he hadn't seen in a while. “Well, I'll be damned. Look who the cat dragged in.”

“Is that any way to greet an old classmate?” Capt. Beverly Lynne said. “Nice to see you, well, now, Major Guru.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Guru said, giving his old classmate a hug. “Thanks for bringing my people back.”

“That's our job,” a First Lieutenant standing next to Lynne said. “Steve Kearny, sir.”

“My copilot,” Lynne said. “When did you get the oak leaves?”

“Few days ago, after we lost our CO,” Guru said. “How long you been driving Jollys?”

“Since June '86,” said Lynne. “Been an AC since May.”

“PRAIRIE FIRE,” Goalie observed.

“My GIB,” Guru said, introducing everyone at the table. “You guys at Perrin?” That meant the old Perrin AFB near Sherman, now reactivated.

“Nope. We're with an Army unit. The Cobra Girls,” Lynne said. “They fly, fight, and party the same way. Hard.”

“So those were the Cobras covering you?” Sweaty asked.

“Yep. Been to their parties, and we blue-suiters are the sanest ones there,” Kearny told the 335th people.

Preacher looked at him, then his pilot. “Those girls as wild as they say?”

“Pretty much,” Lynne said. “They've got a reputation for hell-raising and debauchery that's probably only met by the 13th Cav.”

“Lord have mercy if the Cobra Chicks and the Hell's Angels are off the line at the same time,” the former seminary student said.

“Our detachment CO said the same thing,” Lynne said. She checked her watch. “Gotta run. Our chopper should be refueled by now.”

“You'll find some extra cargo loaded. My Master Sergeant had orders to get a case of beer for each crew member recovered,” Guru said.

“Thanks, Guru,” Lynne said. “Too bad we can't RON. I'd love to challenge your Kara Thrace at pool.”

“Be careful,” Braniac said. “She doesn't take checks, So have cash on hand.”

“What if you can't pay,for whatever reason?” Kearny asked.

The 335th crewers looked at each other. “Think the supply tent, a sleeping bag on the floor, a Coleman lantern for ambiance, and, well, you get the rest of the idea,” Sweaty told the Jolly drivers.

“Got you.”

“Consider yourselves warned, Bev,” said Guru. “If you have to RON? Bring cash, like Brainiac said.”

“That's good to know. Well, time to go. You take care, Guru.”

“You too, and Bev?”

The blonde Jolly driver turned to her old classmate. “Yeah?”

Major Wiser looked at his classmate with due seriousness. “Thanks. You guys made sure I only had one letter to write, instead of four.”

“That's our job,” Lynne said. “Be seeing you.”

“You too,” Guru said.

The Jolly drivers nodded,then headed on out.

“Well?” Goalie asked. “You two have a history?”

“Met in OTS. Stayed in touch afterward, and we both got flight. She got helos, while I got fast jets. Had a final fling after we got our wings,and that was it,” Guru said.

Goalie nodded. “Where was she, last you heard?”

“Whiteman,” said Guru.

“Glad she's not there now?” Sweaty asked.

“I'd ask Hoser, KT, and Revlon that,” Guru said. “And did you notice she had the mark of a ring on her finger? I'll bet she's either engaged or married.”

“One way to look at it,” Goalie said. “She was flying Site Support for SAC?”

“That's what I heard,” Guru said. “If she was in the air? I'll bet she saw Kansas City....”

On that happy thought, there was silence around the table.

“Not good,” Preacher said to break the silence.

“No,” agreed Guru.

A few minutes later, Doc Waters and one of the Navy flight surgeons rang the bell at the bar. “Twelve-Hour is now in effect!”

Those not on the flight schedule held onto their drinks, while those who were flying in the morning turned what was left of theirs in,or poured them out. It wasn't long until 2100 came along, and aircrew curfew. Those flying in the morning left the tent and either walked, or staggered, to their tents and found their racks. Because it wouldn't be long until 0430 and wake-up, And they would do it all over again.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 14: A new day...

335th TFS Operations, 3 November, 1987; 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser went into the Squadron Ops building, and he actually felt refreshed. A good night's sleep and a hot shower in the morning did wonders to erase the effects of four beers the night before. One thing that he kept in mind was that he wasn't the first newly-minted Squadron CO to have to write a condolence letter, and he wouldn't be the last.

When he got in, he found Capt. Kerry Collins, the NDO, waiting. “Major,” Collins said, this time staying in his chair.

“Kerry,” the CO said. “I guess you're starting to break the habit.” The CO meant the habit of what General Tanner called “This jumping up-and-down business. The shooting's started, so we can dispense with that.”

“Yes, sir,” Collins said. “Still, kinda hard for an Academy Grad to break that habit.”

“It'll come back in peacetime, whenever that is,” Major Wiser said. “So keep in in the back of your mind. The XO in?”

“Just came in, Major.” Collins nodded towards the CO's office.

“Okay. What are you guys listening to?” Major Wiser meant the office radio.

“Wolfman Jack doesn't go off the air until 6 A.M. California time, so his overnight show's still on,” Collins said. “But we've got a few people who want AFN's country station on once in a while.”

“The NDO chooses that,” said the CO. “Make it clear.”

“Yes, sir. Three more days on the pills, Doc says. Then another checkup.”

“Listen to Doc,” Major Wiser reminded his NDO. “There's times when he outranks all of us. And this is one of 'em.”

Collins nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, Kerry. Thanks.” The CO then headed to his office, and opened the door. “Good Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said. “How'd you sleep?” The XO handed the Major a cup of hot chocolate.

“Pretty good,” the Major nodded. “And no nightmares, which is also good.” He took the cup. “And what do you have for me this morning?”

“The usual,” replied the Exec. “Morning report for MAG-11, and the aircraft status report.”

Major Wiser scanned the papers, then signed them. “Anything else?”

“The two new birds from Japan should be here by 1100,” the XO said. “We can have them flying after noon.”

“No,” the CO shook his head. “Hoser and KT get one. The other? We'll let one of the two new crews get it. Whichever one got the best grades from Kingsley Field.”

Ellis nodded. “I'll tell Van Loan.”

“Good. What else?”

“Ross found one of your requests. It'll be on the C-141 today.”

“Did he, now?” Asked the Major. Seeing his Exec nod, he asked, “Which one did he miss?”

“He didn't say, only that you'd be pleased,” said Ellis.

“Either a new PAO or a Pave Tack pod,” the CO commented. Then there was a knock on the door. “Show yourself and come in!”

The door opened, and Goalie came in, with a cup of coffee in each hand. “Morning,” she said to her CO and pilot (and boyfriend). “GIBs come bearing gifts.”

“And so does the Exec,” the CO said. “Just asking, but where do you get the coffee?”

“From the night duty shift,” Goalie said. “Theirs is a little stronger than usual, since they have to stay awake all night.”

The CO nodded. He recalled stints as NDO and knew that staying awake at night was a bit hard, to say the least. “As long as you get the jolt.” There was another knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Capt. Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, came in. “Boss, we got our ATO, and you'll be happy.”

“No CAS?”

“Not yet,” Van Loan said. “But that can change anytime, as you know.”

Everyone nodded understanding, as they knew from past experience. The old maxim “No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy”, often came true. “It can. So, what's on tap first?” The CO asked.

“For you guys?” Van Loan replied. “You're going down south of Stephenville. Back to the East German sector.”

“What's the target?”

“Liberation Radio transmitter tower and control building.”

Goalie looked at her CO, then the Ops Officer. “Isn't that something for laser bombs?”

“It will be, when we get another Pave Tack pod,” the CO said.

“That's for half the flight: the other half gets a vehicle collection and repair point across the road,” Van Loan said, pointing to the ATO.

“All right, Don.” He looked at the other two officers. “Anything else before we go eat?” Heads shook no. “Okay, yesterday's behind us. Let's go eat, then let's hit it.”

The four officers left the CO's office and found the night shift getting ready to turn things over to the day shift. And the CO was pleased to see that the despised and loathed Major Frank Carson, who was the squadron's biggest headache after the Soviets and their lackeys, was not around. “Any morning that Frank's not around is a good morning.”

“Give him time,” Goalie said. “He'll show his ugly self around.”

“Down, girl,” the CO said. “But you're more than likely right. Let's go eat.”

The officers made their way to the Officer's Mess Tent, and found AF, Marine, and Navy officers waiting for the Mess Tent to open up. “At least we don't have to worry about one thing,” Van Loan noted.

“What?”

“Remember the joke from M*A*S*H? 'The mess tent is fine, the food puts you away.'?”

“One of Hawkeye's best,” Ellis noted.

“It is,” the CO agreed. “There's also “I wonder how the cook got off at Nuremberg?'” Then he saw Colonel Brady, the MAG-11 CO. “Colonel,” Major Wiser politely nodded.

“Major,” Brady said. “How'd you sleep? Not that often you get to see a squadron commander get slightly drunk.”

“Slept well, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Though seeing Captain Thrace get more than slightly drunk is a more common occurrence.”

“I resent that, Boss,” Kara said as she came up. “You know me and twelve-hour.”

“True, Kara,” the Major said. “But it's when we're not bound by twelve-hour that you show your colors.”

Kara nodded. “Guilty.”

“So, what's up, Major?” Sweaty asked.

“We've got an ATO, and no CAS. Briefing after we eat,” Major Wiser said.

“Good,” Kara said. “Let the Hog drivers handle the CAS stuff. That's their lifeblood.”

“Down, girl,” the CO reminded his wingmate. “We have to give them a hand once in a while,like we did yesterday. Even if we get burned.”

Then the Mess Officer showed up at the entrance and flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chowtime, folks.”

“Come on, people,” Colonel Brady said. “Let's eat, then we all got a full plate today.”


After breakfast, the various crews gathered in their briefing rooms. The Major's flight was waiting in theirs when he came in, having attended to some minor business, namely, signing off on another airman's application for Pararescue School, and getting the briefing packet for the first mission for the day. “All right, people!” The CO said. “Here's our mission.”

“What have we got?” Sweaty asked.

“Down in the East German sector, south of Stephenville,” Major Wiser said as he pulled out the contents of the briefing packet. “Right here, ten miles south of town, at the junction of U.S. 281 and F.M. 223. We have two targets.”

“Two targets?” Kara looked at her CO. “What's the deal here?”

“Simple,” the CO said. “East side of the intersection is a radio transmitter tower and control building. The local 'Liberation Radio' affiliate. We take them off the air.”

Goalie had a grin from ear to ear on her face. “Hopefully, right in the middle of one of that scum Hall's speeches.” She was referring to Gus Hall, the “President” of the so-called “Liberation Government of the United States,” the term used by the collaborationist government that was a Soviet creation and puppet.

“To be wished for,” Preacher said. “Or maybe interrupting someone's daily reading of the works of Lenin.” the ex-seminary student spat.

“Maybe,” the CO said. “The other target is west of the intersection. It's a damaged vehicle collection and repair point. Not sure whose it is, Intel says, but chances are, it's East German.”

“So who hits what?” Scorpion asked. “Uh, sir.”

“Coming to that,” Major Wiser said. “Sweaty?” He looked straight at his second element leader. “You and I take the radio facility. Kara?” The CO turned to his wingmate. “You and Judge get the repair yard.”

“Nice,” Kara nodded. “Ordnance load?”

“Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes, each bird. Full air-to-air, and the usual tanks and ECM pods.”

“Boss?” Sweaty raised her hand “Defenses?'

“Good question. We are getting Weasels, because this is just south of Stephenville, which is an East German Army-level HQ, if you'll recall from past visits. There's at least one SA-4 battalion around, and both 23-mm and 57-mm AAA around town. The target area itself? Only 23-mm and MANPADS expected, but given what happened yesterday....”

“Assume they've brought in some heavy stuff,” Brainiac finished for his CO.

“Correct,” Major Wiser said. “Coors One-five and One-six will join us at the tankers over Mineral Wells.”

Kara nodded. “MiG threat?” She asked.

“Connolly AFB near Waco has MiG-21s and -23s. -21s are reported at Brownwood to the southwest of Stephenville, along with Robert Mueller Municipal in Austin. MiG-29s are known at Gray AAF at Fort Hood, and Bergstrom AFB. The Flankers? Bergstrom, also,” the Major finished.

“Dave and Sandi coming with us?” Goalie asked.

“No, not this time,” the CO replied. “Now, bailout areas: anyplace away from the roads. The East Germans are more likely to go off the roads than, say, the Nicaraguans are, Find a place to hole up, and with luck, Jolly Green comes for you at night.”

“Unless somebody lands in some East German's lap,” Judge noted.

Goalie rolled her eyes. “That would be really bad luck. Landing in some East German bivouac, and finding out the guy who tells you 'For you the war is over', is the guy whose grandfather did the same thing at Stalag Luft III back in WW II.”

The CO had a chuckle at that, and so did everybody else. A little humor never hurt, especially after a day like they had yesterday. “That it would,” he agreed. “Okay, Tanker Track TEXACO is over Mineral Wells. The Weasels join us there. Low-level in, pop-up and strike, then low-level out. We go out over the Nicaraguan sector. They won't expect strike birds coming at them from the rear.”

“And they might be still asleep,” Kara said.

“Hopefully,” Major Wiser said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay, gear up, and let's go to 512.”

The Major's flight went to their locker rooms and geared up, then they headed on out to the squadron's dispersal area. On the way, they met up with Capt. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer”, his wingmate, 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs. “Guru,” Golen said, calling the CO by call sign.

“Dave,” Guru replied. “Getting ready to go out?”

“We are, and hopefully, the MiGs come,” Golen said. He was hoping to add a few more scalps to his tally. “And if I can help Sandi get her fourth and fifth, so much the better.”

The CO nodded. “Fair enough, but no trolling for MiGs. If you have an opportunity, like a strike or recon flight, or a helo? Take it. But don't go out looking for trouble. Chances are, you'll be in too much trouble to handle.”

Both Golen and Jenkins nodded in the affirmative. “Not on the agenda, Guru.”

“Good. Sandi, you hear that?”

“Loud and clear, Major.” Sandi replied. Having nearly been shot down once, she didn't want to repeat the experience.

“Good. You guys have a good one,” Guru said.

“Thanks, and we will,” Golen said. Then his element headed out to man their aircraft, as did the CO's.

When the CO's flight got to his revetment, he gathered them around for his final instructions. “I know, this sounds like a broken record, but call signs between us only. Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss,” Kara said. “What's our mission code today?”

“Rambler,” Guru said. “Just like Operation BOLO.”

“If we get jumped, hope our Sparrows work better than theirs,” Sweaty commented. The AIM-7s they used were much improved over the ones that had been used in Southeast Asia, but habits from SEA died hard. F-4 crews often ripple-fired their Sparrows to improve the chances of a kill, just as their brothers in Southeast Asia often did.

“To be hoped for,” Guru said. “All right: anything else? Scorpion, Judge, any questions?”

“Nada, Major,” Scorpion said, while Judge, his GIB, nodded.

“Good,” the CO said. He clapped his hands once. “Mount up and let's hit it.”

The crews went to mount their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512, where the Crew Chief, Staff Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru said, returning the Crew Chief's salute.

“Major,” Crowley said. “512's ready to rock, sir,”

“Good,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then Guru signed for the aircraft. Then he and Goalie mounted the aircraft, and the crew chief and his assistant helped them get strapped in. Then they went through their preflight.

“No newsies this morning,” Goalie commented as she went through the checklist with Guru. “Betcha they slept in.”

“Wouldn't surprise me,” Guru said. “Though she did want to go see that mass grave.”

Goalie's jaw dropped. “She want to lose her breakfast? Ejection seats?”

“Maybe, but then again, anything on Soviet atrocities is probably fair game for her,” replied Guru. “Armed top and bottom; check yours.”

Then Goalie remembered the unofficial motto of the news media. “If it bleeds, it leads.” She shook her head.”If she does lose her breakfast, her problem.”

“It is,” Guru said. “Checklist complete?”

“Preflight complete. We're ready.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He nodded to his crew chief, who then gave the 'Start Engines' signal. One, then two, J-79 engines were soon up and running. Then he called the tower. “Tower, Rambler One-one with four, requesting clearance to taxi and takeoff.”

“Rambler One-one, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Left. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower, Rambler One-one rolling.”

Guru then gave another thumbs-up, and the ground crew pulled the chocks away from the landing gear, then Sergeant Crowley signaled him to taxi. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he did so, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. Guru taxied to the runway, and held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler One-one requesting taxi for takeoff.”

The tower replied immediately. “Roger, Rambler. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-four-zero at ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied, then he taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. Guru looked at his wingmate, who gave him a thumbs-up. Then he called the tower one last time. “Tower, Rambler One-one requesting clearance for takeoff.”

This time, as usual, the Tower didn't reply, but flashed a single green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let's get going,” Goalie replied.

Then both pulled down and locked their canopies, and Kara and Brainiac in 520 did the same. Then Guru ran his engines to full power, released the brakes, then he rolled 512 down the runway and into the air, with Kara right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Scorpion's turn, as they roared down the runway and into the air.



Over Central Texas, 0740 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight headed south, following the boundary between the Nicaraguans and the East Germans. It was a route often used by strike aircraft, and not just the 335th's missions, to hit this part of Texas. One thing about it, the Nicaraguans rarely turned on their air-defense radars or warmed up their SAM sites unless they were the ones actually being attacked. It was a sign that the Nicaraguans' enthusiasm for the war was cooling, and strike packages took advantage of it.

“Two minutes to turn point,” Goalie said from 512's back seat. That meant the U.S. 67-State Route 220 intersection, west of the small town of Chalk Mountain.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He was keeping his head on a swivel, watching for any threats. He saw Kara in 520 tucked right in, maintaining combat spread, and knew that Sweaty and Scorpion were right behind him. Just above and ahead of him were the two F-4Gs from Coors Flight that had joined up when they hit the tankers. “So far, no radars up.”

“Maybe they're still asleep?”

“Maybe,” Guru said. He called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler One-one. Say bogey dope?”

“Rambler One-one, Warlock.” The controller replied. “Threat bearing One-six-zero for eighty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for ninety-six. Medium, closing-uh, stand by.”

“What's that about?” Guru asked over the IC.

His GIB was just as confused. “I'd like to know myself.”

“Rambler, Warlock,” the controller came back. “Threat bearing one-seven-five for one hundred. Medium, now going away.” He went on. Third threat bearing Two-two-zero for seventy. Medium, going away.”

Guru breathed a sigh of relief. If the second threat were Su-27s, there wasn't much F-4s could do, except get low, do a Doppler Break, and holler for help. If any was around......”Copy, Warlock.”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. “Stand by to turn.”

“Roger that,” Guru said.

“And...”Goalie said as the intersection appeared. “Turn. New heading is Two-six-five.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Two-six-five.” He turned 512 onto the new heading, and the rest of the flight followed suit.

“One minute thirty to Route 281,” Goalie said.

“Sky's clear,” Guru said as he checked the RWR repeater. “Maybe they are asleep.”


Below, on Route 220, a Nicaraguan supply convoy was approaching the U.S. 67 intersection when Rambler Flight flew past. The convoy's commander was apprehensive as the F-4s flew by, and he saw that his men were abandoning their vehicles, as they fully expected to be attacked. They were all relieved when the Yanqui aircraft kept on going, right into the East German sector. The commander, a Captain, picked himself up from a roadside ditch and shook his head. Why they didn't hit his convoy, he didn't know. But if the Yanquis were headed into the East German sector? Good. Whatever they hit there wasn't his problem.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said.

“Copy,” Guru replied. They would pass over 281, hit a small reservoir, then turn north for the target.

U.S. 281 then appeared, and the crews could see some traffic on the highway. Military, and almost certainly East German.

“That's the road. The lake's dead ahead,” Guru said. “Time to go to work.”

“Roger that,” Goalie said. She knew what her pilot wanted. All of their air-to-ground ordnance set up to go in one pass. She quickly worked the armament switches. “Switches set.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied as they hit the small reservoir and turned north, pulling up as they did so. “Coors, Rambler. Time for you guys to go to work.”

“Roger, Rambler,' Coors One-five called. The two F-4Gs climbed to 5,000 feet, and as they did, SAM radars came up. And so did “Magnum” calls over the radio as HARM and Standard-ARM antiradar missiles were launched.

“Rambler, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and let's go.”

“Copy that, Lead.” Kara replied.

“Three's ready,” Sweaty added.

“Four, roger,” Scorpion.


Guru pulled up, and as he did, he could see the radio transmitter that was his target. “Rambler Lead, target in sight. Lead's in hot!”


At the radio transmitter control building, the duty technicians were going about their business, and only paying scant attention to the broadcast. Of the four techs, three were locals, who had only taken the job so as to get more food for their families, while their supervisor was a dedicated follower of the Collaborationist government now in Austin. The techs heard the newscaster on “Liberation News” claim that “Despite setbacks, the Socialist Forces have complete air supremacy over the Liberated Zone,” then came the rumble of jets. One of the techs ran outside and saw the two F-4Gs pulling up and begin firing missiles, while he saw another smoke trail coming right for them. He had lived near an Air National Guard base in San Antonio, and knew full well what that was. F-4 Phantom. The tech ran in and yelled. “Air Raid!” The other techs followed him out and jumped into a hastily-dug shelter as the F-4 came in.

In 512, Guru was lining up the transmitter tower. Oh, for a Pave Tack pod and a couple Paveways, he thought. Well, next one, maybe we can do it. He put that thought out of his mind as he lined up the tower in his pipper. Guru noticed the vehicle repair yard across from the transmitter, and some tracers coming up from it. Too little, too late, Franz, he thought. “Steady, steady......HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and a dozen five-hundred pound bombs came off of 512's racks. “Lead's off target,” he called as he pulled out of the bomb run and headed north.

The techs huddled in their bomb shelter as Guru's bombs exploded around the tower. One of the techs looked up and saw the tower sag, then part of the tower snapped like a twig, and a hundred feet of the steel tower came crashing to the ground, not fifty feet from them. Then he saw another smoke trail to the south, and ducked back in.

“SHACK!” Goalie called.

“We get it?” Guru asked as he banked to the north, keeping away from Stephenville proper.

“Can't tell, but I think so.”

“Sort it out later,” Guru said as he headed for I-20 and the front lines. Then he saw a “4” on his EW repeater. “Coors, Rambler. Got an SA-4 up.”

“Copy that, Rambler. We're on it. MAGNUM!” Coors One-five called as he shot a HARM at the offending radar.


“Two's in!” Kara called from 520. She rolled in on the repair yard just as Guru called off target, and she saw the bomb bursts around the transmitter. She also noticed the flak coming up from the machine guns and 23-mm around the yard, and ignored it. Kara lined up the western half of the yard in the pipper. “Steady...HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and Mark-82 Snakeyes came off 520's racks. As she pulled up, tracers followed 520, but none came too close. “Two's off safe,” she called.

The techs at the transmitter site looked from their shelter as Kara's F-4 flew past, leaving bomb bursts in its wake at the East German repair yard. Several fireballs erupted as bombs went off, though what they had exploded, the techs didn't know. Then one of the techs, the one who had lived near an ANG base, jumped up out of the shelter and ran to the north, ignoring the calls of the others to come back. He glanced behind him, and saw another F-4 coming in. He found an old drainage ditch and jumped into it.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's rear seat. “We got secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she followed the CO towards I-20.

“A few,” came the reply from the back seat. “And no flak.”

“Good!” Kara said as she headed north.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she rolled in. She picked out the control building, and noticed that the transmitter tower had been blown in half, and that the lower half might tip over. Sweaty lined up the control building in her pipper, and ignored the 23-mm coming up from the repair yard's perimeter. An SA-7 or SA-14 came up as well, but didn't guide, and flew harmlessly by her bird as she hit the pickle button . “HACK!” A dozen more Mark-82s fell onto the transmitter facility, then she, too headed north. “Three off safe,” Sweaty called.


The techs who had stayed behind heard Sweaty's F-4 come over, then they looked up and saw the bombs coming off. All three ducked instinctively back into the shelter, as the bombs exploded. Unknown to them, a five-hundred pound bomb landed right on the control building, blowing it apart, while a second bomb landed right next to the shelter, with a third landing right on top of it, penetrating the roof and exploding inside.....

“SHACK!” Preacher yelled. “Got a good hit!”

“We got the building?” Sweaty asked as she headed north.

The ex-seminary student glanced back. “I think so,”

“Take your word for it,” Sweaty said as she egressed towards I-20.


“Four's in!” Scorpion called. He rolled in onto the repair yard, and like Kara before him, he ignored the light flak coming up. Scorpion saw where Kara's bombs had gone off, and he aimed for the east side of the yard. He saw several tanks in the yard, and lined them up in his pipper. “On target...and HACK!” Scorpion hit the pickle button, and twelve more Mark-82s fell onto the repair yard. As he pulled away, he called.”Four's off target.”

The surviving tech looked up from the edge of the ditch where he'd run to, and saw not only Sweaty's run blow the control building apart, but he thought a bomb had landed on the shelter he'd just run away from . Then Scorpion's F-4 came over, and more explosions came from the repair yard. Good, he thought. Maybe some of those East Germans got what they deserved. He picked himself up, and decided to start walking home along Highway 281. Maybe he'd find somebody that he could report this to, or maybe not. Let them find out for themselves, he decided.

In Stephenville City Hall, the Commander of the East German “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg” the Army-level formation that the East Germans had sent to fight in America, was holding his morning staff meeting. The air raid alarm had sounded, and not only the General, but his staff officers, had gone to windows to watch. They saw two F-4s orbiting, and occasionally firing missiles, as his own SAMs and antiaircraft guns fired at the intruders. The General then noted four F-4s, one after another, heading north as they kept clear of the town. The General also knew that if they could see this, so could the local population. He turned to his political officer. “Comrade Political Officer? I'd like to see you explain this? Not just to our own soldiers, but to the civilian population.”



“Coors, Rambler Lead. We're all off target.” Guru called the Weasel leader.

“Roger that, Rambler,” Coors One-five replied. “We are Winchester and on our way out.”

Guru grinned underneath his oxygen mask. So far, so good. Now, though, until they cleared FLOT, which meant I-20, they weren't flying for Uncle Sam, but for themselves. He glanced to his Four O'clock, and saw Kara in 520 coming right into combat spread. “There's Kara,” Guru said over the IC.

“Sweaty's behind us,” Goalie said as they overflew the Nicaraguans. “And these chumps are still asleep.”

“Maybe the Army made their heavy air-defense assets go away,” Guru said. It wasn't long until the twin ribbons of concrete that was I-20 appeared, and only then did the flight turn on their IFF. The Army was also known for a “shoot them down and sort them on the ground” attitude. “Warlock, Rambler One-one,” Guru called the AWACS. “Say threat.”

“Rambler, Warlock,” Threat bearing One-eight zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Eagles inbound to intercept.”

“Roger that, Warlock,” Guru replied. “Sweaty, you there?”

“Right behind you, Lead,” Sweaty replied. “Got Scorpion with me.”

“Good girl,” Guru replied.

Rambler and the Weasels joined up with the tankers, and after their post-strike refueling, headed for their respective bases.

“Rambler, Coors One-five. Nice doing business with you, fella.”

“Nice job on the SAMs,” Guru replied. “Maybe we can do this again later.”

“Be glad to,” Coors One-five replied, then the two Weasel Phantoms broke off and headed for their base, which was Reese AFB near Lubbock, while Rambler headed for Sheppard. It wasn't long before Rambler was in Sheppard's traffic pattern, and, as usual, they had to wait while outbound flights, in this case two of Marine Skyhawks and a 335th flight, departed the base. Then they came in and landed.

As Rambler Flight taxied in, Ms. Wendt and her crew were filming. “Four out and back,” Kodak Griffith noted. “Always a good thing.”

“Especially after what happened yesterday?” Ms. Wendt asked.

Kodak nodded. “You bet,” he said. “Looks like you're catching on.”


Rambler flight taxied by with canopies raised, and the crews noticed the TV crew at work. “Missed us going out, but they catch us coming back,” Goalie observed.

“They probably slept in,” Guru said. He taxied 512 into its revetment, and after his crew chief gave the signal, shut down his engines. “One down, three or four to go,” he observed.

“I'll take three,” Goalie said.. They ran through the post-flight checklist, then climbed down from the aircraft.

“No guarantee,” Guru said. Both he and Goalie did a quick post-flight walkaround, then he turned to Sergeant Crowley. “No battle damage, Sergeant, and no other issues. She's still working like a champ.”

“Thanks, sir!” Crowley said. “What'd you hit?”

“Made their 'Liberation Radio' go off the air in this part of Texas,” Guru said. “Maybe we shut up that SOB Hall in the middle of a speech.”

“To be wished for,” Goalie nodded.

“Yeah, Pull the strike camera film, Sergeant, and get her turned around ASAP.” Guru told his crew chief.

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “Okay,” he told the ground crew. “Let's get the CO's bird turned around ASAP.”

The CO nodded approval. “Good man, Sergeant,” He and Goalie went to the edge of the revetment, and found Kara and Brainiac waiting. “Well, how'd things go for you guys?”

“Tore up part of the repair yard,” Kara said. “And not having anyone shoot heavy stuff at us was a bonus.”

Brainiac nodded. “I'll go along with that, Boss. No heavy-caliber flak at all.”

“And we saw what you did on the transmitter tower,” Kara added. “Half of it fell off, and the rest? Looked like it'll fall down any minute.”

Guru nodded, just as Sweaty, Preacher, Scorpion, and Judge came up. “Sweaty,” he said. “How was it for you?”

“Don't know about the control building, but you did a number on the tower,” Sweaty replied.

“Kara just told me. Scorpion? How about you?”

Scorpion nodded. “Tore up the other half of the repair yard, and Sweaty did get the control building.”

“Okay,” Guru said. “Let's go debrief, then check your paperwork, because in an hour or so...”

“We go out and do it again,” Kara finished.

“That we do,” the CO agreed. “Let's go.”

As they walked towards the Squadron Ops building, they noticed two more F-4s taxiing in. By the tail numbers, they were Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins. “Dave's back,” Kara noted.

“And Sandi,” Guru said. “No fingers up in cockpits, so no kills.”

“Can't splash anyone if they don't come and play,” Sweaty added.

“Speaking of which,” Scorpion asked, “Who were those guys the AWACS told us about?”

“Licon might know,” Guru said. “Maybe we'll find out in the debrief. Come on, and let's get it over with.”


The crews went into Squadron Ops and found the day shift had taken over, and things were humming nicely. Even Casey Kasem's Morning Show on AFN sounded good. They got out of their flight gear and went to their briefing room. There, Capt. Darren Licon, their SIO, was waiting. “Major,” Licon said. “Ready to get this going?”

“Might as well,” Guru said.

Nodding, Licon took out a TPC chart and some reconnaissance photos of the target area. “Major, could you show your approach and strike route, please?”

Guru and the others indicated their ingress route, and the approach to the target. “Went in here,” Guru said. “Dropped on the transmitter tower.”

“Results?” Licon asked.

“Couldn't tell ourselves,” Goalie said.

“They got the tower,” said Kara. “Half of it was lying on the ground when I came in.”

“All right,” Licon was taking notes. “And the repair yard?”

“Got the western half,” Kara pointed on a photo.

Licon nodded. “Any secondaries?”

“Got a few,” Brainiac said. “And before you ask, the flak was pretty light.”

“Didn't have any for us,” the CO said.

“Maybe coming in woke them up,” Kara said. “Light stuff: either machine guns or ZU-23s.”

“Any MANPADS?” Licon asked.

“Nope,” Kara replied.

“Sweaty?” The intel asked. “How'd it go with you?”

Sweaty pointed to the same photo Kara did. “Hit the transmitter control building.”

“And?”

Preacher said, “Couldn't tell. Too much smoke and debris.”

“They got it,” Scorpion added. “Nuthin' left of that building.”

“Thanks, Scorpion,” Licon noted. “And you hit the other side of the repair yard?”

“That we did,” Judge said. “Got some secondaries.”

The intel made some more notes. “Any other resistance?” He asked.

“Had an SA-7 or -14 come up at us,” Sweaty said. “Head on, and he didn't guide.”

“We had an SA-4 radar come up on the way out,” Guru added. “The Weasels took care of him, I think.”

Licon nodded. “Okay, sir, that about covers it. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Who were the threats coming after us? AWACS said F-15s were going to intercept.” The CO said.

“Don't know right off, Boss. But I can try and find out. There's been more MiG activity this morning compared to the last couple of days.”

“Okay, see if you can find out, Darren.”

“Will try. Anything else, Boss?” Licon asked.

The CO looked around, and heads shook no. “I guess that answers your question.”

The intel nodded. 'I guess it does, Thanks, Boss.” Then he headed to debrief the next flight.

“Now what?” Goalie asked.

“Check your desks, and clear any paperwork,” Guru said. “Get something to eat or drink, and be here in an hour for the next one.”

“SSDS,” Sweaty noted.

“You got it. And they may try and squeeze as much flying out of us as they can,” Guru told everyone. “Before we left, I got handed the long-range weather forecast. There's a storm coming into California tomorrow, and we may feel it a couple days later.”

“Two or three days of intense flying, then a stand-down due to General Nature.” Kara noted. And by the tone of her voice, it wasn't a question.

“You got it.”


Guru then headed for his office, and after checking his IN box, and finding there wasn't that much paperwork, other than routine matters, he cleared that quickly. He then got a cup of coffee from his coffee maker and went over yesterday's Stars and Stripes. Not much happening anywhere, he mused. After skimming the news, he went to the most important section of the paper: the comics. The CO was just about finished when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

Goalie came in. “Got something for you to sign. Airman Chris Turner wants to to Airman to Pilot.”

“One of yours?” the CO asked, and he saw his GIB nod. “What's his background?”

“Cal Tech,” Goalie said. “Five semesters. And you won't believe his major.”

The CO took a look at the application. “Astrophysics? Has being around fighter pilots convinced him that there's better things to do than stare through a telescope or watching a monitor at Aercibo?”

“Guess so.”

“Okay, just so he knows: they haven't changed the commitment for pilots or navs. Even if the war ended the day after he got winged, he still has a twelve-year commitment as a pilot. Eight for navs,” the CO reminded his GIB.

“He does,” Goalie nodded.

The CO nodded,“Fair enough.” He signed “Approved.” and handed back the application. “With that background, the Review Board will stream him into flight. Anything else?”

“Yeah, Both Mark and Don are back.”

“Okay,” the CO said. “Get them both here, along with yourself and Kara. Got something to run by you all.”

Goalie nodded. “Got you.” A few minutes later, she bought the XO, Ops Officer, and Kara.

“What's up Boss?” the Exec asked.

“Okay, Mark, what'd you hit this morning?” Asked the CO.

“Suspected division-level HQ,” replied the XO.

“Okay, Don?” He turned to Don Van Loan, his Ops Officer. “How about you?”

“Supply dump,” Van Loan said. “What are you getting at?”

“That supply dump-and the repair yard Kara hit this morning were area targets. Mark, you hit a point target with dumb bombs, and so did Goalie and I. A dozen Mark-82s on a radio transmitter tower.”

“What's your point, Boss?” Kara asked.

“My point is, we've got Pave Tack pods-two of them, and we're getting a third today. And we've got three Pave Spike pods. Along with crews qualified to use them. We're going to start using them,” The CO said.

“How?” Van Loan asked. “We don't have that many laser bombs.”

“Get some more from the Marines,” the CO said. “And Mark? Find Ross and fill him in. Tell him to get his scroungers out looking for laser bomb kits. The usual rules apply for the scroungers, however.”

“Will do,” Ellis said.

“And what are we going after?” Kara asked.

The CO nodded.”Point targets like that radio transmitter, or bridges, to name but a couple. If we get results with the smart bombs.....”

“Then they'll give us more missions with those,” Goalie finished.

“Right. Don?” Guru turned to his Ops Officer. “When you get a point target in the ATO, pencil out the assigned ordnance and pencil in some laser bombs. Find people qualified on either Pave Tack or Pave Spike and give them the mission.”

“And when General Tanner comes by next?” Ellis asked.

“I'll show him the gun-camera video, and ask that we get laser bomb missions as part of the ATO. Along with the needed ordnance,” replied the CO. “Right now, we're doing this by hook or by crook. But if we show him results....”

“We'll get that on the ATO,” Kara nodded. “Boss, anyone ever tell you that you can be a sneaky bastard?”

“Ellis did,” Guru smiled. “Got to be that when I was Exec. All right: this is between us for now. Though if he ever found out, I know somebody would be smiling.”

“Who?” Ellis asked.

“Robin Olds. Who would you expect?” Asked the CO. Ever since Colonel Rivers had taken over the 335th, the unit had been run just like the legendary Robin Olds had run the 8th TFW in Vietnam. If one had to fold, spindle, bend, or mutilate a few regs, or go over, around, on top, or underneath some bureaucrats in order to get results, then so be it.

“Kind of forgot about that,” The XO said. “You kept the photo of General Olds that Colonel Rivers had on the office wall.”

“That I did,” Guru said. “All right: apart from Ross, this is compartmentalized. Just between us for now until we start flying some laser bomb missions. Got it?” Heads nodded at that. “Okay, anything else?”

“Just this, Boss,” Kara said. She handed him a paper. “Got our Frag Order. The mission packet's being assembled right now.”

The CO looked at the paper. “All right. Kara?” He then looked at his wingmate. “Get our flight together, and find Dave, Sandi, and their GIBs. They're coming with us.”

“What's the mission?” Kara asked.

“Anti-airfield,” the CO said. “Get everybody to the briefing room. Be there in fifteen.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Kara said. “I'm gone.” She then went out the office door to round up everyone.

“Mark? Don? Anything else?” Guru asked. Heads shook no. “Okay, remember what I said, and see you later.”

“Good luck, Boss,” Ellis said as he left, and Van Loan echoed him.”

“Thanks, guys.”

Goalie looked at her pilot and CO. “Where are we going?”

“Brownwood Airport,” Guru said. “We get to pay two MiG regiments a visit.”

His GIB looked right at him. “Two? Who came up with this?”

“No idea, but we get to visit a MiG-21 regiment, which is East German, and a Soviet MiG-23 regiment. How's that before lunch?”

“Just as long as we don't wind up eating Kasha and Borscht for lunch,” Goalie reminded her pilot.

“No argument there,” Guru said. “Let's get the brief done, then we fly.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part 15: Paying General Starukhin a visit.... and that brutal thug is living up to that reputation-among his own officers..


335th TFS Ops: 0930 Hours Central War Time:



Major Wiser and Lieutenant Eichhorn went to their briefing room, and not only found the rest of their flight, but also Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer”, 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins, and their respective GIBs: 1st Lt. Terry McAuliffe, and 1st Lt. Ken Dahlberg. “What's up Guru?” Golen asked, calling the CO by call sign.

“You guys are coming with us on this one. We're headed for Brownwood Airport. There's an East German MiG-21 Regiment, and a Soviet MiG-23 Regiment based there. We get to pay them a morning visit,” the CO said.

The flight members looked at each other. Two regiments? “Boss, who came up with this?” Sweaty asked.

“Don't blame me,” Guru replied. “We just get 'em from the ATO.” That meant the Air Tasking Order that came down from Tenth Air Force.

“Swell,” Kara said. “This one sounds like a good way to get some of us killed.”

“Or captured,” Sandi added. “Fuck that very much!”

“Down, people.” Guru said, putting his CO's hat on. “Kara, you have the briefing packet?”

“Right here,” Kara tossed the packet to the CO.

Guru caught it, “Thanks,” and he opened it. “Okay, says here F-111s hit this place last night. Chances are, they're still repairing the runways, and we get to prolong the process.”

“At least somebody got there before us,” Goalie nodded. “What's the defenses like?”

Guru scanned the intel sheet. “Okay, hold onto your breakfast. There's an SA-3 site a mile southwest of the airport, and at least three 57-mm sites near the airport-that's a battalion, by the way. Throw in 23-mm and MANPADS and it will be a hell of a ride. And that's not all.”

“There's more?” Dave Golen asked.

“There is,” Guru said. “There's an army-level formation in and around Brownwood, resting and refitting. And it's the cream of the crop.”

“Who?” Goalie asked.

The CO turned to his GIB and girlfriend. “It's 3rd Shock Army. The baddest of the bad from GSFG prewar.”

Heads looked at each other. “Didn't these guys get chewed up at Wichita?” Kara asked.

“They did, and they're here getting refitted, the sheet says,” Guru said. “So, there's an Army-level air defense brigade in the area, with SA-4, and there's also four divisions there, with their own air-defense elements. Which means SA-6, -8, or -11 in their SAM regiments.”

“This is a hairy one, Boss,” said Preacher. “We might lose people.”

Guru nodded. “I know, but this is what they pay us for.”

Brainiac, Kara's GIB, asked, “We getting Weasels?”

“We are, and they'll join us at the tankers.” Then there was a knock on the door. “Come on in and show yourself!” The CO said.

Capt. Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, came in. “Boss, got some good news for you.”

“Tell us the mission's off,” Kara joked.

“No go on that,” Van Loan said. “Boss, addition to the ATO: you're getting four Marine Hornets from VMFA-531. How do you want them loaded?”

“Hornets?” Guru asked. He thought for a minute. “Okay.....they all get a HARM and a pair of CBUs. Plus their air-to-air load. They just drew flak suppression, and we're going to need it. How soon can they be armed?”

The Ops Officer looked at his CO. “Twenty minutes, Boss. I'll have the drivers waiting for you outside.”

“Fair enough,” Guru said. “Okay, targets: Kara? You and I are taking the ramp area: kill any aircraft on it. So we're getting CBUs.”

His wingmate nodded. “Rockeyes?”

“The usual,” the CO nodded. “Sweaty?” You take Runway 17/35. Scorpion gets Runway 13/31. Mark-82s for you guys.”

His second element lead nodded. “Any with Daisy Cutters? Those'll do a number on repair crews.”

“Somebody at Tenth Air Force thinks like you: half of your bombs have the Daisy Cutter fuze,” Guru said. “Dave? You and Sandi have two Gator Mine CBUs on centerline, and two on your inboard stations. Dump those wherever you can along the runways.”

Golen had a grim smile. “Just as we did in 1973,” he said. “Dibber bombs to crater runways, and CBUs to hinder the repair crews.”

The CO nodded. “It says here the F-111s dropped a few of those last night, but you two add some more. Other than your air-to-ground ordnance, we'll have the usual air-to-air load: four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, a full load of 20-mm, an ALQ-119 or ALQ-101 ECM pod, and two wing tanks.”

“What's our ingress route?” Scorpion asked.

“Coming to that. We meet up with the Tankers-and the Weasels join us there, by the way, at Track ARCO, north of Abeline, and before you ask, Dyess is open, but mainly as an A-10 FOL and for C-130 and Army helo ops. It is a divert field in case you have battle damage and have to put down. After refueling, we follow U.S. 283 south, and that is a MSR, in case you're wondering. Soviet 32nd Army has the front lines in that part of Texas, so be careful. We follow 283 until we hit the Colorado River, then we turn east. Pick up U.S. 377, and turn north. Once we clear the city of Brownwood proper, we pop up, and roll in. No loitering around, folks, and if you have hung ordnance? Keep it. No repeat passes.”

“Got it,” Sweaty said, and the rest nodded. It was a squadron rule, but it never bore repeating.

“Okay: bailout areas. Still anyplace rural and away from roads. If you can, stay with your aircraft until you hit the I-20. If you can, get to Dyess, as I said. Abilene Municipal is also an option. And if you do have to get out? Find someplace to hole up, and Jolly will come for you at night. Questions?”

“Yeah, Boss,” Preacher asked, “Why no EF-111s or Marine Prowlers?”

The CO had a grim smile. “You should know it by now: too many missions and not enough assets.”

'Had to ask, Boss.”

“Any others?”

“MiG threat still the same as this morning?” Kara asked. She was always up for a fight, and knew that both Dave and Sandi were looking for more MiGs as well.

“It is. Be glad we've got the Hornets coming with us. If we wind up having Flankers, they can hold their own. Anything else?” Asked the CO.

Braniac looked around, then asked,”How many more today?”

“Two or three,” the CO said. “There's a storm coming into the West Coast tonight, and we'll feel it the day after tomorrow. So we may get a partial or full stand-down due to weather.”

“So we fly our pants off until then,” Sweaty noted. It wasn't a question, not with her tone of voice.

“That's about it. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Time to gear up, and I'll meet you outside.”

As people left to head to the locker rooms to get their flight gear, Guru got a hold of Kara. “Find Van Loan, and have him tell the Marines to meet us outside.”

Kara nodded, “Will do.” She then left to gear up and get the Ops Officer and pass on the CO's instructions.

After everyone geared up, they went outside and found four Marine Hornet pilots waiting. “Major? Captain Pat Crockett, VMFA-531,” the senior aviator said.

Guru shook his hand. “With that last name, Captain, you'd be pretty popular in this state. You guys been briefed?”

“Just the essentials,” Crockett said. “You guys need some flak or SAM suppressors, and extra cover for MiGs. And that's it.”

“That's it in a nutshell,” Guru said. He took the packet out and showed the Marines what he wanted. “The SA-3 site near the field, and the 57-mm sites. Can you hit those with your CBUs?”

The Marines nodded. “Can do, Major,” Crockett said.

“All right: this place is going to be hairy. Not just the SA-3 and the AAA, but there's also SA-4s and divisional level SAMs nearby. They tell you 3rd Shock Army's refitting in and around the town?” Guru asked.

“Now that you mention it, Major?” Crockett replied. “Not particularly.” The Marine looked at the photos, then the map. “What do you want us to do after the flak suppression?”

“TARCAP,” said Guru. “Just in case any MiGs from elsewhere come to the party.”

“Or Flankers,” Sweaty added.

“Especially them,” Guru agreed. “Can you handle it?”

“Can do, Major,” Crockett replied. “Where do we meet?”

“Join up with us at ten grand overhead,” said Guru. “Then you guys go in ahead of us, but behind the Weasels.”

“We'll be there,” Crockett said, and the rest of his flight nodded. “Call sign is Warlord Zero-seven.”

“Rambler Lead for me,” Guru told the Marine. “See you up there.”

“We'll be waiting,” said Crockett, then he and the rest of the Marines went to man their Hornets.

“Notice something?” Goalie asked. “About those Marines?”

“What?” Guru turned to his GIB.

“All guys,” Goalie said. “Not one girl.”

“The Jarheads didn't allow women as pilots prewar,” Preacher said. “They're probably just coming into
the pipeline.”

“Right on that,” Colonel Brady said. He had a habit-a good one, many felt, of coming around and checking on the various squadrons as they went through the day. “We should be getting some before year's end. And Major? Heard you've got a hairy one. Be careful out there.”

“Thanks, Colonel,” Guru replied, shaking the Colonel's hand. “Try and bring everybody back, if I can.”

“No guarantees in this business,” Brady noted. He knew from his own experience in Southeast Asia firsthand about such things. And five years in the Hanoi Hilton turned out to be a brutal teacher. “You have a good mission.”

“Will do, Colonel,” Guru said. “Let's go, people.” Then the flight members walked down the dispersal area, until they came to 512's revetment. “Dave, Sandi? You guys don't have call signs yet, so go by first names. Rest of us? Call signs between us. Mission code to AWACS and other parties.”

“Understood, Guru,” Golen said.

“All right, anything else?” The CO asked. Heads shook no. He clapped his hands once. “Let's go get 'em. Time to hit it.”

Everyone then went to mount their aircraft, and while they did, Guru and Goalie went to 512 and found the aircraft ready. “Major,” Staff Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, said as he saluted. “512's ready to rock.”

Guru nodded, and he and Goalie sketched a return salute. “Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. Pilot and GIB then did a quick walk-around, then Guru signed for the aircraft. Then the two mounted the F-4 and got strapped in, then they went through their preflight

“Still don't like this one,” Goalie said as she went through the checklist. “This sounds like it got laid on too fast.”

“Don't like it myself,” Guru admitted. “And I know: somebody might get themselves killed this time.”

“Or worse, captured,” Goalie reminded her pilot. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. And don't remind me. Saw some of that on the E&E. Checklist complete.”

“Checklist complete,” Goalie agreed. “Ready for engine start.”

“Let's do it,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to his crew chief, who then gave him the signal to start engines. Both J-79 engines were soon up and running, And it was time for Guru to call the tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead with six, requesting clearance for taxi and takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear for taxi to Runway Three-three Left. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” Guru gave the crew chief another thumbs-up, and Crowley signaled the ground crew to pull the landing gear chocks away. Then he signaled Guru to start taxiing.
“Here we go,” Guru said as he taxied 512 out of the revetment. After he did, Crowley snapped a salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it.

As Guru taxied to the end of the runway, he glanced to his rear, and saw the other F-4s in the flight taxiing behind him. When he got to the runway, he held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. Then it was time. “All set?”

“Ready back here,” Goalie called.

“Tower, Rambler Lead requesting permission to taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” the tower called back immediately. “Clear for taxi and takeoff. Winds are two-seven-two at ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied, then he taxied 512 onto the runway. Kara followed in 520, and she gave him a thumbs-up. He returned it, then called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clearance for takeoff.”

As usual, the tower didn't reply on the radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.


Guru and Goalie pulled down their canopies, and Kara and Brainiac did the same. Guru then applied full power on the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Sweaty and Scorpion followed, and so did Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins.



Over Central Texas: 1020 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was southbound over Central Texas, having met up with their Weasels and had their prestrike refueling. Now, they were inbound at low level, with the F-4s coming in at 450 Feet AGL, the Hornets just above and ahead of the strike flight, and the Weasel element ahead. And so far, so good.

Three minutes to the river,” Goalie said from 512's back seat.

“Copy,” Guru replied. They were coming up on the town of Coleman, which was the HQ for the Cuban 2nd Army, but the Cubans didn't have the SA-4 SAM brigade the Soviets had, and so far, the Cuban radars, though active, weren't picking them up. Then the town went past them in a blur. “Coleman's behind us.”

“Roger that,” Goalie said. The GIBs were handling the navigation, while the pilots flew the aircraft, and all were keeping their eyes out for threats. Then she noted, “Two minutes.”

“Got it,” Guru said. Then he called the AWACS that watched this part of Texas. “Buckeye, Rambler Lead. Say threat?”

The controller got back to him, and by the voice, it was a female on the other end. “Rambler Lead, Buckeye. Threat bearing one-six-zero for eighty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-nine-zero for ninety-six, Medium, closing. Third threat bearing two-four-zero for sixty-five, Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Buckeye,” Guru replied.

“One minute to turn,” Goalie said. The minute went by quick, and the Colorado River bridge on 283 came up. Stand by...”

“Flight, Lead, turn now,” Guru said. “Watch for flak at the bridge.” As Guru put 512 into a left turn, he saw puffs of smoke coming from the flak battery defending the bridge.

“That wasn't in the brief,” Goalie noted. “One minute thirty to the next turn point.” That was U.S. 377.

“Talk about it later,” Guru said as he leveled on a due east heading. He checked his EW repeater. “Sky's still clear.”

“For now,” Goalie said. “Flak again at the 377 bridge.”

“Got it,” Guru said as the flight approached the U.S. 377 bridge over the Colorado. “Flight, Lead. Music on.” That call meant to turn on their ECM pods. Then, as he saw the bridge, he turned 512 to follow U.S. 377, and the Cuban-manned 37-mm flak burst harmlessly behind them. Twenty miles to Brownwood. And as they flew north, they saw military traffic on the road. “Wish we were doing armed recon?”

“With those supply convoys?” Goalie asked. “You bet.”


At that moment, at Third Shock Army HQ, which had taken over the Howard Payne University, the Army Commander was not in a good mood. Lieutenant General Vladimir Starukhin had led 3rd Shock Army from the beginning, having brought it over from GSFG, and his army had enjoyed success after success, until they had run into the U.S. VII Corps at the Battle of Wichita, and his army had definitely come off much the worse for wear. After fighting in the rearguard during the withdrawal from Kansas down through Oklahoma and into Texas, they had finally been brought off the line in order to rest and refit.

However, refitting four shot-up tank divisions and three independent tank regiments was proving to be a tall order, given the supply difficulties the Soviets were experiencing, and to make matters worse, the local garrison command, the 230th Rear-Area Protection Division, was not under his command, but reported to the TVD's Chief of the Rear. And the Division's commander was not very interested in any kind of serious anti-guerrilla action. His men were content to patrol the main roads, provide security for the Lake Brownwood Dam and the airport, and provide a presence in the city of Brownwood itself, but as far as going into the rural areas on any kind of serious anti-guerrilla sweeps? The Divisional Commander had told Starukhin that was out of the question. His men were mostly out of shape reservists from Riga, and the rank and file were for the most part, Latvian. Not to mention having only one regiment with old BTR-152s, the others having to make do with captured American trucks or simply patrolling on foot; a single tank battalion with old T-54As, and an artillery regiment with 122-mm and 152-mm pieces left over from the Great Patriotic War.

Now, Starukhin was entertaining a visitor, Colonel Vassily Sergov. But he was no ordinary Colonel; he was a direct representative of Marshal Kribov, the Theater Commander, and bore the Gold Star of a Hero of the Soviet Union for having led a relief force that had found the Marshal after his forward headquarters had been hit by an American air attack and nearly been overrrun. And Starukhin was making his displeasure known at the Colonel for the Army's difficulties. After listening to Starukhin's complaints, Colonel Sergov was understanding, but firm.

“Comrade Army Commander, you need to realize that we are on the end of a very long supply line from the Rodina. And the Americans and British are working at cutting that supply line,” Sergov reminded the General.

“Damn the Navy!” Starukhin yelled. “I need my divisions refitted and reequipped now!”

“Comrade Army Commander,” Sergov said. “Your Army has top priority. Along with the 1st Guards Tank Army and the 4th Guards Tank Army. “We will need all of you come spring.”

“So I have to compete with Pankov at 1st Guards Tank and Suraykin at 4th Guards Tank?” Starukhin asked. Seeing Sergov nod, he went on. “Whose bright idea was that? Kribov's pet and Chief of Staff? That little shit Chibisov?” He was referring to Marskal Kribov's Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Pavel Chibisov. Both he and Starukhin had known each other for years, and cordially despised the other. Chibisov loathed Starukhin for being a unrepentant thug and anti-Semite, while Starukhin despised the fact that Chibisov was not only a Jew, but for some reason he felt that Chibisov was sabotaging Starukhin's efforts. The fact that Chibisov had been the Front Chief of Staff at Wichita-and somehow had been promoted, only added to Starukhin's loathing of the man. And it was known for a fact that both would happily see the other dead, given the opportunity. Or, if the Americans had killed the other, the survivor would be toasting the enemy for doing his dirty work for him. “Did he send you?”

“Comrade Army Commander, Sergov replied, No. I am here on the authority of Marshal Kribov.” Sergov said, trying to be firm and yet, sympathetic, “That is the case. “We need to restore an effective offensive and counterattack capability, and three tank armies are what is needed.”

Starukhin nodded. “It's not just that: my air defense capability has been hit hard. We had two air strikes last night: one hit the airport, and the other hit a divisional supply depot. We need more effective air defense assets.”

“Comrade Army Commander,” Sergov nodded. “Rest assured, that as soon as the systems become available, the Buk SAM system will be provided to your SAM brigade, and the Tunguska gun and missile system will replace the Shilka in your divisions.”

“All right, Colonel,” Starukhin growled. And by the tone of that growl, Sergov had better deliver. “But we need better guns, Nicki Borosov tells me.” Colonel Nikolai Borosov was Starukhin's Chief of Artillery, and an up-and-coming Voroshilov Graduate who was hoping Starukhin could speed his own career along.

“Comrade Army Commander, you may be pleased to know that a regiment's worth of the 2S19 Mista guns has arrived at the port of Corpus Christi, and they are earmarked for your Army. Which division receives them? That's up to you,” replied Sergov. “Are there any other concerns?”

“Right now? I want the Air Force to get off their asses and provide some more fighter cover. Last night, the fighters arrived too late to do any damned good!”

That wasn't a new complaint, Sergov knew, and Starukhin was not the only Army Commander with such complaints. The Soviet Air Force, and those of the Fraternal Socialist Allies, was having a hard time, and everyone knew it. “Comrade Army Commander, if you'll put those concerns in writing, along with any others, I will see to it that Marshal Kribov reads it and understands those concerns. He may want to pay a visit to your headquarters in the near future to hear you personally.”

'Well, that's a start.” Starukhin opened his desk and handed Sergov a multiple-page memorandum. “I knew you'd be asking for one.”


“Approaching pop-up point,” Goalie said from 512's back seat.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. He could see Brownwood dead ahead. And his RWR started to come to life. “Got a search radar ahead.”

“Ivan's up and and active,” Goalie remarked.

“Set things up: everything in one pass.”

Goalie worked the armament switches, and called, “All set. Everything in one pass.”

“Coors, Rambler Lead. Time for you guys to go to work,” Guru called the Weasels.

“Roger that!” Coors One-seven replied. And both F-4Gs climbed to altitude and began shooting anti-radar missiles.

“Warlord, Rambler, Go get 'em, fella,” Guru told the Hornets.

“Copy that, Rambler Lead,” Crockett replied. “Going in hot, and good luck,”

“Flight, Lead. Switches on, verify music on, and time to go to work,” Guru called the flight.

“Two copies,” Kara replied.

“Three, copy.” Sweaty.

“Four, roger that!” Scorpion.

“Five, roger,” Dave Golen.

“Six copies,” Sandi.

Guru put 512 into a climb as he passed over Brownwood, and saw the airport. As he did, his threat receiver lit up, as the SA-3 site went active. Then a Standard-ARM from one of the F-4Gs took out the SA-3's radar, and the site went down. He saw HARMs hit the gun radars around the airport, and then the Hornets went in after the SAM site and the 57-mm batteries that were now without their radars.

“Rambler, Warlord,” Crockett called. “They're all yours.”

“Copy that, Warlord,” Guru replied. “Rambler Lead in hot!” He rolled 512 in on the attack run.


“Listen, Colonel,” Starukhin growled loudly, “For your sake, I had better get what I'm asking for.”

“Are you threatening me, Comrade General?” Sergov replied. “You do realize that I report directly to Marshal Kribov, and-” Sergov was interrupted by an alarm. “What the hell is that?”

Starukhin got up and opened the door to his office. “What's going on? Damn it, what is it?”

“Air raid alarm, Comrade General,” his chief of staff replied.


Guru rolled in, and saw smoke coming from the SA-3 site and the 57-mm sites around the airport. The Marines did their job, he thought. “Steady...” he lined up the ramp area in his pipper, and saw several MiGs trying to taxi. “Not your day, Ivan,” he muttered. “And...HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button and a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off the racks. He then leveled out and went to full military power “Lead's off target.

At the Brownwood Airport, the East German AF's JFG-1 and the SAF's 92nd IAP shared the field, and
their first indication that they were under attack was when the S-125 (SA-3) site's alarm began to sound, and then a missile was fired, then another, before an antiradar missile came in and hit the radar. It was only a few moments later when more antiradar missiles came in and hit the SON-9 fire control radars for the S-60 57-mm batteries around the field, and only then did the alert pilots run for their aircraft. As two East German pilots were strapping into their MiG-21, they saw an F-4 coming in....

Goalie turned her head to look as Guru pulled away from the bomb run, and she saw the CBUs go off.”SHACK!”

“Good hits?” Guru wanted to know.

“We got secondaries!”

“Good enough!” Guru then headed north for I-20, knowing he'd have to fly over the bulk of the Soviet 32nd Army, and no doubt they'd be fully alerted.

At the airport, several MiG-21s and MiG-23s erupted in fireballs as Rockeye bomblets found their mark. The two alert MiG-21s began to taxi, as did two Soviet MiG-23Ms, then a second F-4 came in.

Kara rolled 520 in, ignoring the light 23-mm flak that was now coming up. “Two's in!” She lined up the southern part of the ramp area, and saw MiGs taxiing, as well as others starting their engines. She lined up on some MiG-23s, and hit her pickle button. “HACK!” More Rockeyes fell onto the MiGs sitting on the ramp. “Two's off, Kara called as she pulled off and set 520 headed north.

The two East German pilots saw Kara's F-4 come in and hit the ramp area with CBUs, Several MiGs, both Soviet and East German, exploded, and the two MiG pilots also saw bomblets explode on Runway 35, just as they taxied onto the Runway. Both pilots stopped, and then tried to taxi to Runway 31. Then their radio crackled. More Phantoms coming in.


“GOOD HITS!” Yelled Brainiac from 520's back seat.”

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as she banked to avoid an SA-7.

“You betcha!”

“That's great!” Kara yelled, then she turned to follow the CO north.


“Three's in!” Sweaty yelled. She lined up on Runway 35, and saw the two MiG-21s taxiing away from the runway. This runway looked as if the repair crews had finished, but she saw activity on Runway 31, as if the crews had still been at work. No way, Ivan...She lined up the center of the runway in the pipper and hit the pickle button, ignoring the light 23-mm flak coming up. “HACK!” Sweaty yelled over the IC, and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes came off the racks. She pulled level and headed north, following the CO and Kara. “Three off target.”

The two East Germans watched as Sweaty's F-4 came in, and laid down a perfect pattern onto Runway 35. Though there were still some crews working Runway 31, the MiG leader taxied over to that runway anyhow. He lined up on the runway, and saw the repair crews scatter, not just from the F-4 that had come over, but from the MiGs' own approach. The leader called the tower, and got permission to take off. He started his takeoff roll and was halfway down the runway when another F-4 came in.

“Righteous!” Preacher yelled over the IC as Sweaty banked away. “We got the runway!”

“Shit hot!” Sweaty replied as some 23-mm tracer fire passed over the cockpit. She turned north, following both Kara and the CO. “Keep an eye out for MiGs. Two of 'em were taxiing.”

“Roger that!”


“Four's in hot!” Scorpion called. He was coming in to lay his bombs onto Runway 13/31, and he, too, ignored the 23-mm flak that was coming up. As Scorpion lined up the runway, he saw a MiG-21 on the roll, and a second one that looked like he was getting ready to follow. The lead MiG-21 rolled down the runway just as he lined the runway up in his pipper. “Steady....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes came off his bomb racks. He pulled away from the target, calling out, “Four off target.”

The East German MiG-21 leader saw Scorpion's F-4 coming in, and he lit his afterburner, rolling down the runway and into the air. His wingman tried to follow, but as the MiG leader (a Major) pulled up, Scorpion's bombs landed in front of him. The wingman tried to abort the takeoff, but it was too late; a bomb with a Daisy Cutter fuze went off ahead of him, and shrapnel tore into the MiG-21bis, killing the pilot, and then the aircraft crashed into a newly formed bomb crater, exploding in a fireball.


“SHACK!” Judge yelled into the IC. “We hit the runway, and we got a MiG!”

“The wingman?” Scorpion asked as he banked to the right to follow Sweaty

“Yeah, but where's the leader?”

“Good question. Lead, Scorpion. We just a MiG-21 take off. Can't pick him up.”


“Roger, Scorpion,” Guru replied. “Dave, Guru. Hear that?”

“We heard it,” Dave Golen replied. “If we see him, we'll get him. Five in hot!” Golen then went in on his bomb run. He aimed to lay his CBU-89/B GATOR mines along Runway 17/35 as well as the ramp area. He saw the 23-mm flak coming up, and just like the others, he ignored it. Dave rolled in, and lined up the center of the runway and the ramp area.... “Bombs gone,” he called, using IDF slang. Then he rolled level and pulled off target. “Five off target!”

On the ramp area, SAF and EGAF personnel were trying to put out the fires and get undamaged aircraft clear when Dave's F-4 came in. The CBUs fell away, and scattered their cargo around the runway and ramp area. At first, the ground crew and pilots thought they were duds, but when one of the taxiing SAF MiG-23s tripped one of the antitank mines and blew up, it was obvious that the field had been mined.

“We got a MiG!” 1st Lt. Terry McAulliffe, Dave's GIB, called.

“What?” Golen asked as he avoided some more 23-mm while trying to scan for the MiG that had taken off.

“He must've hit a mine.”

“Good for him,” Dave said. “Keep an eye for that MiG.”


It was now Sandi Jenkins' turn, and she rolled in. “Six in hot!” She called. She, too, saw the flak, and ignored it. Her RWR was clear as she did so, and she muttered “Good.” Then she lined up Runway 13/31, and picked out the freshly-made craters, as well as the smoking remains of a MiG. “Steady....and HACK!” More CBU-89/Bs came off her racks, and then she pulled level and away. “Six off target.”

A crash/rescue crew had just gotten to the wreckage of the East German MiG when Sandi's F-4 flew over and released its CBUs. The would-be rescuers scattered, and they, too thought the CBUs were duds. Two of the EGAF rescue team, though, tripped GATOR antipersonnel mines, and they were killed. The survivors backed off, and warned their comrades to stay away. The phrase “Achtung Minen!” spread very fast.

“That's that,” 1st Lt. Ken Dahlberg, Sandi's GIB, said.

Sandi nodded as tracers flew past her F-4, but none were too close. “All right, now where's that MiG?”

“Can't pick him up yet,” Dahlberg said. Then he saw it. “MiG-21, Ten O'clock high, coming down.” The MiG had not seen them, but was coming down behind Dave Golen. “He's diving on Dave.”

“Not for long,” Sandi said. “Five, Six. BREAK RIGHT!”

In his F-4, Dave Golen heard that call, and instinctively broke right. Expecting a MiG, he armed his Sidewinders, and as he kept the turn, he did a high Yo-Yo, and then he saw the MiG-21.

The East German Major tried to match the turn, but the F-4 could outturn a MiG-21 at low level. He rolled left, then right, trying to clear his six. Not having heard from his wingman, he assumed that the Senior Lieutenant had been caught on takeoff. The Major then reversed his turn, and tried to pick up the F-4.

Sandi armed her Sidewinders, and saw the MiG's maneuvers. As she got close, she could see the markings on the fuselage and wings. East German. Say goodnight, Franz, she thought as she uncaged a Sidewinder, and quickly got good tone as the missile seeker growled very loud in her headset. “FOX TWO!” Sandi called as she fired an AIM-9P. The missile left the rail just as the MiG reversed his turn, and flew past. “Shit!” She still had a loud tone, and then fired a second missile. “Fox Two again!” A second AIM-9P left the rail, and this time, the Sidewinder flew like an arrow into the MiG's tailpipe. The MiG-21 exploded in a fireball and blew in half.

In his MiG, the East German Major's first hint that he was under attack was a bang behind him, then his plane was engulfed in fire. He reached for his ejection seat, then there was a larger explosion, and his last sensation was the heat....

“SPLASH!” Sandi called as the two halves of the MiG smashed into the ground.

“Good kill, Six,” Dave Golen said. “Let's get out of here.”

“On our way.” Sandi replied, and she quickly joined up with her element lead.


In 512, Goalie was ecstatic. “Hear that? Sandi got a MiG.”

“I heard,” Guru replied. “Still got to get to I-20 and then the tankers. Two, where are you?”

“Coming on your wing,” Kara replied.

Guru turned his head to the right, and saw 520 forming up in Combat Spread. “Got you. Sweaty?”

“Right behind you, and Scorpion's with me,” Sweaty replied.

“Roger that. Dave, you and Sandi join up on us, Now. Coors? Rambler Flight is egressing.”

“Copy that, Rambler,” Coors One-seven replied. “Got a four up. MAGNUM!” That meant an SA-4 radar had come up, and the F-4G had sent an antiradar missile back, either a HARM or a Standard-ARM, against the SAM radar.

“Warlords coming out,” Warlord Lead, Captain Crockett, replied. “Got a Six here.” That meant an SA-6. “We're...” the transmission ended in a burst of static.

“Warlord Zero-seven is down!” Crockett's wingman called.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Do you have a chute?”

“Negative,” Warlord Zero-eight replied. “And no beeper.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Egress, now.”

“Warlord Zero-nine copies,” the second Hornet lead replied.

“Coors One-seven is Winchester,” the Weasel lead said.

“One-eight, Magnum!” his wingman added. “Coors One-eight is Winchester.”

“Roger that, One-eight. Time to egress,” One-seven replied. And both F-4Gs went back down low.


Back in Brownwood, General Starukhin and Colonel Sergov had watched the raid from the roof of City Hall, and Starukhin was in a rage. “The next raid will be after my headquarters, I'm sure of it, Colonel.”

Sergov wasn't so sure. “Comrade Army Commander,” he said formally. “It would appear that our Air Force Comrades would disagree.”

“Maybe,” Starukhin grumbled. He turned to his Chief of Staff. “Find Colonel Schelgov, Comrade Colonel. Have him report to me at once!” Colonel Dimtri Schelgov was the commander of the 49th Guards Anti-aircraft Missile Brigade, the Army-level SAM unit for 3rd Shock Army. “Did you hear me? I said NOW!”

“Yes, Comrade General,” the Chief of Staff replied.

A few minutes later, Colonel Schelgov arrived on top of City Hall. “You sent for me, Comrade General?”

“I did,” Starukhin rumbled. “Care to explain your performance?”

“Comrade General, My men are doing their best. We are short of Krug (SA-4) missiles, and on fire-control vehicles. The Americans' anti-radar missiles are very good at knocking them out,” Schelgov replied calmly. This wasn't the first time he'd had a tongue-lashing from his Army Commander.

“Nothing but excuses,” Starukhin said. “Your career is finished,”

“Comrade Commander, let me explain-”

Starukhin had had enough. He pulled out his Makarov pistol and shot Colonel Schelgov in the head, killing him instantly. “I said your career is finished,” Starukhin said to the corpse as it dropped. Then he turned to Colonel Sergov. “That could be you, Colonel.”

Sergov said nothing at first. Then he reminded Starukhin, “You do realize that I am here on the direct orders of Marshal Kribov?”

Starukhin glared at him, but said nothing. Then he knew that Marshal Kribov was thinking about forming a Tank Army Group, and that anything untoward happening to the Marshal's inspector might get in the way of him receiving the command. “Understood, Colonel,” Starukhin replied as he holstered his weapon.

“I am pleased that you do,” Sergov coolly replied. “I will mention this, of course, in my report to the Marshal.”

“You do that, Colonel.” Starukhin replied with equal coolness. Then he turned to his Chief of Staff. “Find out which division's SAM regiment launched the missile that killed the American aircraft. He's the new commander of the 49th Guards.”

“Right away, Comrade General,” the Chief said.

“Comrade Army Commander,” Sergov said. “I think I've seen all I've come to see. I shall be returning to TVD Headquarters at Fort Sam Houston.” He saluted Starukhin, though silently wishing that the next American air strike would take out Starukhin and his headquarters.

“Give my regards to the Marshal,” Starukhin said, though not too warmly.

Sergov nodded, clicked his heels, then went down the stairs, and left the building. He went straight to his staff car, a commandeered Cadillac, and found his driver, a Senior Sergeant, and two Spetsnatz Ensigns, who were his bodyguards. “Let's go.”

“Where to, Comrade Colonel?” Asked the driver

“Back to TVD Headquarters.” Sergov said. After they left Brownwood, Sergov began to compose his report, but then remembered something. He took out his diary, and made an entry. He summarized his visit, then added. “This land called Texas is, again, not to my liking. The climate is unbearable, the mosquitoes carry pistols, and the inhabitants are uniformly hostile. Truly, I have found the Purgatory that my dear Babushka used to threaten me with when I was a naughty little boy.”


Fortunately for Rambler Flight, their egress route was trouble-free. They were too low for most of the SAMs belonging to the 32nd Army's air-defense assets to pick them up, and for those that were, like the SA-8, their ECM pods gave them a free ride. The fact that they came from the Soviet rear was an added factor, and those few missile crews or ZSU-23-4 gunners who picked them up saw them too late to take action. Then they reached the front lines, and then I-20.

“Crossing the fence,” Goalie said in 512's back seat.

“Roger that,” Guru acknowledged. Only then did he take his oxygen mask off. “That was a wild one.”

“No kidding!” Goalie said. “Too bad we lost somebody.”

“Yeah,” Guru said. Though not from the squadron, somebody had gone down on his strike, and that always hurt. But he also knew this is what they signed up for, and what they were paid to do.

They formed up on the tankers, then headed for their respective bases. When the F-4Es and Hornets got to Sheppard, they were first in the pattern, which hadn't happened for a while. The flight came in, and Sandi did a victory roll, then they came in and landed. As they taxied in, the familiar sight of the news crew filming them appeared. And the ground crews cheered when Sandi held up a finger to signify a MiG kill.

“Looks like Lieutenant Jenkins got a kill,” Ms. Wendt said to Kodak Griffith.

The Marine NFO nodded. “Like I said earlier, Ma'am: you're catching on.”

But they also noticed three Hornets back when four had gone out with the F-4s. Someone had been shot down, and it wouldn't be long until the Marines in VMFA-531 knew who.

The F-4s and Hornets taxied into their dispersal areas, and Guru taxied 512 into its revetment. He parked, the ground crew came out to put the chocks in, then his Crew Chief gave the “Shut down” signal. He shut down his engines, “Glad that's over,” Guru said after going through the post-flight checklist.

“Not arguing that,” Goalie said. She took off her helmet and put on a 335th TFS baseball cap.

Guru put on his own cap, then the ground crew put up the crew ladder. “And two more today. Can't wait for that storm to come in.”

“You're not the only one.”

Nodding, the CO climbed down from the cockpit, and started his post-flight walkaround. Goalie did the same, and they went over to Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief. “Sarge, 512's humming like a champ. No holes that we can see, You guys take an early lunch, then get her turned around. And believe me, Sergeant, you deserve it.”

“Thanks, sir!” Crowley said. “How'd it go?”

“That airfield's out of business for a while,” the CO said. “And Lieutenant Jenkins got a MiG.”

“Shit hot! Uh, sir.” Crowley said, remembering that NCOs didn't cuss in front of officers unless there was a very good reason.

“Don't worry, Sergeant. There's times when that's entirely appropriate. And this is one of 'em. But one of the Marines didn't come back.”

The crew chief nodded sympathetically. “Sir, that always sucks.”

“It does. Whatever you're doing with 512? Keep it up. Like I said: take that early lunch, then get her turned around,” Guru told his Crew Chief. “That's an order.”

Crowley grinned. “Yes, sir! You heard the man!” He told the ground crew. “Finish the post-flight, then we eat!”

Guru nodded as he and Goalie headed to the entrance to the revetment. “Remind me to find out when he's on the R&R rotation. See if I can't bump him up.”

“Thought you weren't trying to show any favoritism,” Goalie said.

“There's an exception to that rule,” Guru nodded. “And between you and me? He deserves it.”

Then Goalie had a grin on her face. “That he does.”

Both of them then made their way to the entrance of the revetment, and found Kara, Brainiac, Sweaty, Preacher, Scorpion, and Judge waiting. “How'd things go with you all?”

“That field is out of commission for a while,” Sweaty said. “But where'd that SA-6 come from?”

“Good question,” Kara said. “Somebody got lucky.”

“Can't nail them all, and even the Weasels know it,” Goalie nodded.

Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins came over. “Guru,” Golen said. “That was an interesting one.”

“It was,” Guru agreed. “Sandi? Good kill on that MiG. Your fourth, right?”

“That's right, Boss.” Sandi replied with a grin on her face. “And sir? I swear I heard Colonel Rivers' voice, right after that MiG crashed, telling me 'Good kill.'”

“Guardian angel?” Sweaty asked. “What do you think, Preacher?”

Her GIB answered, “All I can say is that the Lord works in mysterious ways.” Being a former Seminary Student, he was the closest thing in the squadron to an authority on such things.

“One more and we celebrate a new ace,” Kara said.

Guru put his CO's face on. “One thing at a time,” he said. “Come on, let's go debrief, eat, then we get ready to do it again.”

“Another six-ship?” Sweaty asked.

“We'll find out in the ATO and Frag Order. Come on, let's get it over with.”

As they walked back to Squadron Ops, two more F-4s flew over the base, then came in and landed. And by the looks of them, they were the two new birds the squadron was expecting. “Two new F-4s, with the SJ tailcode, two wing tanks and a centerline bag, plus travel pods on the inboard stations,” Kara noted.

“Our new birds from Japan?” Brainiac asked.

“About damned time,” Goalie added. She'd heard Guru's frustrations with that.

“We going back to the XO's flight, Boss?” Asked Scorpion.

“Not until tomorrow,” the CO said. “Hoser and KT have the rest of the day off, and I'm not putting a pair of newbies into the firing line their first day here.”

“Had to ask, sir.”

“Don't blame you. Come on, let's debrief, then get something to eat.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part 16: FNGs report in, and getting set for the next one...



335th TFS Ops Building, 1145 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat behind his desk in his office, going over some paperwork that had come in during the morning. At least the Exec filtered out the frivolous stuff and left him only what was really important, but still....the elves never took care of it while he was out of the office.

They had debriefed the mission, and Sandi Jenkins was now officially one kill away from being an ace, and now, he and his flight had some time before the next mission. A chance to eat, unwind a little, take care of squadron business, then it was back in the hot seat once again. He had just put the last bunch of papers into his OUT bin when there was a knock on the office door. “Show yourself and come on in!”

Staff Sergeant Trish Lord, who was his secretary, came in. “Major? The four new replacements are here.”

Major Wiser nodded. This wasn't the first time he'd handled this in a CO's capacity, though when Kara had reported in, he was filling in for his predecessor. “Okay, send 'em in.”

Four aircrew members came in, and the CO noticed that their flight suits weren't that worn. Just like his when he'd been in training. They all saluted him, and said, “Reporting for duty, sir,”

“As you were,” the CO said. He sketched a return salute and nodded. “All right, first off, forget a lot of the knife-and-fork stuff you learned in officer training, wherever that was. We're on a base at war, and there's a time and place for spit-shined boots, polished insignia, and pressed uniforms, and guess what? This ain't it. We're pretty informal here, and we go by first names or call signs, and if you don't have a call sign? We'll give you one. Understood?”

The four looked at each other, then one of them, a Captain, said, “Yes, sir!”

“That's good,” the Major said. “Captain, let's start with you. Got your orders and personnel jacket?”

“Right here, sir,” the Captain, Bob Gatlin, said. He handed the CO the folders.

Major Wiser scanned the Captain's jacket. “Two years prewar on F-4s?”

“Yes, sir. With the 3rd TFW in the Philippines. Then I came back to get my Master's. Just wrapped that up when the war started.”

The CO looked at that part of the record. “You got it at Cal, I see. They still crazy at Berzerkely?”

“That was after I got hooded, sir. But I have heard from people who were still in the MS program when I left. A lot of the more crazy anti-war types either got run out of town, shut up, or got thrown in the slammer. Rumor had it those folks were on somebody's payroll.”

“Okay...your MA shows you've got ambitions, Captain. That spells out NASA, I gather?” The CO asked.

The Captain nodded. “I'd be lying, sir if I said no. I'd love to fly the Shuttle.”

“Well, if you live through this, you might just get that chance. What were you doing at Kingsley Field the last two years?”

“For some reason, sir, after requalification, they kept me on as an instructor.”

“Fair enough,” the CO said. “Who's your GIB?”

A male lieutenant standing next to Captain Gatlin nodded. “Here, sir. Jody Phelan.” He handed over the orders and jacket.

The CO nodded and went over it. “BYU, I see. Poli-Sci and a minor in PE? Let me guess: you were going to be a teacher.”

“Yes, sir.” Phelan replied. 'Now....”

“Now you're in for the duration and a bit longer,” the CO said. “You do know that if the war ended tomorrow, you still have a commitment to the Air Force as a nav?”

'Yes,sir,'” Phelan replied. “One year down, seven to go.”

“Good. Just so you remember what you got yourself into, and that goes for the rest of you. Understood?”

Heads nodded at that. “Yes, sir,” said all four.

“Good,” the CO said. He scanned Phelan's file and noted his hometown. Richfield, Utah. “Any problems with, well, fighter pilots out getting crazy on a Friday or Saturday night? We do that quite a bit, and the same goes for the night before a stand-down due to maintenance or weather.”

“No, sir.”

“Again, just so you know what you're getting into,” Major Wiser pointed out. “Okay, next?”

The only female officer among the quartet nodded. “First Lieutenant Jodi Taylor, sir.” She gave the CO her jacket and orders.

“Wartime volunteer, I see,” the CO replied as he scanned her jacket. “University of Arizona?”

“Yes, sir. I'm from the Tuscon area, and got a degree in Astronomy.” Taylor replied.

“Do any skywatching from Kitt Peak?” Asked the CO. “We used that as a rendezvous point while flying strikes on Day One and after.” For a moment, memories of strikes on I-19 on the first two days of the war came back.

“Yes, sir. I was just starting grad school when the war began, and I was there with my professor and some other grad students. Had a ringside seat.”

“And you wanted to fly fighters after that?”

“Fly something, sir,” Taylor replied. She looked at her new CO, amazed to see a vet from Day One. “After OTS, they said that the ban on women flying combat was lifted, and I put in for fighters during flight.”

“Good for you, but I've got a question: why aren't you flying F-15s or F-16s?” Major Wiser wanted to know.

“Those slots were full, sir,” said Taylor. “And I didn't want to fly F-111s or A-10s.”

“So you asked for F-4s,” Major Wiser said. “It may be a while before you get back to studying the sky again.”

“I realize that, sir. As long as it's under a free sky,” Taylor replied.

The CO nodded. He turned to the last one, a powerfully built black officer. “Lieutenant?”

“Keith Bryant, sir,” the lieutenant replied.

The CO nodded and scanned his personnel jacket. “University of Hawaii. Criminology major?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What's a guy from...it says here, Decatur, Alabama, doing in Hawaii?”

“Football scholarship, sir. All-state tight end, and got to the state finals, and lost. Got some offers from Alabama, Auburn, Georgia Tech, Florida State, but also one from the University of Hawaii. So I took the offer, and played for four years.” Bryant said. “Got a brother already in the Air Force, and when the balloon went up, I went down to the recruiting office and signed up.”

“All right,” the Major said. “For your information, we're under Marine Operational Control, and they take the 'Everyone a rifleman' seriously. Everyone here carries a sidearm at least, and most people also have long guns-” the CO pointed to the AKM he had taken out of Colorado on his E&E. “So talk to Supply, and they'll take care of you. As for flying? Eighty percent of our tasking is air-to-ground, so no trolling for MiGs. Air-to-air does come up from time to time, and when it does? Make the most of it.”

Heads nodded at that. “Is that all, sir?” Captain Gatlin asked.

“Carry your MOPP gear with you at all times, just in case we get a CW attack. We've never been slimed, but you never know. If you guys don't have call signs, as I said, we'll give'em to you. Though I imagine the Captain here has one.”

“Yes, sir. T-Bone.”

Major Wiser looked at him. “How'd you get that?”

“Well, sir, I kinda put a practice bomb on a water buffalo at the Crow Valley Range near Clark....”

Hearing that, the CO let out a laugh, and the others did as well. “You're probably not the first to do that,” Major Wiser said. “Okay, is there anything else?”

“Sir,” Jody Phelan asked. “They told us the 'Wild Thing' was in this squadron. Is she....”

“Still around?” the Major finished. “If you're referring to Captain Kara Thrace, she's here. In fact, she's not only the assistant Ops Officer, but she's also my wingman. What'd they tell you?”

“Uh, that she's fair with the bottle, holds court at the pool and poker tables, and is, uh, a nymphomaniac,” Keith Bryant said.

“All of that's true to some extent. A word of advice: if you play cards or pool? Bring cash: she doesn't take checks. Anything else?” The CO wanted to know. Heads shook no. “Very well. Welcome to the 335th. Report to the Exec, and he'll see about billeting.”

The four looked at each other, and then Gatlin said, “Yes, sir.”

“We'll get one crew on the schedule tomorrow, almost certainly yours, Captain, and the other? We'll get you flying ASAP. If you need to talk about anything? My office door is always open when I'm not flying. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right, that's it for now,” Major Wiser said, using a polite form of dismissal.

“Yes, sir.” The quartet said. They came to attention, then left the office. As they did, 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, the CO's GIB and girlfriend, came in, bearing two Styrofoam food containers.

“What's for lunch?” Major Wiser asked. “Or do I want to know?”

“Burgers with all the fixings,” Goalie replied. “Remember you said there was somebody raising Bison instead of cattle? The Mess people say these are Bison burgers.”

“Well, with beef in short supply, make do,” Guru said. “Let's eat.”

“Before we do that, you gave the FNGs their welcome talk, I noticed.”

“Yeah, and they look good. One of 'em was an instructor after he requaled, and has prewar F-4 experience. The others? Right out of training,” the CO nodded. “The first crew, with the ex-instructor? They go to Mark's flight tomorrow.”

“The others?” Goalie asked.

“They fly right after the stand-down. We'll see how they do, then I'll decide whether or not to break them up. Revlon needs a new pilot, and I'd like to keep going with pairing a new pilot with an experienced GIB.”

Goalie understood. That was how she had been paired up with Guru when she reported to the 335th. “Anything else I should know?”

“Only that the second pilot is female, and if she teams up with Revlon? We'd have the first, well, 'unmanned' F-4 in the 335.”

Goalie looked at her pilot and lover. “And I can see the article in Airman magazine or Air Force Times if that happens.”

“Something else comes to mind,” Guru said. He saw his GIB's confused expression. “Our guests from the media. When they find out there's an F-4 with an all-female crew? The STORY light flashes in their heads.”

“Forgot about that,” Goalie admitted. “Well, enough shop talk for a while. Shall we eat before lunch gets cold?”

Guru nodded. “Yeah. Let's.”


After lunch, the two were making small talk when there was a knock on the door. “Come on in!” the CO said.

Kara came into the office. “Hope I'm not bothering you, but Boss, we just got our Frag Order.”

Guru looked at his wingmate and assistant Ops Officer. “Where are we going this time?”

“Town south of Cleburne, place called Rio Vista. Going for a Supply Dump.”

Goalie looked at Kara. “Back to the Nicaraguan sector, right?”

“Yeah, but these chumps aren't Nicaraguan. They're Libyan.” Kara said, reading from the paper.

“Libyan?” Goalie was confused. “Thought all those guys got caught in the Pueblo Pocket.” She was referring to a large pocket of Soviet and Soviet-allied forces that had been caught in a pocket in and around Pueblo, Colorado during the summer offensive known as PRAIRIE FIRE. That pocket had yielded almost as many prisoners as the Allied victory in North Africa, forty years earlier.

“Not all of 'em,” Guru said. “Either some got away, or these guys weren't even there.” He looked at Kara. “When?”

“Van Loan and Licon are putting the brief together. Fifteen minutes and they'll be ready. The birds are being armed and fueled right now.”

“Okay...” the CO nodded. He thought for a moment. “This a four- or six-ship?”

“Four,” Kara replied. “Dave and Sandi have their own mission.”

“All right,” Guru said. “Get everyone in the Briefing Room in fifteen. We'll be right there.”

“Got you,” Kara nodded. “I'm gone.” She went out the door and went to round up the rest of the CO's flight.

Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “Well, thus ends the break,” he said.

“What's the phrase?” She asked. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends?”

The CO smiled. “You were paying attention in English Class at the Academy.”

“Shakespeare,” Goalie said. “Isn't that one of the Henrys?”

“I think so. Just as long as we leave out that 'close up the walls with our dead' part.” He stood up. “Let's go.”


The CO and his GIB left the office and found the Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan. “Don,” Guru said. “Got what we need?”

Van Loan nodded. “Everything's here, Boss. And be glad this is a low-threat area, relatively speaking.”

“Don, if they're shooting at me, it's a high-threat area,” the CO replied. “This it?”

“That it is,” the Ops Officer said. “No Weasels or Flak Suppressors on this one.”

“Okay,” Guru nodded. “Dave and Sandi going anywhere near this?”

“They are, not that far from you, either.” Van Loan said.

Guru had a smile.”Good. Thanks, Don.” Guru and Goalie then headed for their flight's briefing room, and when they got there, the four FNGs were outside, waiting. “What are you all doing here?”

“Sir,” Captain Gatlin replied. “The Exec thought it was a good idea if we sat in on a mission brief. He did show us around, and well, with not much else to do....”

Both Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “Well, guess the XO thought right. Just remember: this isn't Kingsley Field. We're pretty informal here, and the whole process takes about twenty minutes,” said Guru.

“If that,” Goalie added. “In PRAIRIE FIRE, there were times we briefed and debriefed out in the dispersal area. Wait for the birds to be turned around, get something to eat and drink, then go out again.”

“Oh, introductions,” Guru said. “Lieutenant Lisa 'Goalie' Eichhorn,” here's the four newbies. They all introduced themselves, and Guru added, “She's also senior WSO in the squadron. So you new GIBs? She's your boss.”

Both Bryant and Phelan looked at each other, then at Goalie. “Yes, sir. And ma'am.” They both said.

“Okay, if you have questions, ask. Let's go.” Guru said. He opened the door and led them into the room, and found the rest of the CO's flight there, waiting. “Okay people, listen up. We've got a mission.”

“And four FNGs,” Sweaty noted.

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “Wasn't that long ago you and Preacher were FNGs.” The CO reminded his second element leader. “Mark thought it was a good idea to have them sit in on a brief, because tomorrow, one of these crews is going to be doing it for real. So let's get the show on the road.”

Scorpion asked, “Where to this time, Boss?”

“Town called Rio Vista, south of Cleburne, on State Route 174. Just to the northeast of the town is a supply dump. We get to make it go away.”

“This the Nicaraguan sector?” Brainiac asked.

“It is,” Guru replied. “But the target's not Nicaraguan. It's Libyan.”

“Libyan?” Preacher asked. “Thought those guys got cleaned up in that Pueblo Pocket back in May.”

“Tell that to these chumps,” Guru said. “Okay, here's how we do this.” He pointed on a TPC chart of the area. “We hit the tankers north of Mineral Wells, and cross the FLOT here, pointing to the I-20 bridge over the Brazos River. “We follow the river to the Route 174 bridge, and then turn east, to the town of Covington, then we turn northwest. It's forty-five seconds flying time from there to the target. So there's no IP per se, so you GIBs have to be on the ball. We pop up with twenty seconds to go, then we roll in.” The CO indicated the target dump on a recon photo. “If you can't ID the target, keep your bombs.”

“Threat level?” Sweaty asked.

“Coming to that,” Guru said. “It's a Libyan mechanized brigade, so expect SA-9s or -13s, and ZSU-23-4s. And MANPADS. There's also some guns near the target: 37-mm and 57-mm. No radar SAMs in the immediate area, and the Cleburne SA-2 is still down. And we're on the outer edge for the Hillsboro SA-2.”

“Any Weasels?” Kara wanted to know. “Or flak suppressors?”

“Nada,” Guru replied. “We'll have to rely on speed, surprise, and our ECM pods. Egress is simple: after striking the target, get your asses north to I-20. Fly northwest until you hit the Brazos again, then head for the Interstate. We hit the tankers for post-strike refueling, then come home.”

Sweaty nodded, then asked her CO, “Ordnance load?”

“Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes, each bird, plus the usual air-to-air load. For our new people? That means four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, two wing tanks, an ALQ-119 pod for the element leads or an ALQ-101 for the wingmen. Add a full load of 20 mike-mike.”

Goalie looked at the map, then her pilot. “MiG threat same as earlier today?”

“It is,” Guru said. “And the bailout areas are the same: anyplace away from the roads. The Nicaraguans and Libyans don't like getting off the roads much, so find a place off the roads to hole up, and Jolly will get you at night. If you can, try approaching a local farmer or rancher, and many of them do help out, but some do not. They want to get through this without getting burned-literally, and have probably seen what happens to those who do shelter downed aircrew or resistance people. Getting through this with the least harm to them and their families is more important, and speaking from experience, I don't blame them.”

“So just smile, be polite, and move on. They may direct you to someone who will help,” Kara added. She'd read the intel briefs.

“That's about it,” the CO said. “Weather's still the same: partly to mostly sunny. Anything else?” He saw Captain Gatlin raise his hand. “Captain?”

“It's a bit rushed, isn't it, sir?” Gatlin asked.

“You should've been here during PRAIRIE FIRE,” Sweaty said. “If you think this is rushed, try flying seven missions a day for those first three days.”

“And if you think you missed out?” Scorpion added. “You didn't miss a thing.”

“All of us flew PRAIRIE FIRE,” Guru said. “So take it from us when we say you didn't miss out. Because you didn't. Still got a ways to go before the Rio Grande, and farther still until Mexico City.”

The four FNGs all looked at each other, then Gatlin said, “If you say so, sir.”

“Anything else?” Guru asked the flight, then the FNGs. No one had a response. “All right: gear up and let's go.”

As the flight members filed out, Captain Gatlin came to Guru. “Thanks for letting us sit in,sir.”

“Not a problem. Remember: tomorrow, your crew does it for real.”

Galtin and Phelan, his GIB, gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“No, sir. And Major?”

Guru turned to look at them as he was on his way out the door. “Yes?”

“Good luck, sir.”

“Thanks.”



After gearing up, the flight members headed on out, and as they did, they found Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins, along with their GIBs, going over their mission. “Dave,” Guru said.

“Guru,” Golen replied. “Going out, I see.”

“And you guys are as well,” the CO nodded. “You guys going to the Nicaraguan sector?”

“We are,” Golen said. “How about you?”

“That's where we're headed,” said Guru. “What's your call sign if we need help?”

“Firebird Four-one,” Golen said. “Yours?”

“Still Rambler One-one. If you hit MiG trouble, holler,” replied the CO. “Sandi?” He turned to Sandi Jenkins and her GIB, Ken Dahlberg. “NO trolling for MiGs. I know, you and Ken are out for your fifth, but you might run into somebody looking for his fifth, so be careful.”

“Got it, Boss,” Sandi replied, and Dahlberg did so with a nod.

“If you guys run into a strike flight or a recon run that's returning? That's different.”

“Will do, Guru,” Golen said.

“Okay, you guys have a good one, and Dave?” Guru saw Golen nod. “Be careful out there.”

“Will do,” Golen said.

“Good luck,” Guru said, offering his hand.

Golen shook it. “You, too.”

Guru and his flight then headed to the CO's aircraft, 512, and when they got there, they assembled for his final instructions. “Okay, same drill for the radio procedures.”

“Call signs between us, mission code to other parties,” Sweaty said.

“Got it,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

Scorpion asked, “How many more today?”

“At least one, maybe two if they give us a hot turnaround,” the CO replied.

“Haven't had one of those in a while,” Kara said.

“You never know,” Guru reminded everyone. “So be ready. “That it?” Heads nodded this time. “Okay,” he clapped his hand once. “Mount up and let's hit it.”

The rest of the flight headed for their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512, where the Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru said as the Crew Chief snapped a salute.

“Major,” Crowley replied. “All set here, 512's locked and cocked.”

“Good to hear, Sergeant,” the CO said. “Time to go teach some Libyans a lesson.”

“Hope they're good learners, sir,” the CC replied.

“So do I.”

Guru and Goalie then did their walk-around, then they mounted the aircraft. They got strapped in, then the crew ladder was pulled away, and the crew went through their preflight checks. Just before they finished, Goalie noticed the news crew at the entrance of the revetment, filming them. “Our guests are back.”

Guru glanced up and saw them. “You noticed. Want to bet they'll be less interested in us if we give Revlon a female pilot?”

“An 'unmanned' F-4? That'd be a first.” Goalie replied. “Ejection seats?”

“It would. Armed top and bottom. Yours armed?”

“Armed and ready. Set for engine start.” Goalie said.

“Let's do it,” Guru said. He gave Sergeant Crowley the thumbs-up, and got the “Start engines” signal in return. One, then two, J-79 engines were quickly up and running, and the warm-up was soon done. “Tower, Rambler Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley signaled him to taxi. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and when the F-4 cleared the revetment, Crowley snapped a perfect salute. Guru and Goalie returned it, and Guru taxied the Phantom to the runway, and the other three in the flight followed. He held prior to the runway, and the armorers removed the weapon safeties. The n it was time to taxi onto the runway.

“Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi to takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are calm.” The tower controller replied.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. The crews did their final pre-takeoff checks, then Guru called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clearance for takeoff.”

As usual, the tower didn't acknowledge by radio, but flashed a green light. Guru glanced at Kara, who give him a thumbs-up, and he returned it.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie over the IC.

“Ready,” she replied.

“Canopy coming down.” Guru closed his canopy,and Goalie did the same. Then he applied full power on the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Then it was the turn of Sweaty and Scorpion, and Rambler Flight was on its way.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 17: A Scud attack in broad daylight leads to a daytime Scud Hunt:


Over South Central Texas: 1315 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, generally following the Brazos River, and threading the boundary between the East German Expeditionary Force and the Nicaraguan II Corps. The GIBs were handling the navigation, using both the INS as well as the old-fashioned way of time and distance by stopwatch, while the pilots were busy flying the aircraft, as well as keeping their eyes peeled for any visual threats.

They had skirted Granbury, a target area that they had visited previously, and from the looks of the municipal airport, it might need another visit. “Looks like the airport there's back up and running,” Guru noted. And as if to prove that, an An-26 transport took off and climbed away.

“Too bad that's not our job today,” Goalie said. “One minute to the U.S. 67 bridge.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Music on, and watch for flak at the bridges.” That call was for the flight to turn on their ECM pods.

“Two copies,” Kara replied.

“Three, roger,” Sweaty called.

“Four, copy.” Scorpion replied.

“Just hope the flak gunners are having lunch,” Goalie added. “Thirty seconds to the bridge.”

“So do I,” Guru replied. Sure enough, as the U.S. 67 bridge over the Brazos came into view, so did the puffs of smoke from the flak batteries that guarded the bridge. Fortunately, the ECM pods were working, and the flak all burst behind the strike flight. “We're clear.”

“Roger that,” Goalie said. “One minute to the Route 174 bridge and the turn point.”

Guru made a visual search, then replied, “Copy.” He then called the AWACS, orbiting over Southern Oklahoma. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead. Say threat?”

“Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-eight-five for eighty-five, medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-two for sixty-five, medium, steady. Final threat bearing One-six-zero for seventy. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. He checked his EW repeater. There was nothing to their left, but from One O'clock on, west of the Brazos River, there were several radars up. Those were the East Germans, and clearly, they were on alert, for there were several search radars up. “East Germans are alert.”

“Radars up?” Goalie asked. “Twenty seconds to the bridge.”

“Got it, and some flak,” Guru reported. The 23-mm and 37-mm flak had no radar guidance, and the gunners down below couldn't track the strike flight as they were too fast. Then he put 512 into a left turn and headed east, for the town of Covington and the next turn point. It wasn't long until the town appeared, and the F-4s turned to the northwest. “That's the turn point,” Guru noted.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Twenty seconds to pull,” she added.

“Flight, Lead. “Switches on, and stand by to pull,” Guru called over the radio. “Set the switches: everything in one pass,” he told Goalie.

She quickly worked the armament control switches. “All set.”


In the small town of Covington, a Nicaraguan Major was talking with the Mayor. The Nicaraguan was from II Corps Headquarters, and was actually listening to the Mayor's chief complaint: that the Libyans, when they came by on patrol, were either interested in looting, and given that the Soviets had passed through in the initial invasion, back in 1985, there wasn't much left to loot. Or, as was often the case, the Libyans were more interested in the local girls and some companionship, willing, or as was so often, otherwise.

It was a common complaint, the Major knew, and on occasion, the Corps Commander was willing to do something about it. As long as the guilty parties weren't Nicaraguan. “Mayor, let me assure you: my general would like to do what he can about this. And for what it's worth, this sort of thing follows the Libyans wherever they are. And you can rest assured that you do not have to worry about being bombed. The Socialist Bloc has air superiority over this area of Texas.

The Mayor looked at the Major, and also at the local garrison commander, a very out-of-shape Cuban Captain who looked as if he hadn't been in uniform in fifteen years. “And what can he do about it?” The Mayor asked, taking the Major's claim with a large grain of salt.

“Mayor-”

The Major was interrupted by the Cuban. “AIR ALARM!” He pointed to the F-4s as they flew past the town. Much to the chagrin of the Major, as well as the Mayor, the Cuban and his men, instead of manning their air-defense stations, ran for the nearest shelters.

“You were saying, Major?” Asked the Mayor. “Something about air superiority?”


“Now,” Goalie called from 512's rear cockpit.

“Flight, Lead. PULL!” Guru called, and he pulled up, and sure enough, off to his right, was Rio Vista. And the field where the supply dump was located was visible. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Lead's in hot!”

In the Rio Vista City Hall, A Soviet Captain had just stormed out of the Mayor's office, now taken over by the commander of the Libyan 26th Mechanized Brigade. Normally, a brigade-sized force in the Soviet Army would be commanded by a Colonel, but since the Libyan leader Colonel Qaddafi had abolished all ranks above Colonel, the brigade was commanded by a Major, and the Libyan had, to the Russian, been appointed to his post out of loyalty to Qaddafi, nothing more. Adding to his disgust, the Libyans had failed to carry out even the most basic anti-guerilla or air defense measures, with hardly any shelters dug for personnel, vehicles, and even the brigade's supply dump was out in the open, and unprotected. 'The Americans will not bomb a supply depot next to their own civilians, Captain,” the Libyan Major had told him. That, the Captain knew, was false, as he'd seen it happen to his own unit more than once, and the fact that he'd been in the hospital with appendicitis meant that he'd missed the disaster at Wichita, a disaster that had consumed his unit, the 207th Motor-Rifle Division. He and the others who'd been in the hospital had then been given new assignments, and the fact that he'd been in Algiers with his father, a GRU Colonel, during his teenage years and spoke good Arabic, had landed him in this assignment. He and the other Soviet advisors to the brigade noted that the Libyans had hardly done any fighting at Wichita, and yet, the Libyans were strutting about as if they'd taken Philadelphia itself! Shaking his head, he went across Route 174 to what had been, prewar, a liquor store, but was now the billet for the Soviet advisors as well as the headquarters for the regular garrison; a company from a rear-area protection division originally from Odessa in the Ukraine. Wonderful, fat, out-of-shape reservists with equipment left over from the Great Patriotic War. He had just reached the front door when he glanced to his right, and saw the smoke trails in the sky, and they were getting bigger as they approached. The Captain ran into the building, shouting “AIR RAID!” and everyone went for cover.

“Steady, steady...” Guru said as he lined up the supply dump in his pipper. He simply decided to strike the center of the dump, and to his surprise, there was no flak coming up. Typical Libyans, he thought. They didn't open up until after the first bombs hit. Oh, well....”And...HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button and a dozen Mark-82 bombs came off 512's racks. He pulled out of the bomb run and headed straight to the northwest. “Lead's off target.”

At the supply dump, the Libyan supply and logistics personnel were going about their jobs, or appearing to. A common trait in Arab Armies was that they paid little attention to such matters as logistics, and though the Libyan forces in North America were plentifully supplied and equipped, their approach was, to the disgust of Soviet and Cuban officers, lackadaisical at best. Even the Soviets admitted that the Americans' Arab allies, such as the Jordanians and Egyptians, were much better soldiers than the Libyans, and they made no bones about it. And to make matters worse, the antiaircraft guns around the depot were not manned at all. So to the Libyans, the appearance of Guru's F-4 was a complete surprise as Mark-82 five-hundred pound bombs landed in the depot's perimeter.

Goalie was looking to their rear as Guru pulled away, and saw the bombs going off. “SHACK!” She called.

“Secondaries?” Guru asked. This one was shaping up to be a milk run, or so he hoped. No flak or SAMs at all.

“Oh yeah!” Goalie replied as an orange-red fireball erupted. A fuel tank or tanks going up, she thought.


“Two's in!” Kara called. She saw the CO's run, and the explosions as he planted his bombs on target. As well as the secondaries going off. Kara lined up the East side of the depot, and it grew in her pipper. “Steady....and HACK!” A dozen more Mark-82s came off an F-4, and as she pulled away, the first tracers began to come up. “Two's off safe.”

In the town, the Libyan soldiers began to react as Kara's F-4 came in on its bomb run. The brigade's air defense battalion responded, but didn't even bother to turn on the radars for their ZSU-23-4s, and simply sprayed 23-mm fire into the air, not even bothering to properly lead their targets. And their Strela-1 (SA-9) SAMs were fired without even trying to lock on their targets.



“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“How good?” Kara asked as she banked to avoid a “dumb” SA-9 launch.

“I think you hit the fuel storage area!” He yelled as several fireballs rose behind 520.

Kara took 520 back down low and followed the CO out. “Fair enough!”


The Soviet captain and two other officers ran out of their headquarters, noting that the town itself wasn't the target, but the supply dump adjacent to the town was. They watched as Kara's F-4 pulled away, with a missile simply flying past it, and tracer fire going in its wake. The Russians looked around, and noticed the Libyans either running for cover, or firing wildly into the air. If they hit anything, it would be a miracle. Then one of the Soviets pointed to the southeast. Another F-4 was inbound....

“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She had seen what Guru and Kara had done, and decided to pick out the southern part of the dump as her target. As she lined up that part of the target area in her pipper, tracer fire came up at her, but it was wild, and way off target. Having flown against the Libyans around the Denver Siege perimeter, she knew it was typical. Sweaty lined up the part of the dump she wanted, and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” More Mark-82s fell towards the supply depot, and Sweaty took her plane low and to the northwest, away from the target. “Three off target.”

Several supply drivers had decided to get away from the dump after Kara had made her run, and they were backed up at the south gate, trying to get out. The truckers saw Sweaty's F-4 come in, and the drivers scattered like human shrapnel. A couple got away, but most didn't, as some of the bombs exploded the trucks and their cargoes of fuel or ammunition.

“We got secondaries!” Preacher called from the back seat.

“How good?” Sweaty asked as yet another SA-9 came up without apparently guiding.

“Righteous!” The ex-seminary student yelled.

“I'll take your word for it,” replied Sweaty as she egressed to the northwest.


“Four's in!” Scorpion called. He rolled in, and saw the tracer fire coming up. It looked like the Libyans were shooting as if someone would outlaw the practice five minutes later, and the fire was wildly inaccurate. Not even a Shika radar was on his EW repeater as he came down the chute. He decided to add his bombs to the center, since the town was right on the western border of the dump, and he didn't want to take a chance on killing fellow Americans. Scorpion ignored the 23-mm flak as it came up, and he lined up a fire in his pipper. “And....HACK!” Twelve more Mark-82s came off the racks, and he pulled out and headed north. “Four off safe,” Scorpion called.

The Soviets watched as Scorpion's F-4 came in, and laid its bombs on the supply dump. A dozen bombs went off, and several secondary explosions added to the din of the antiaircraft fire and the missile launches, and the Libyans' poor aim only added to their dismay. Another Strela-1 and several Strela-2 (SA-7 Grails) went after the F-4, only to miss.


“SHACK!” Judge called. “We got secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Scorpion asked as he banked to the northwest and made his egress.

His GIB replied, “Good enough!”


After Scorpion's F-4 cleared the town, the Soviets looked at each other and shook their heads. Even the motor-rifle Captain who was the garrison commander was shaking his head. At least his men had tried to respond, and several of his men had fired their Strela-2 launchers. Even if none of them hit, at least they'd made the Americans take note. The Captain who was the senior advisor turned to his deputy and said, “Well, let's see if these black-assed Libyans will listen to us now.”

The deputy, along with a junior lieutenant who was their Zampolit, simply nodded.


Guru flew past Lake Cleburne, and ignored the flak sites at the Lake Cleburne Dam, as he headed northwest towards I-20. “Two, what's your posit?”

“Right with you, Boss,” Kara replied.

Guru glanced to his right, and saw Kara coming right with him in combat spread. “Got a visual. Sweaty? Where are you?”

“In your six, and coming up fast,” his second element lead replied. “Scorpion's with me.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He was doing 540 knots at 500 feet, and the landscape flew by. Some flak off to his left briefly caught his attention, but since it wasn't radar-guided, he ignored it. “What's the flak?” He asked Goalie.

“You won't believe this, but it's a nuclear power plant,” she calmly replied. “Listed as a no-strike area.”

“WHAT?”

“That's what the map says,” his WSO said.

“Lovely,” muttered Guru as he headed towards I-20 and the FLOT. This time, they weren't following the Brazos River, and were more concerned with just getting out fast. It wasn't long until the twin concrete ribbons that were I-20 appeared, and they were across the front lines. Only when they were clear of the FLOT did anyone in the flight relax, and the flight formed up and headed for the tankers for their post-strike refueling.

After the refueling, the F-4s headed back to Sheppard, and as they approached the base, two columns of smoke could be seen rising from a civilian neighborhood just south of the base, and another to the east, also outside the perimeter, and across from what prewar had been the civilian Wichita Falls Municipal Airport area. When Guru called the Tower for landing instructions, he got the word that there had just been a Scud attack, and that they were to orbit until cleared.

“A Scud attack?” Goalie asked. “They haven't done that in daylight in a while.”

“Keeps us on our toes,” Guru noted. “Hope it wasn't a CW strike.”

“Rambler Flight, Tower,” the call came. “Clear to land on Runway One-seven Lima. Winds are two-six-five at five.”

“Roger, tower,” replied Guru. “Has the place been slimed?” That meant a CW attack.

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Negative. All clear.”

“Roger, tower.” Guru said. The Flight then got into the pattern, then came in and landed, with two Marine flights right behind them, and a 335th four-ship as well. As the F-4s taxied to the squadron dispersal, the crews noticed ground crews getting out of their MOPP gear, When Guru got 512 into its revetment, he and Goalie noticed their ground crew without masks, but still with suits, gloves, and boots. Evidently, the alert had just been canceled, and the crew had only had time to get their masks off. Relieved, he popped his canopy, and Goalie did the same.

“Glad they're not masked up?” Goalie asked.

“Yeah. We'd have to stay closed up while they turned us around, and on oxygen,” Guru said. “Been a while since we've had the CW gear on in the cockpit.”

“Remember the last time? At Cannon after a Scud attack?”

“Yeah, and just glad it was a false alarm. Missile fuel residue tripped somebody's CW sensor.” Guru said. He took off his helmet and then wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Every time, you work up a sweat, he thought. Then he stood up in the cockpit as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. “Sergeant,” Guru asked his crew chief, “What happened?”

Staff Sergeant Crowley shrugged his shoulders. “No idea, Major. The alarm sounded, we got into our CW gear and ran for the shelters. We heard three bangs, then five minutes later, the all-clear sounded.”

“All right,” Guru said. He and Goalie then got down from the aircraft and did a quick walk-around. Just as he finished, he noticed ordnance crews coming with the next mission's lethal cargo. And a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup pulled up, and Capts. Mark Ellis and Darren Licon came out. The rest of the flight's crews also came over. “Mark, when did this happen?” Guru asked his Exec.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” the XO replied. “Just taxied in and the alarm sounded. They told us to stay in the aircraft, buttoned up. Hell of a feeling, knowing there's Scuds inbound and nothing you can do about it. When the ground crew took off their masks, we all had a big sigh of relief.”

“I'll bet,” the CO said.

Kara and the other crews came over, and noticed the ordnance people going to work. “Let me guess: We're going back out.”

“That you are,” Ellis nodded. “Scud hunts, mainly in the Nicaraguan sector. They think that's where the missiles came from.”

“They think?” Sweaty shot a glance over at Capt. Licon, the 335th's Intelligence Officer. “This spot-on or is this a wild-goose chase?” She remembered the intel community's motto: “We're betting your life.”

“Had a few wild-goose chases a couple months ago,” Preacher added. “Don't want to do that again.”

The CO nodded. He, too, remembered failed Scud hunts, and they'd had to go after either prebriefed secondary targets or on targets of opportunity. “So we're doing a quick turnaround, and debriefing out here.”

“You got it, Boss.” Ellis said.

“Okay, who else is going?”

“Dave and Sandi are turning around right now. They're getting Mavericks.” That meant AGM-65 missiles on three-round launchers on each inboard station.

Guru thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Tell Dave and Sandi they're coming with us. We'll brief when they get here. I want them to kill any mobile air defense assets with any launchers we find, then we'll go in and finish the job with CBUs or Snakeyes.” He pointed to his aircraft, which was getting a full load of a dozen Rockeye CBUs.

“Got you. And I'll do the same with me and Van Loan. He just landed.” Ellis said.

“Fine with me, Mark. Get going.” Guru told his Exec. “Oh, Mark? Any word on how our media guests did?”

“Kodak said they were pretty cool. Got into their MOPP gear, then went for a shelter. And when they got in? The cameraman started filming.”

“Which means that'll be on their next segment to Australia tonight,” Goalie said.

“No doubt,” Guru said. “Okay, Mark, get Dave and Sandi over here, and get yourself ready to go.”

“Will do, Boss.” Ellis said, turning to leave.

“And Mark?” The CO asked as his Exec turned back to him. “Good luck.”

“You too, Boss.” Then the Exec went off to find the two crews in question.

“Sir?” Captain Licon asked. “Can we debrief?”

Guru nodded. “Okay, let's get it over with, then I have a question to ask you,” he told his Intel Officer.

The crews went over their mission, pointing out where they had laid down their bombs, and the multiple secondaries that had resulted. “Good strike,Major,” Licon said. “I'll get this off to Tenth Air Force, and see about getting some imagery.”

“Okay, Darren, now answer this if you can,” the CO said, pointing to the nuclear power plant on the map. “What's this all about?”

The intel nodded. “Sir, all I know is that the Coyote Creek Nuclear Power Plant was disabled after the I-10 line blew open. They removed all the nuclear material, disabled the plant, and evac'd the staff. It's a no-strike area for obvious reasons.” Licon said.

“So that when we retake this part of Texas, the plant can be brought on line, because we'll need the power,” Kara said. It wasn't a question, by the tone of her voice.

“That's about it. Hope that clears that up for you, Boss.” Licon asked.

“It does, but we drew flak from that area on the way out,” Guru told the Intel. “Remind everyone going out that this isn't an opportunity target, and tell them why.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, that it?” Asked the CO.

'That's it, Major.” Licon said.

“All right: thanks, Darren.” Guru told his Intel. He turned to his flight. “Okay, get a bite to eat, get something to drink, and hit the latrine. We'll be going back out before you know it.”

Heads nodded, and the crews went to follow his advice. Guru did so as well, and while they were eating, Dave Golen, Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs came over. “Guru,” Golen said. “Mark told us we’re going with you?”

Guru nodded. “You guys are, and I'll explain why.” He spoke for two minutes. “Any problems?”

“Not at all,” Golen nodded back. “And if we get them on some country road....bottled up....they will be sitting ducks.”

“Good,” Guru said. Just then, his Crew Chief came over. “Yes, Sergeant?

“Major, 512's ready to rock. And so are the others.” Sergeant Crowley told his CO.

“Thanks, Crowley,” Guru told his CC. “Gather 'round, people,” he told his flight.

Everyone gathered around the CO as he laid out a map showing the sector held by the Nicaraguan II Corps. “This where we're going?” Kara asked. “We were just there.”

“They think the Scuds came from that area, and that's about it,” Guru said. “We've got two hours' fuel, and we're going to burn most of it on the Scud hunt.”

“And if we come up empty in that?” Sweaty asked.

Guru nodded. “Licon gave me these,” he said as he passed out sheets with target coordinates and a brief description of each target. “If we can't find Scuds, here's some alternates. Note that some of them are 'suspected.'”

“And if we can't find anything, even an opportunity target?” Kara wanted to know, and she saw Scorpion nod.

The CO looked at his wingmate. “We're not bringing ordnance back, if that's what you're worried about. IF we goose-egg on Scuds or other opportunities? Granbury or Cleburne Municipal Airports are back operational. We'll go there and give 'em a surprise visit.”

Sweaty nodded. “Same drill as everything else?” She asked.

“You got it,” Guru replied. “Air-to-air for one through four is the same, though Dave and Sandi won't have Sidewinders. Mission code to AWACS and other parties, and both the MiG threat and bailout areas are the same as before.” He looked at his flightmates. “So's the weather. Anything else?”

“We doing this again?” Scorpion asked.

“Maybe,” Guru said. “Don't be surprised if the A-6s and F-111s get Scud hunts tonight. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Let's hit it. Mount up and let's go.”

The crews broke up and headed for their aircraft. Guru and Goalie went to 512, and did their preflight walk-around.”Major, you going after those Scuds?” Sergeant Crowley asked.

“If we can find 'em? They'll get taught a lesson,” Guru said.

“The ones who survive,” Goalie added.

“You say so, sir, and ma'am,” Crowley said as they mounted the aircraft and got strapped in.

Both nodded as they went through their cockpit checks. “If our instructors saw this preflight, they'd be flipping out,” Goalie said as she went through the checklist.

“Mine sure would,” Guru said. “Both at Homestead prewar, and at Kingsley Field on the requal.”

They finished the preflight, then Guru gave the thumbs-up signal to his Crew Chief. Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal, and Guru started one, then the other, J-79 engine. Both were quickly warmed up, and it was time to taxi. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five lima. Hold prior to the runway.” The tower controller replied.

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” Guru replied. He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, and after the ground crew pulled the gear chocks, he got the taxi signal from Crowley. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, then gave a thumbs-up as well. Both pilot and GIB returned it, then they taxied to the runway, where he held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” the controller said. “Watch for a C-141 to your right.”

Guru and Goalie watched as a C-141B came in and landed on the same runway they were going to use. Once it taxied clear, the tower cleared him to taxi for takeoff. Guru taxied onto the runway,and Kara in 520 came into the usual wing position. After a quick final check, it was time.

“Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clearance for takeoff,” Guru called.

As usual, the Tower flashed a green light to give clearance.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie as he got ready to lower his canopy.

“Let's go,” Goalie said.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru replied, closing and locking his canopy, and Goalie did the same. Guru turned, and saw Kara and Brainiac doing the same thing, and giving their CO a thumbs-up. Guru and Goalie returned it, then Guru released 512's brakes, applied full power, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara following in 520. Sweaty and Scorpion followed, and right behind them were Dave and Sandi, as six F-4s filled the sky with their exhaust. And Rambler Flight was on its way south.


Over Central Texas, east of the Brazos River, 1450 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, over the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, and the aircrews were not surprised to see the Nicaraguans' air-defense radars turned off. AWACS had informed them that there were Weasels working the area, and a few “MAGNUM” calls were more than enough to get the Nicaraguans to turn off their radars. Which gave the aircraft-and there were quite a few-looking for the Scud launchers a free ride over the area. Though the East Germans west of the Brazos River were not so accommodating, a number of SA-4 and SA-6 launches had taken place, and the Weasels had gone in to deal with the offenders.

Major Wiser was busy flying the F-4, and keeping an eye out for threats, while his GIB was scanning the ground with binoculars. “Anything?”

“Nada,” Goalie said. “This really isn't the way to do this.”

“Tell me about it,” Guru said. “This got laid on with virtually no notice. If we have to come back? I'm going to tell the ordnance guys to load a Pave Tack pod on centerline, and give another to either Mark or Don.”

Goalie smiled underneath her oxygen mask. “I like that. But we haven't used Pave Tack in a while.”

Guru knew what she was talking about, a mission that they could not discuss with anyone, even those who had flown it. “I know, but we can go fly a couple of training runs into the Panhandle or Oklahoma.”

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Strobe at Eleven O'clock.” She had picked up a radar on her RWR.

“Got it,” Guru replied. Then a “2” appeared next to the strobe on his RWR. That meant an SA-2 radar. “That's the Hillsboro SA-2. Music on, and let's not get too close.” He turned on his ECM pod.

“Two copies,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

“Roger that,” Guru said, then he made a ninety-degree turn to the right, and headed towards the Brazos River. It wasn't long until they reached both Lake Whitney and the town of the same name then they turned north again.

“Flak at the dam,” Sweaty noted as they turned north. The Lake Whitney Dam had a couple of flak batteries defending it, and they opened fire on seeing the six-ship approach, and then turn north.

“No radar,” Dave Golen said. “Lead, Five. Nothing so far.” He and Sandi Jenkins, his wingmate, were using their AGM-65D Maverick missiles as improvised FLIRs, looking for traffic on the roads. Nothing really important, just routine military traffic or supply convoys, and for sure, it wasn't what they were looking for.

“Keep looking, Five.” Guru replied. The two Maverick-equipped Phantoms were slightly above and ahead of the other four, so that they could use their Mavericks more effectively as search tools.

“Roger, Lead.” Golen and Sandi kept on going north, with the four other Phantoms right behind them.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “How much more of this?”

“We've got an hour and a half, then we can go for opportunity targets.” Guru replied. They soon got to U.S. 67, and Guru led them in another ninety-degree turn, then they headed for Route 174, and another turn to the south.

“Rio Vista dead ahead,” Goalie said from the back seat. “We were just there.”

“Nothing wrong with a friendly flyby,” Guru remarked deadpan.


In Rio Vista, the Libyans and Soviets were in a heated argument. One of the Soviet advisors was a former Kub (SA-6) battery commander, and he was trying to convince the Libyans to have a more active air-defense posture. The Libyans were not that receptive, feeling that the Soviets were acting a bit arrogant, despite having just been bombed, when the six-ship of F-4s came over. Much to the chagrin of the Soviets, the Libyans ran to their shelters, while a couple of Libyan soldiers did fire Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles, and missed. The Russians simply looked at each other and shook their heads in disbelief. And these people are our allies? More than one Soviet advisor said openly.

“Blum dead ahead, Lead,” Scorpion called.

“Got it,” Guru replied.

“This had better not be another wild-goose chase,” Goalie said. “Not a damned thing so far.”

“Nothing that fits the target description,” Guru admitted. “We may get an opportunity target anyway.”

The flight overflew the small town of Blum, more a collection of ruins than anything else, though there was a company-sized Soviet garrison there, from the same rear-area protection division that had the Rio Vista garrison, the 234th Rear-Area Protection Division from Odessa in the Ukraine. The division had been raised from older reservists, and had only a single Motor-Rifle Regiment with motor vehicles, namely, BTR-152s, Su-100 assault guns, and towed M-30 122-mm howitzers, while the other two regiments had no APCs, tanks, or artillery, only relying on mortars for fire support. And the tank regiment also had T-34/85s, their divisional artillery was towed 152-mm pieces from the Great Patriotic War, along with BM-14 rocket launchers from the 1950s. And the division totally lacked any kind of air defense weapons other than ZPU-2 or -4 machine guns and Strela-2 shoulder-fired missiles.

And when Rambler Flight flew over the town, the soldiers scattered for cover, though a couple of them also fired Strela-2s at the F-4s, the missiles failed to hit. The company commander got onto his field phone to report the sighting, which his battalion commander promptly failed to pass on.

In Rambler One-six, 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins was busy keeping an eye out for threats, while her GIB, 1st Lt. Ken Dahlberg, was using his own binoculars. Then he saw it. “Sandi, One O'clock! Looks like a missile convoy at a roadblock.”

“I'll call it in,” Sandi replied. “Lead, this is Six. We may have found what we're looking for. South of Blum...' She checked her map. “Intersection of F.M. 933 and F.M. 1201. Missile convoy and a roadblock.”

“Coming in, Six,” Dave Golen said. He looked around, and not only saw the missile convoy, but what looked like a battalion's worth of armor on one of the roads. Well, now.....two for one, as these Yanks say. “Lead, I confirm Six's detection, and also have additional armor at that location.”

“Copy that, Five,” Guru replied. “You and Six start taking rifle shots and kill any air-defense assets. We'll clean up.” He checked his map, then put 512 into a turn for that location.

“Roger that, Rambler Five rolling in.” Dave said. His GIB lined up a Maverick and locked on. Then Dave fired. “Rifle!” He called.


At the intersection, the Libyan 2020th Missile Battalion's commander had gotten out of his BTR-60 command vehicle and he was in a rage. The Captain commanding the missile battalion stormed over to the intersection, past a ZSU-23-4 and a Strela-1 (SA-9) vehicle, and went to see who was holding up his battalion. They had executed a fire mission and were en route to their next launch point, and now these Nicaraguans were in their way. The Captain got to the intersection, only to find a very angry Nicaraguan Lieutenant Colonel, with a Soviet Army Major, as well as a KGB Lieutenant. “And what is this? Get out of the way of my battalion!”

“And who authorized your missile launch?” The Nicaraguan Colonel replied. “In case you've forgotten, this is the sector for II Nicaraguan Corps, and my General is less than pleased, to put it politely.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Ever since your missile launches, the Imperialists have had aircraft up over this area all afternoon. If they can't find what they're looking for, they attack whatever they can find....and that includes supply depots, supply and troop convoys, and other targets of opportunity.”

The Libyan glared at the Nicaraguan. “That is none of my concern. I report to my brigade commander, who reports to the Commander of the Libyan Expeditionary Corps.”

“Some Corps,” the Nicaraguan snorted. “Two brigades that hardly saw combat at Wichita, and a polyglot brigade of the few survivors who escaped the Colorado disaster.”

Hearing that, the Libyan opened the flap on his holster and drew his Makarov pistol. “Get out of my way....NOW!”

The Nicaraguan signaled to his men, and not only did infantrymen raise their AKMs, machine guns, and RPGs, but T-55 tank turrets swiveled and brought their guns to bear, as did BTR-60PB APCs.

Seeing that, the Soviet Major and the KGB Lieutenant went to the traffic-control point,where a very hapless Commandant's Service (Soviet Military Police) Captain and several of his men, along with the KGB Lieutenant's men, were waiting. “Call 4th Guards Tank Army Headquarters in Waco, Captain. Do it on my authority. We may need their help in this matter,” said the Major.

“Right away, Comrade Major,” the traffic control officer said. He picked up his field phone to make the call. But before he could be connected, the KGB Lieutenant pointed skyward. “What is it?”

“AIR ALARM!” The KGB lieutenant said, then all of the Russians jumped into a roadside ditch, while the Libyans and Nicaraguans were still in their standoff, just as a T-55 tank at the intersection took a missile hit and exploded.

“Rifle again!” Dave Golen called, and as he did, Sandi Jenkins fired her first two missiles. Dave's first missile had killed a tank to block the missile convoy, and his second went down and killed a ZSU-23-4 AA vehicle. Sandi, meanwhile, killed an SA-9 vehicle and a BTR-60 APC that were both bringing up the rear of the missile convoy, and now that unit was trapped.

“Coming in,” Guru said. He saw the smoke from burning vehicles, and saw the two F-4s still in their missile runs. They could launch two Mavericks per run, and Dave and Sandi had shot four missiles each. “What'd you get?”

“Got a pair of tanks, a gun vehicle, and a command track,” Golen replied.

“Add a Zoo-23,” Sandi added, using the pilot slang for a ZSU-23, “An APC, and a SA-9 track. One went dumb.”

“Good work,” Guru said as he came in. “You two orbit, and watch us go in. Any vehicle shoots at us, you take them out.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen said, and both F-4s pulled up to assume a low orbit, while Guru led the flight around the convoy so that they could make their runs south to north. “Sweaty? You and Scorpion follow us.”

“Right with you, Lead,” Sweaty replied.

Goalie was working her armament switches. “All set here. Everything in one pass.”

“Good girl,” Guru said. He lined up a TEL in his pipper. “Steady...and HACK!” He hit the pickle button and a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off of 512's racks. “Lead off safe,” he called as he pulled out of the bomb run.


The Libyans and Nicaraguans were aiming weapons at each other when death suddenly came out of the sky with no warning. First a tank, then another, then a couple of air defense vehicles and the hapless Libyan Captain's command track took missile hits and blew up, and then, as both sides picked themselves up, they saw smoke trails descending on them. F-4 Phantoms. And both commanders were shouting, “GET OFF THE ROAD!” It was too late as Guru's F-4 came in and dropped cluster bombs onto the missile convoy, and a number of vehicles fireballed, including a MAZ-543 TEL.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries!” Just as she called that, the missile in the TEL exploded, sending up a large fireball. “Whoa!”

“What was it?” Guru asked as he set course north for I-20.

“Don't know, but it was big.”


Kara saw the explosions as she started her roll in. “Two's in hot!” She saw another TEL trying to get off the side road, and she decided that was her target. “Nice try....” she muttered as the TEL came into her pipper. Kara hit the pickle button. “HACK!”, and released a dozen Rockeyes on the convoy. Not a shot came up at her as she pulled away. “Two off safe.”

The Russian Major took a look from the ditch, and saw the Libyan and Nicaraguan commanders blown apart by CBU bomblets, and a missile transporter-launcher also blew up before his eyes. Then the KGB lieutenant dragged him back into the ditch as a second F-4 came in. And as the Russians huddled in the ditch, they heard another large explosion.

Brainiac yelled from 520's back seat, “GOOD HITS!”

“How good?” Kara asked as she followed the CO north.

Brainiac shouted, “Big secondaries!” just as the TEL blew sky-high in a large orange-red ball of fire, and several other vehicles were also hit by the CBUs.


“Three's in!” Sweaty said as she came in on her run. There were two TELs back-to-back, trying to get off the road, and she smiled. “Two of you bastards,” she muttered, lining the two missile vehicles in her pipper. “Steady.....and HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and twelve more Rockeyes fell on the Libyans. Then she pulled 519 level and headed north. “Three's off target.”

The Russian Major peeked up again, and saw the two MAZ-543s trying to get off the road. “NO!” He yelled. “You dumb black-asses!” Just as he did, Sweaty's F-4 came in, and he ducked. Then he heard a number of small explosions, then two big ones, and he knew what had happened.


“Righteous!” Preacher yelled as Sweaty headed north. “We got 'em both!”

“Both of 'em?” Sweaty asked. Her strike camera was rear-facing, and hopefully, it was caught on film.

“Two big booms!”

“Good enough,” Sweaty said as she egressed.


“Four's in!” Scorpion called. Seeing the TELs go up, he wondered what he could hit, then he saw four truck-trailer combinations trying to get off the road. Were these the missile transporters with reloads? Only one way to find out. He lined up the second truck-trailer in his pipper, and as it got closer...”And...NOW!” Scorpion hit his pickle button, and sent a dozen more CBUs down on the Libyans.

The Libyan truckers saw the destruction ahead of them and they had panicked, trying to get their trucks off the road, when they saw Sweaty's F-4 pull out of its run and the two TELs exploded in its wake. The truckers piled out of their trucks and ran for whatever cover they could find as Scorpion's F-4 came in and planted its load down on the trucks, three of which fireballed as CBUs found their mark, and the missiles being towed behind them also exploded. Though they were not fueled, they did have their warheads installed.....

“We got 'em!” Judge called from Scorpion's back seat. “Those had to be missile trucks!”

“Good hits?” Scorpion asked as he followed his element lead north.

“Big hits.”


“Lead, Five,” Dave Golen called. “We've still got two Rifle shots each.”

“Copy that, Five,” Guru replied. “Take your shots and egress,”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen said. His GIB picked out the only surviving missile transporter and then fired. He then put their last Maverick onto a missile fuel truck, and the resulting explosion set off another truck...

“Six is in,” Sandi called.

Ken Dahlberg, her GIB, picked out two other missile fuel trucks and sent Mavericks after them, one after the other. The Libyan drivers had backed up close to each other, and made them all vulnerable. So that when one truck was hit, the detonation took out other vehicles. Then both Phantoms got back down low and headed after the CO and the rest of the flight.


Back at the intersection, the Russians climbed out of the ditch, and found the Nicaraguans shaking their heads and embracing each other, glad that they were still alive. They also saw the destruction of the Libyans, and a few shell-shocked survivors wandering about. The Major turned to the KGB man, who nodded grimly. This had been the Lieutenant's first time under air attack, being a relative newcomer to this unpleasant land called Texas. Then he turned to the Commandant's Service Captain. “Captain,”

“Comrade Major, do you still want to place that call?”

“Yes, I do. There's still going to be bad blood between the Libyans and Nicaraguans, and it may get very bad indeed,” the Major said.

“Comrade Major,” the Captain replied. The call went through, and after the Major explained what had happened, and the fact that things had nearly come to blows before the American aircraft arrived, the 4th GTA responded, ordering the 6th Guards Motor-Rifle Division to send a motor-rifle regiment to investigate and report back. And, if necessary, prevent any additional....incidents from happening.

“Sweaty, where are you?” Guru asked as the lead element passed Lake Pat Cleburne and headed northwest.

“On your six,” his second element lead replied. “Scorpion's with me.”

“Copy that,” replied Guru. “Five?”

“Coming in,” Golen responded. “Have you in sight.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead. Say threat?”

“Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace,” an AWACS Controller replied. “Threat bearing One-eight-five for eighty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-six-zero for ninety. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. “Say bogey dope.”

“Rambler, bandits are Floggers.”

MiG-23s, Guru thought. And unless these were the Flogger-Ks, they had no look-down/shoot-down capability. Even the Flogger-K, which had a limited LD/SD radar, had problems. And they were going too fast. They would be across I-20 before the MiGs arrived, and if the MiGs followed, the F-15s would be waiting.....Hassling with MiGs was not part of the agenda today, and they were starting to get low on fuel, as the bomb runs and their high-speed egress was burning a lot of it. “Copy that, Crystal Palace. Flight, Lead, let's get the hell out of here. We'll be across the fence before they get close.”

“Roger that, Lead,” Sweaty replied, trying to hide her disappointment. But she knew, as they all did, that picking a fight with MiGs wasn't in the cards today.

It wasn't long until the flight approached the I-20, and then Crystal Palace called. “Rambler, Crystal Palace. Bandits have turned. Now bearing One-eight-zero for fifty, Medium, going away.”

“MiGs going chicken?” Kara asked.

“If they kept following us, they run into the MIGCAP,” Guru reminded everyone.


The Flight then hit the tankers, and everyone had their post-strike refueling. Then they headed back to Sheppard, and as they did, they noticed smoke coming from a town south of Wichita Falls. It wasn't long until they got into the pattern, and were cleared to land. They taxied in, popped their canopies, and noticed the TV crew filming them as they taxied to their dispersal area. Guru took 512 back to its revetment, and as he taxied in, he saw a Crew-Cab pickup waiting along with the ground crew. After Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, gave the “Shut down” Signal, Guru shut the engines down. He and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist, then he said, “Let's hope we're not going back that way.”

“You said it,” Goalie replied. “But there's Mark, and the Intel.”

“Flight line debrief, which means we're going back out ASAP if not sooner,” Guru noted as he stood up in the cockpit and waved the ground crew over with the ladder. After both pilot and GIB got down, they did a quick walk-around, then both saw the Exec and Intel coming their way. “Mark, don't tell me we're going back there.”

“I won't,” the Exec said.

“Good.”

“But the intel will,” Ellis said. “Darren?”

Capt. Darren Licon, the Intel Officer, nodded. “Another Scud attack, about fifty miles south of here. Town called Bowie. Two missiles caused no damage, but two more? They hit a refugee camp.”

“WHAT?” Goalie said as she came up.

“Yeah,” Ellis nodded. “Message traffic says at least 40-50 KIA, lots of wounded. And to make things worse? One of them was a CBU warhead. They hit the hospital, and that Doctors Without Borders outfit? They were running the hospital.”

“Lovely,” Guru said. “Which means third-country nationals got wounded or killed. Wonderful.”
He waved the rest of the flight's crews over. “So we're going back out?”

“You guys are,” Ellis said. “And so am I, with Don Van Loan.”

“All right,” the CO said as the rest of the flight gathered around. “We're going back out. Another Scud attack, and this time, they hit civilians. Somebody's going to pay for that.”

“What'd they hit?” Sweaty asked, and Ellis answered. “Bastards!”

“Yeah, and not the first time,” Kara added. “Back to the same area?”

Ellis nodded. “You got it.”

“Okay, Mark? Give Dave and Sandi the same ordnance load: Six AGM-65Ds each airplane.”

“Will do,” the Exec replied. “And yours?”

“Give my bird and Kara's a full CBU load, and...wait, are the Pave Tacks good to go?”

“Still being checked out, as you wanted, and the C-141 brought us the third pod.” Ellis said.

“Okay, I was hoping we could use them as sensors,” the CO said, thinking out loud. “Sweaty? Give her and Scorpion a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes.”

“Will do,” Ellis said, “I'll tell ordnance, then I'm going back out.”

“Thanks, Mark. Good luck, and Mark?” Guru saw the XO turn back to him. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, Boss,” the XO replied, then he went off to notify ordnance, then he went to man up his own aircraft.

“Sir, can we debrief?” Licon asked.

“Let's get it over with,” Major Wiser said.

The crews gathered around and went over the Scud hunt, and showed where they had taken out the TELs. “South of Blum?”

“That's it. There was a missile convoy and blocking the road was quite a bit of military traffic,” Kara said. “Tanks, APCs, the works.”

“Okay,” Licon said. “I'll pass it along. Chances are, they're still trying to untangle the mess. This is a good opportunity target.”

“If we have to, we'll go back,” Guru said.

“Anyone see who they were?” Sweaty asked. “Didn't see anyone flying a flag.”

“Same here,” Scorpion added.

“It's the Nicaraguan sector, so it could've been them, or maybe Cubans. Libyans, even,” the Intel said. “I'll check the strike camera footage and see what I can pick up.”

The CO nodded. “Anything else?”

“That's it, sir. Good luck on this one, folks.” Licon said as he gathered up his materials, then headed back to the Intel shop.

“Thanks,” Sweaty said. “So, Boss, what now?”

“Get something to eat, something to drink, then hit the latrine. Won't be long until it's time to go,” Guru said.

Heads nodded, and they followed the CO's advice. Guru took his own advice as well, having a sandwich and a bottle of water, People milled around, chatting as they ate, and looking at their watches. It was 1500 on Guru's watch when his Crew Chief came over. “Yeah, Sergeant?”

Staff Sergeant Crowley said, “Major, all six birds are ready to rock. They're locked and cocked.”

“Thanks, Crowley,” Guru said. “Okay, people! Gather around, then it's time to go.”

The crews gathered around as Guru gave a quick mission brief. “Same drill as last time?” Kara asked.

“It is,” Guru nodded. “We've got two hours of daylight left and we'll have to make the most of it. Dave, Sandi?” The CO nodded, “Just like earlier today. Go ahead of us and use your Maverick seekers to look for targets.”

“Now that we know what to look for?” Dave said. “We'll find them.”

“Good,” Guru said. “Call it out, then start taking shots. We'll get there and finish the job. Now, if we don't find what we're looking for? There's opportunity targets, and if we have to? Granbury or Cleburne Airports are back open, and we'll pay them a visit. Anything else?”

“MiG threat still the same?” Sweaty asked.

“It is, and remember, our job today is to find and kill Scuds, not hassle with MiGs. If we come across a strike flight or a recon run, we'll get involved. But that's it,” the CO reminded everyone.

“Weather, bailout areas, radio procedures? Same drill?” Asked Sandi.

“They are,” said Guru. “Anything else?”

“Got some info on the Scud attack,” a voice said. It was Mark Ellis, on the way to his own aircraft.

“What is it?” Guru asked.

“The hospital at the refugee camp that was hit?” Ellis replied. He saw everyone nod, then went on. “It was run by some outfit from Geneva called Doctors Without Borders.”

“WHAT?” Kara exclaimed. “This on the level?”

“It is,” Ellis said. “And you know what that means.”

Guru nodded. “We've got third-country nationals killed or wounded, maybe both.”

“That's a given,” Goalie said. “Maybe this'll get those wimps in Western Europe to realize the nature of the beast we're dealing with.”

“Hopefully,” Guru said. “Mark, I almost forgot. Call up the Ops desk on your walkie-talkie. Have Revlon, Hoser, and KT in my office when we get back.”

“Will do,” Ellis said. “That it?”

“We've got two hours of daylight left, so let's make the most of it. And Mark?”

“Boss?”

“Good luck.”

“You too,” Ellis said, then he headed to his own aircraft, and got on his walkie-talkie.

“This it for today?” Preacher asked.

“Should be,” the CO said. “Remember what I said to Mark: let's make the most of the time we've got. Anything else?” Heads shook no at that. The CO clapped his hand once. “Okay. Mount up and let's go. Time to hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, and when Guru and Goalie got to 512, they found their bird ready and waiting, with Sergeant Crowley by the cockpit, and the ground crew ready “Major,” the Crew Chief said as he saluted.

“Sergeant,” Guru replied as he returned the salute. Both he and Goalie did a quick walk-around, and then mounted the aircraft. As they did their preflight, Guru said, “You know what I wish we had loaded?”

“Let me guess,” Goalie replied. “Napalm?”

“You got it. Anyone who deliberately sent a Scud after something like a refugee camp deserves to burn.”

“No argument from me there,” Goalie said. “Then they burn twice, if you know what I mean.”

“That I do,” Guru replied.

“Okay...preflight complete. Ready for engine start.”

“Right on that,” Guru said. He gave the thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal.

Guru hit the starter switches, one after the other, and one, then two, J-79 engines were up and running. “All set,” Goalie said from the back seat.

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting clearance to taxi and takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five Charlie. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead is taxiing.” Guru replied. He gave Crowley another thumbs-up, and the Sergeant gestured to the ground crew, who pulled the landing gear chocks clear. Then Crowley gave the taxi signal, and 512 taxied out of its revetment. As Guru turned to head for the runway, the Crew Chief snapped a perfect salute as usual, and both Pilot and GIB returned it. 512 taxied to the runway, and the rest of the flight was right behind it. As they taxied, the crews noticed the TV Crew filming them.


Next to the taxiway, Ms. Wendt turned to Kodak Griffith. “That was fast.”

“Not unusual, and we Marines do it from time to time,” Griffith answered.

“This have anything to do with that missile attack we had?”

“Ma'am, you might want to use your imagination on that,” said the Marine.

Wendt thought for a moment, then nodded. “I guess so.”


When Guru got to Runway 35C, he held prior to the runway so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. The ordnance was now “Live.” Then he called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear to taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-three at eight,” the tower controller replied.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said, then he taxied onto the runway. Kara in 520 followed, and they went through a final check. “All set?”

“Ready to go,” Goalie said.

Guru replied, “Same here.” He looked over at 520, and saw Kara and Brainiac give the thumbs-up signal. Both Guru and Goalie returned it, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead ready for takeoff.”

As usual, the tower flashed a green light to give clearance. Both crews closed and locked their canopies, and then it was time. Guru ran the engines to full power, and released the brakes. And 512 rolled down the runway into the air, with Kara in 520 right with him. Then it was both Sweaty's and Scorpion's turn, and after that, Dave and Sandi's.

Kodak Griffith was watching with the TV crew as Rambler Flight, and then a couple of Marine flights, then Ellis' flight, followed. He said, “Good luck.”

“Wish you were going along?” Ms. Wendt asked. Kodak had told her about his leg injury.

“Ma'am, I'd be lying if I said no.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part 18: More Scud Hunts...



Over Central Texas, Southwest of Fort Worth, 1615 Hours Central War Time:



Rambler Flight was headed south, on their second circuit of the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, and it appeared to the aircrews that the constant American air activity over their sector had frightened the Nicaraguan air-defense people into not turning on their radars or opening up with their own flak. Though the East Germans to the West, on the other side of the Brazos River, and the Soviet 32nd Army to the east of I-35W, along with the 4th Guards Tank Army at Hillsboro and points south were a different story. And their EW repeaters bore that out, for radars were up, with SA-4, SA-6, SA-8, and AAA radars, along with the Hillsboro SA-2. Fortunately, none of the Soviet or East German Army air-defense people were willing to shoot at targets outside their sectors, though the Hillsboro SA-2 did, sending the occasional telephone pole-sized SA-2 after aircraft that got too close. And that made Guru none too happy..

“Where's the Weasels?” He grumbled over 512's IC.

“Just like a cop,” Goalie, his GIB, replied. “They're never around when you want one.” That was partially true. Wild Weasels often flew with strike flights, but there weren't enough of them to go around, and today, the Weasels were busy, making sure those flights tasked with Scud hunts didn't have SAMs to worry about. Earlier, the East Germans had sent a few SA-4s east of the river, but a few antiradar shots with HARM or Standard-ARM missiles meant the East Germans were holding such thoughts-along with their fire.

“Hillsboro at Eleven O'clock,” Kara called from 520. “You'd think they had Chebrikov himself down there.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. “Music on, people.” That call was for the flight to turn on their ECM pods.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied. Sweaty and the others did as well.

“On me,” Guru ordered, and as he put 512 into a right turn to give the SA-2 site a wide berth, the rest of the flight followed. When they got to the river, then he made another turn to the north.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “How much more of this?”

“An hour's worth of fuel, then we can find an opportunity target,” Guru said. “We're not bringing this stuff home.”

Rambler Flight headed back north, and only when they got to Lake Granbury and U.S. 377 did they turn around. As they headed back south, a call came over the radio, and the crews saw F-4s, both AF and Marine, rolling in on a target, and large secondary explosions going off. “Look at that!” Goalie said over the IC.

“Whoa!” Guru replied. He had an idea who might be responsible. “Corvette Lead, Rambler Lead. You guys having fun?”

“Copy that, Boss,” Corvette Lead replied. Everyone in the flight recognized the voice of the Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis. “Found what we came for.”

“Corvette, Rambler,” Guru replied. “Sure looks like it. Need a hand?”

“Negative, Boss. We and the Jarheads got it under control.”

“Roger that, Corvette.” Guru said. “See you back at home plate.” Then Guru led the flight back south.

“Lead, Sweaty. We still looking for what we're here for?” Sweaty asked.

“Roger that, Sweaty.” Guru replied. “Got some earlier, and the Exec did just now. That's maybe two launch battalions' worth. Anyone know how many battalions in a Scud brigade?”

Kara answered, “Three per brigade, Boss. So we got some more to find.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Five, Six: Anything?”

“Negative, Lead,” Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer” replied. He and his wingmate, 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins, had their GIBs using their AGM-65D missiles as improvised FLIRs.

“Maybe the rest of 'em scooted for cover,” Goalie said from the back seat.

“Maybe,” said Guru. He wasn't so sure. Then something came to him. “Two, Lead. You think outside the box a lot. Where would you hide some Scuds if you were in charge of a battalion?”

“Stand by, Lead,” Kara said. She and Brainiac, her GIB, went over their maps. “Lead, how about Cleburne State Park?”

“Let's check it out,” Guru replied, and Rambler Flight turned north, then slightly northwest. They buzzed the State Park at Cedar Lake, and found nothing, so he turned the flight south.

All the turning and burning was costing fuel, and the GIBs were doing some quick calculations. “We've got forty-five minutes' fuel left before we're bingo,” Goalie told Guru. Bingo fuel meant return to base.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. He checked his map again as they flew south, back towards Rio Vista and the Scud convoy they had attacked earlier that afternoon. “Got to be around here somewhere.”

“Maybe they've found someplace to hide,” Goalie said.

“Lead, Four,” Scorpion called.

“Go, Four,” Guru replied.

“Has anyone checked out Lake Whitney? Map says there's a State Park on the east side of the lake.”

“Don't think so,” Guru said. “Let's go.” And he took 512 into a turn to the south, and headed for the lake. “Watch for flak at the dam.”

As the F-4s flew south, they overflew the wreckage of the convoy, and the Nicaraguans were still picking up the pieces. The Nicaraguan commander, a Captain after the battalion's command group had been killed or wounded in the Yanqui air attack earlier, ordered his men to take cover, and not to fire on the aircraft. Much to his relief, no one did, and everyone in the battalion breathed a huge sigh of relief as he did that the aircraft left them alone. Being bombed once in an afternoon was enough. No thanks to those stupid Libyans.....

Rambler Flight got to Lake Whitney, and the town of Whitney. They buzzed the state park and the town, and as they flew over the town, some of the townspeople waved and cheered, not caring about the Soviet garrison, namely, a regiment of the 20th Tank Division from 4th Guards Tank Army.

“Radars at Twelve,” Kara called. “That'll be Waco, I bet.”

“And MiG country,” Guru noted. “Do a 180, people. Get back north.” And he put 512 into a 180, and headed back north, away from the SAM threat and the MiGs. None of the SA-4 radars belonging to 4th GTA or the divsional-level SAMs fired, though.

“No MiGs? Gee, Lead, I was hoping for a hassle,” Kara said.

“Not today,” Guru reminded her-and everyone else. “Only if they come looking for us.”

“Too bad,” Sweaty muttered in her cockpit, making sure it was on the IC and not the radio. And Preacher, in 519's back seat, nodded understanding.


As Rambler Flight headed north, and the aircrews were expecting that they would pay a visit to the Cleburne area so as not to return home with unexpended ordnance, a Soviet missile convoy was pulling into a field southwest of Cleburne. They were from the Third Battalion, 99th Missile Brigade, originally from Krasnodar, and they were relative newcomers to the war in America. The Brigade, a Mobilization-Only unit, had been raised the previous year, and had deployed to Cuba after six months' training in the Ukraine. The Brigade had kicked its heels in Cuba for another six months before being shipped to Mexico, and had only arrived in Texas a month earlier, and it was obvious that things were not going well. They had been assigned to the 2nd Central Front, which had been mauled at a place called Wichita, up in Kansas, and all but the most optimistic of fools knew that the Socialist Bloc forces had gone through a shredder and were lucky to holding what they had. But, still, the Brigade's soldiers did their duty, and in coordination with the Libyans, had executed fire missions earlier that day. Though normal procedure in America was to shoot at night and hide in the daytime, the Brigade Commander felt that keeping the Americans on their toes, and realizing that they could expect to be attacked at any time, it was a risk worth taking. And so, Third Battalion was preparing to set up for a second salvo. Their MAZ-543 TELs, propellant trucks, and missile transporters with reloads were pulling off of this road called F.M. 1224 and into a field. This field had plenty of room to enable the battalion to set up and fire as a unit, instead of dispersing into separate launch sections. A salvo of four R-17s landing on the target nearly simultaneously would be a fitting present to the Imperialists, the Political Officer had said. Though he agreed with the Zampolit, the battalion commander thought these reservists still need the practice.


In her cockpit, Sandi Jenkins was scanning around, while Ken Dahlberg, the GIB, was checking the terrain. She was keeping an eye out for visual threats while flying the aircraft, something that not only the instructors at Kingsley Field had stressed, but the old hands in the squadron did as well. One thing that did stick in her craw was that she and Ken didn't yet have call signs, and though she and the other female pilots and GIBs had long been accepted in the squadron, they still weren't guys. Ken had suggested as her call sign SNAG: Still Not A Guy, and Sandi had laughed at it. Still, if he said it in the O-Club, the squadron might make it official. And if he did....

Then she saw them, “Ken, One O'clock and low!”

“Got 'em!” Ken replied. “Scuds.”

“Ready to fire, looks like. I'll call it in. You mark the position.”


Guru was scanning the sky ahead and checking his radar repeater when the call came. “Lead, Six. Got what we're looking for. Four targets, at the F.M. 1224/Park Road 21 junction. Off the road, Northwest corner.”

“Copy that, Six. Any sierra-alpha threat?” That meant surface-to-air defenses.

“Gun trucks, no missiles,” Sandi replied.

“Roger that, Six. Take your rifle shots and orbit. Five, you do the same. Kill any defenses, then hang back. Two, on me. Sweaty, you and Four follow. One pass and haul out, people! Time to go to work.”
Guru pulled 512 into a turn, then turned again. He wanted to make the run south to north, so that if he or anyone else in the flight was hit, they could head straight north and reach the I-20 line and safety. “Set 'em up,” he told Goalie. “Everything in one pass.”

“Got it,” Goalie said from the back seat as she worked the weapons controls. “All set back here.”

Just then, both Dave and Sandi started to take AGM-65 shots and “Rifle” calls came over the radio. Then both F-4s pulled away and began to orbit as vehicles down below were burning. Not only had they taken out some bad guys, but the plumes of smoke served to mark the target. “Copy that,” Guru said on the IC. 'Lead's in hot!” He rolled in onto his attack run.


Below, the Soviet battalion commander was actually pleased. For a mobilization-only unit, these soldiers were going about their tasks well. Though it was by rote, with the officers closely supervising their men, the battalion would be ready to execute its fire mission. The missiles had been raised to launch position and fueled, and final checks before launching the weather balloon to get final wind data before launch were underway. Though originally not equipped with air defense assets other than soldiers with Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles, wartime experience had shown the need for missile units to have their own air defense vehicles, and his battalion had a platoon with BTR-152 APCs with ZU-23s mounted on them. Suddenly, one of the AA vehicles opened fire as an F-4 came by, then turned around and fired two missiles, exploding an AA vehicle and a missile reload truck. “AIR ALARM!” He shouted, then he and other officers and soldiers ran for cover.

Okay...Guru thought as he rolled in. Four burning vehicles meant that the target was marked, and that they should have a free ride on the target. Or maybe not....some small-arms fire and even an SA-7 came up, but since the Grail had no all-aspect capability, it wasn't a threat, though if it did fly down an intake or make a freak hit....He put those thoughts aside as he rolled in, lining up a MAZ-543 with erect Scud in his pipper. “Steady....and HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button and twelve Rockeye CBUs came off 512's racks. He leveled off and headed straight north for I-20. “Lead's off target.”

The Soviet battalion commander, a Major, watched from a ditch as Guru's F-4 came in and released its ordnance. A frown came over the man's face as the CBUs exploded around and on the missile launcher, taking both vehicle and missile up in a fireball. The fireball also took out a fueling vehicle that hadn't yet gotten clear, and it too, exploded. “MASK!” He shouted as toxic fumes from the missile propellant would be in the smoke.

“SHACK!” Goalie called. “We got it!”

“Missile launcher?” Guru asked, though he likely knew that he had.

“Four-oh!” Replied Goalie. “And a big fireball!”

“Righteous, as Preacher would say,” Guru said as he headed north.


Kara in 520 was next. “Two's in hot!” She saw the explosions left in the CO's wake, She picked up the second launcher and the support vehicles around it, and lined them up in her pipper. And she saw some tracers coming up at her. “Too late, Ivan,” she muttered as she hit her pickle button. “HACK!” Kara called as she pulled away, leaving a dozen Rockeyes in her wake. As she pulled off target, she called. “Two off safe.”

The Soviet Major and the men who'd taken cover with him heard Kara's F-4 come in, then many small explosions. Then a big one followed, followed by a couple of sympathetic detonations. The battalion commander knew what had happened, but stuck his head up anyway. Another of his precious launchers had gone up-literally, The Major groaned in his mask, then he was suddenly jerked down by the Zampolit. There were more aircraft incoming.

“GOT HIM!” Brainiac called

Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Secondaries?”

“Big ones, and then some,” came the reply.

“Their lucky day,” Kara said as she followed the CO out of the target area.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She and Scorpion had Mark-82 Snakeyes, but they would do the job just the same. Their bombs had the Daisy Cutter fuze extenders, and even a near hit to a Scud TEL would kill the vehicle-and the missile along with it. She saw the damage caused by the Major and Kara, and she picked out one of the two surviving TELs, this one to the east, and lined it up. Ignoring the light tracer fire coming up, Sweaty lined the missile vehicle in her pipper. “Stready...and HACK!” She hit her pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeye five-hundred pound bombs came off 519's racks. She pulled away, and as she did, an SA-7 flew over the cockpit. “Three's off target.”

In the ditch, the Soviet Major peeked out, and saw Sweaty's F-4 make its run. He saw a dozen bombs come off the aircraft, and he groaned as they landed around and on one of his two remaining TELs. The big MAZ-543 and the missile, which had been elevated for launch, both exploded as shrapnel from the bombs sliced into not only the missile and the TEL, but a pair of missile fuel trucks as well. The Major ignored the muffled call from another officer to get down, and he watched helplessly as another F-4 came in.

“Righteous!” Yelled Preacher from 519's back seat. “We got him!”

Sweaty glanced back and saw a large fireball and a couple of smaller ones. “Good ones,” she noted. “Anyone shooting at us?”

“Negative,” Preacher said. “Maybe they got blown up themselves.”

“Maybe,” Sweaty replied, remembering the times both Colonel Rivers and Guru had reminded her about threats. Then she headed north, and as she did, she saw one of the Maverick birds fire a missile.

“Four in hot!” Scorpion radioed as he rolled in. He saw the last TEL, and immediately selected that as his target. As he rolled in, he noticed one of the two orbiting Phantoms fire a missile, and that Maverick took out somebody who had been firing on Sweaty as she egressed. “No way, Ivan,” he muttered as he lined up the last TEL in his pipper and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Twelve more Mark-82s fell onto the Soviet battalion. “Four's off target.”

The Soviet Major watched as Scorpion's F-4 came right over his head, and a dozen bombs came off the aircraft. He ducked, hoping that the bombs would miss, but he never saw the bomb that landed in the ditch, nor felt the blast as it exploded. The Daisy Cutter fuze went off a couple of feet off the ground, and the freak hit in the ditch meant that everyone taking shelter in it was torn apart by blast or shrapnel.....The Major never saw the demise of his last TEL.

“GOOD HITS!” Judge cried out from the back seat.

“How good?” Scorpion wanted to know.

“Big and good,” Judge said. “Real big boom-booms.”

“Fair enough,” came the reply as Scorpion's F-4 headed towards the I-20.


“Lead, Five,” Dave Golen called. “Looks like you got good hits on the targets.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “You and Six take your remaining shots, then get your asses north.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen replied. He and Sandi then went in, picking out remaining vehicles, for each still had two AGM-65s left. They found the remaining reload trucks and sent Mavericks their way, exploding them, then they, too, headed north. “On our way out,” Golen then called.


“Roger that, Five,” Guru said. He looked around and saw Kara's 520 right with him in combat spread, and he knew that Sweaty and Scorpion would be close by. It wasn't long until they reached the I-20 and the FLOT, and only then could they relax. Then they hit the tankers for the post-strike refueling, and as they did, Dave and Sandi joined up. They, too, drank some fuel, then the six-ship headed north.

It was nearly sundown when they arrived back at Sheppard, and as it turned out, they were the last flight in, before the A-6s and F-111s began night ops. They didn't even have to wait in the pattern, as the tower cleared them in for landing. After landing and taxiing off the runway, Goalie said, “Long day.”

“It was, and it's not over. Got some things to talk about with Revlon, Hoser, and KT before it's done.”
Guru replied.

“Like, what happened yesterday?”

“That's pretty much it. They're back on the flight schedule tomorrow.” Guru said as he taxied 512 into its revetment. He got the “Shut down' signal from his Crew Chief, then nodded. “One more day, then we get another stand-down.”

“Looking forward to that,” Goalie said as she started the post-flight checklist.

They went through the post-flight, then the ground crew brought the crew ladder, and both pilot and GIB dismounted from 512. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, came over. 'Major, how'd she do?”

“Killed some Scuds, Sergeant,” Guru said as he signed the aircraft back over to the CC. “She's working like a champ, and whatever it is you're doing? Keep it up.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley replied. “Major, word's going around about a stand-down?”

“Day after tomorrow. Get caught up on both sleep and maintenance, then the following day? Back to the grind.”

“Well, sir, one day off's better than even a half-day.”

“It is that. Get her ready for the morning, Sergeant. We'll be pretty busy.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “Okay,” he turned to his ground crew. “You heard the boss! Let's get his bird ready for tomorrow.”

As the ground crew got to work, Goalie came over to Guru. “You still want to bump him up in the R&R Rotation?”

“After what they do for us?” Guru asked. “Least I can do.”

“Don't blame you for that,” replied Goalie. “I'd do the same.”

When they got to the edge of the revetment, Kara, Brainiac, and the rest of the flight came over. “Well, Boss, we put the hurt on the bad guys,” Kara said.

“We did,” Sweaty nodded. “But were they the ones who hit the refugee camp?”

Judge replied. “Chances are, we may never know. But even if we didn't, somebody paid for that.”

“That they did,” Guru said. “Come on, let's get inside and get debriefed.”

The six crews walked over to Squadron Ops, and when they got there, the XO was waiting. “Boss,” Mark Ellis nodded. “Got somebody to see you.”

“Mark, I'm tired, hungry, and not in the mood for much. I need to debrief, talk to Revlon, Hoser, and KT about yesterday, then get something to eat and drink, get some shut-eye, because in the morning, we're back at it,” Guru said.

'I think you should see this guy. F-111 fella, thinks the Pave Tack pod we got today belongs to him.”

“He have the paperwork?” Guru asked as they went to the briefing room his flight used.

“No.”

“Then tell him to shove off,” Guru said. “And come up with the paperwork for us to prove it's ours. Even if it's, well, 'after the fact.'”

“You ought to see him anyway,” Ellis insisted. “He's got the rank.”

“What's he got?” Guru asked.

“Major.”

“Okay, tell him I'll be there in a few minutes. Need to debrief a mission,” Guru said.

“Got you.”

Guru and the rest of the flight went into the briefing room, and found the Intelligence Officer, Capt. Darren Licon, waiting. “Major,” Licon said. “How'd things go?”

“Got what we were down there for,” said Guru, and heads nodded agreement. “Let's get this done.”

They went over the mission, and indicated where the Scuds had been found. As well as Kara's theory as to Scuds hiding in the state parks in the area, of which there were two or three. “I'll pass that along, Licon said. “Maybe we'll get some recon eyes down there, or....” That meant either an RF-4C mission or the unspoken word of SF for some eyes on the ground.

“All right, Darren,” Guru noted. “Anything else?”

“No, sir, other than folks are asking who won the Scud Pool.”

The CO turned to his wingmate. “Kara?”

Kara nodded. “I'll announce it in the Club tonight. Fair enough?”

“I'll pass the word, sir. Get this stuff off to Tenth Air Force, though....” He indicated the Scud material. “Hope we got the ones who put the CBUs on the refugee camp.”

“You, me, and a lot of other people,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

Licon shook his head. “No, sir.”

“All right, then. See you in the Club.”

“Yes, sir,” Licon gathered up his materials, then left the room.

As the Intel left, Guru turned to his crews. “Okay, check your desks, and clear any squadron paperwork. Don't hit the Club until you're finished with that,” he reminded them. “Anything else?”

“Who's this F-111 guy Mark said wanted to see you?” Goalie asked.

“Don't know, and right now, don't care,” Guru nodded. “Need to talk with Revlon, Hoser, and KT about yesterday, then check my own desk.”

Sweaty looked at her CO. “As in what the hell happened?”

“Right. And we'll have a memorial service for Razor during the stand-down,”Guru said. He turned to leave the briefing room. “See you guys in a bit.” He then left and went to his office, still in his flight gear. He found his Exec, along with a Major in a flight suit whose flight jacket betrayed his F-111 origins, though the man's back was turned. “Mark.”

“Boss,” Ellis said. “Here's the F-111 guy.”

“And what can I do for you?” Guru asked. “Major?”

“Chris Breemer, Major,” the man replied. “524th TFS. And I'd like to know what my pod is doing in your squadron.”

“'Your' pod? Excuse me, but you're not the only unit on this base trained and equipped to use Pave Tack,” Guru replied, trying to be polite.

“What are you talking about?” Breemer asked. To Guru, it meant that the concept of others besides F-111s using the pods hadn't occurred to the man.

“I've got crews trained to use Pave Tack, and all of my birds have the ARN-101 DMAS, just like the 301st, 405th, and 450th, the other F-4 wings in Tenth AF,” Guru shot back. “If you're accusing my unit of scrounging your pod, I'd like some proof. Otherwise...”

“You haven't heard the last of this,” Breemer said angrily.

“Got the paperwork?” Guru replied politely. “If not, then get the hell out of my squadron.”

Breemer glared at him, then stormed out of the squadron office, right past Mark Ellis. “What was that all about, Boss?”

“F-111 driver who says we stole his Pave Tack pod. Tell me we didn't.” Guru said.

“No, Ross and his people got it, uh, by trading with the Hill Air Logistics Center,” the Exec replied.

“Okay, get the paperwork on that. If it doesn't exist?” The CO asked. “Create it.”

“Will do,” Ellis nodded. He knew what the CO wanted, and if things had to be....creatively designed, so be it.

“I'll talk to our lost sheep, then if you've got stuff for me, let it wait until then.” Guru said, nodding to Revlon, Hoser, and KT.

“Gotcha.”

Guru nodded, then motioned to the three who were waiting outside his office. “You three, come on in. We've got a few things to talk about.”

The three nodded, then followed the CO into his office. They noticed that their CO had not yet gotten out of his flight gear, meaning his G-suit, and he still had his helmet.

“Okay, you guys want to have a seat, or....?” Guru asked. He wanted to make this as informal as possible.

All three looked at each other, then Hoser spoke for them. “We''ll stand, Boss.”

The CO nodded. “Whatever works for you,” he said. “Okay, Revlon?” Guru nodded at 1st. Lt. Julie “Revlon” Cole., who had been shot down a few minutes before Hoser and KT, and her pilot hadn't gotten out. “What happened?”

Revlon brushed her cropped brown hair. “Major, I don't know for sure. Razor rolled in, and was lining up on some armor when we started taking fire. Next thing is, we took a hit to the nose, another round went off next to the front cockpit, then we took two more hits.”

The CO nodded. “Did you try using the rear flight controls?”

“Couldn't,” Revlon said. “Fire warning light came on, hydraulic light was already on, and so were the others. You know the drill if that happens.”

“Yeah, you get out,” Guru said, recalling his own shoot-down. “Razor say anything?”

“No, and I tried getting him on the IC. But the ground was coming up, so...”

“So you had no choice but to get out, and chances are, he was either incapacitated or dead,” Guru commented. “Where'd you land?”

“Right near a Soviet motor-rifle regiment, so the Army told me,” Revlon said. “They never tried to capture me, and why, I have no idea.”

“Maybe because they were busy?” Hoser ventured.

Guru looked at him, then nodded. “You might be right,” he said. “How long were you on the ground?”

“Ten minutes, because the Jolly Green and the Cobras were there pretty fast. Like they were on airborne alert or something. Cobras did good in keeping the bad guys away, and wasn't long until I was at their FOL. Then another Jolly comes in with these two.”

The CO looked at Hoser and KT. “All right, how'd it go with you two?”

Hoser nodded at his flight leader and CO. “Rolled in right behind Sweaty. Lined up on some of the guns, close to where Sweaty dropped, and released.”

“I was calling out altitude,” KT added. “Then we started taking fire, and that's when we were hit.”

“What kind of guns?” Guru asked.

“Medium-caliber,” Hoser said. “Looked like 57s to me.”

“Same here,” KT added.

Guru turned to Revlon. “How about you? Was the flak 57-mm?”

“Seemed like it to me,” Revlon said. “Black puffs, and that means 57 or higher.”

“Okay,” the CO said. “You said on the radio you took a hit to the nose and had sluggish controls. What else?”

“We were losing fuel, and had to shut down the right engine,” Hoser said. “Made it across the fence, then the warning panel lit up like a Christmas Tree, and it was time to get out.”

“And we weren't in the chutes that long when the Jolly Green arrived. The Army was coming, too. Several Humvees and Duce-and-a-halfs were coming towards that field. Guess they wanted credit for the rescue or....” added KT.

“They thought you were Russians,” Guru finished. “And wanted credit for the capture. Seeing that Jolly Green come for you should've told them otherwise. Wasn't long after you landed that the Jolly landed, right?”

“It wasn't,” Hoser said. First thing we see is the chopper, then the PJ comes over. Got hustled to the chopper right after that.”

“Same here,” KT said. “They loaded us up, then off we went. Got checked out there, then Doc Waters did it again when we got back.”

Guru nodded, then thought for a moment. “Okay, Hoser, you and KT get a new bird. One of the two we just got from Japan, via McClellan. Talk to Van Loan, and he'll assign you the bird.”

“We back on the schedule?” Hoser asked, and KT nodded.

“You are, as of now. Be ready to go tomorrow morning,” Guru said to the pair. “As for you, Revlon?”

“Boss?” Revlon asked. She wasn't sure of the CO's tone of voice.

“You're getting a new pilot. I'm breaking up the other new crew we got today, and you'll be breaking in a new front-seater. First Lieutenant Jodi Taylor is your new pilot. Talk to her tonight at the Club, and break the ice. Go over how she wants to do things, but remind her of this statistic: eighty percent of our losses are people who don't make it to ten missions,” said Guru.

Revlon knew the CO was serious, and that he was speaking from experience. He'd been shot down once, and he had to break in a new GIB. “Understood, Boss.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, that it?”

“Who won the Scud pool, Boss?” Hoser asked.

“Kara will announce that tonight in the Club,” Guru said. “How's that sound?”

“Sounds pretty good for somebody,” KT replied.

“It will be,” Guru agreed. “Okay, see you in the Club, and a reminder: Twelve-Hour kicks in for you at 1900, along with everyone else. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss,” Hoser said.

“Okay,” Guru said. “That's it. See you in a bit.”

“Will do, Boss.” Hoser said.

As they got ready to leave the office, Guru remembered something. “Wait a minute. Revlon? With you and Jodi together, that means we've got an 'unmanned' F-4. First for the squadron, and maybe a first for the Air Force, for all I know. So be careful.”

“What do you mean by that, Boss?” Revlon asked.

“Simple: the STORY light goes on in our visiting reporter's head. When it hits the news wires, and gets broadcast? More reporters will be showing up. If I have to, I'll have Kodak Griffith keep them at arm's length with a bullwhip. If that doesn't work? I'll have Ryan Blanchard and the CSPs keep them away so you two can do your job.”

“Thanks a heap. Uh, Boss.”

“Bound to happen sooner or later,” Guru said. “Just take things in stride, and go with the flow.”

“All anyone can do,” Revlon nodded. “That all, sir?”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “See you in a few.”

The trio left, and just after they did, Mark Ellis came in. “Boss,” the Exec said. “Got a few things for you.”

“Lay it on me, Mark. I need to get out of my gear, then get over to the Club,” said the CO.

“Aircraft status report for MAG-11. We'll have eighteen for the morning.”

“Shouldn't we have twenty?” Guru asked. “The two new birds we got today, remember?”

Ellis shook his head. “Two birds are due for hundred-hour checks, Kev O'Donnell says.” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the squadron's maintenance officer.

“Okay,” the CO said, signing the form. “What else?”

“Three new airmen reported today, and one's an ex-PJ. Got busted up in a helo crash, and he couldn't requalify as a PJ, so he's a new medic for Doc,” the XO said.

Nodding, the CO looked at that sheet. “Supply?”

“Nothing special,” Ellis said. “And Ross is still looking for that other....special item.”

“Good,” the CO said. “Now, tell Don Van Loan that Hoser and KT are back on the schedule tomorrow, and they get one of the two new birds from Japan. As for the other crew? I'm giving the female pilot to Revlon.”

“Boss, that means we'll have an 'unmanned' F-4.” Ellis pointed out.

“Don't remind me, but yeah. And thanks to our reporter friends, word will spread pretty fast.”

“It will,” the XO said. “First in the squadron, probably in the whole Air Force for all I know. And the media will want to get their bite at 'em.”

“Nature of the beast,” Guru said. “I told Revlon that pretty much. Anything else?”

“That's it,” Ellis said. “Ready for the Club?”

“Let me get out of my gear, then let's go.” Guru said. They left the CO's office, then after Guru stopped by the Locker Room to get out of his flight gear, CO and XO headed over to the Officer's Club tent.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 19: Time to unwind, FNGs get introduced, and call signs for them-and a few others-are assigned:


1705 Hours Central War Time: Sheppard AFB Officer's Club Tent:


Guru and his Exec walked into the Officer's Club, and found the usual crowd already there. They bellied up to the bar next to Colonel Brady and Maj. Lee Dutton, who commanded a four-ship VMFP-3 detachment attached to MAG-11. “Colonel,” Guru nodded. “And Lee. How's the photo business?”

“Major,” Brady replied. “How'd things work with you guys?”

“Made some Scuds go away, but did we get 'em all?” Guru asked. “That's what I'd like to know.”

“Good question, and one I'd like to know myself,” Brady said. “I was here for the attack, and getting into my MOPP gear was no fun, I'll grant you.”

“Well, we got some of the aftermath of your strikes on film,” Dutton said. “Not bad for a day's work.”

“Always nice to create a couple of junkyards,” Ellis nodded.

“That it is, Mark,” Guru said. Then the barkeep came up. “Two Sam Adams, and I'll pay for whatever the XO's having.”

“Bud,” Ellis nodded.

The barkeep produced the bottles, and Guru paid him. “Thanks,”

“Anytime, Major,” the barkeep smiled.

“So, tomorrow's another day, and then we get a stand-down,” Guru commented.

Colonel Brady nodded. “You got that right. So, hoping for the usual, or what?”

“Colonel, I'll take smashing up some airfield, or blowing a supply dump over Scud hunts or CAS any day. I know, the guys and girls on the ground depend on us for the CAS, but that's not our primary tasking.”

Brady nodded. “I know; you guys are mainly BAI and counter-air, but you've done your share of CAS.”

“When we have to,” Guru admitted. “But I'd rather leave it to the folks who specialize in it.”

“Can't be choosers,” said Dutton. “I flew F-4Js and the S before getting the photo-bird.”

“So, Major,” Brady said to change the subject. “Word's going around that you're getting an 'unmanned'
F-4 in your squadron.”

“Yes, sir. Squadron rule is to pair up a new pilot with an experienced GIB, and the other way around. In Revlon's case,” Guru motioned to a table where Revlon was talking with her new pilot, “that means pairing her up with one of our FNGs. And that's Jodi Taylor.”

“Good thinking, Major,” Brady nodded approval. “And when our news media guests find out?”

“I'll have Kodak Griffith keep them at bay with a horsewhip if necessary. And if that doesn't work? Our CSPs will do the job.” Then he saw Goalie and the rest of his flight at a table. “Excuse me, sir.”

“That they will, Major,” Brady laughed. “You have a good evening.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru said. He then went over to the table. “Here you go,” he said, handing Goalie the second bottle of Sam Adams.

“Thanks,” Goalie said. “So, word's spreading that we'll have an all-female crew? Thought you weren't going to break up that second crew?”

“Remembered squadron policy: new pilot-veteran GIB and vice versa.” Guru replied. He gestured to the table where Revlon and Jodi were busy talking things over. “And we've got some other business to take care of.”

“Such as?” Kara asked.

“Call signs. Not just for the FNGs, but for Sandi and Ken,” the CO reminded his wingmate.

“When?” Preacher asked.

“After dinner, but before twelve-hour kicks in,” the CO said.

Sweaty looked at her CO. “And when the newsies get a hold of an 'unmanned' F-4?”

“I'll have Kodak Griffith use a bullwhip if necessary to keep them away. If that doesn't work? Ryan Blanchard's CSPs do the job. Capt. Ryan Blanchard headed up the 335th's Combat Security Police detachment, and the former deputy sheriff was very good at her job.

“Anyone looking forward to flogging reporters?” Kara asked, half-jokingly.

“Serves the bastards right,” Hoser said.

“Now, now,” Guru said. “They're our guests, remember?”

“We can dream, can't we?” Goalie asked.

“Why not?”


The Marine Mess people arrived with dinner, and as everyone ate, The CBS Evening News came on. Nothing about the Air Force this time, though there was footage from the Kola Raid that DOD had finally released, including scenes of the cruisers Salem and Des Moines, along with a couple of destroyers, throwing eight-inch and five-inch shells into a Soviet naval base along the Kola coast. A sneak preview of an interview with British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher came up as well, and then there was the usual stories from the Home Front, with a segment of Charles Kuralt's On the Road, where the reporter traveled the country, showing how the Home Front was going in various parts of the country. This segment took him to Bar Harbor,Maine, where the fishermen were going out, not only looking for their catch, but also looking out for Soviet subs. After the news came a replay of an L.A. Raiders/San Diego Chargers game.

“Not again,” Guru said with disgust

“What's up, Boss?” Kara asked. “Not into football?”

“College, yeah. Pro? The Cowboys are my team, and with them playing in Phoenix due to the war, at least they're going. But no matter how often it's rerun, the Chargers win. I don't care much for the Raiders or San Diego.”

“Down at Auburn, SEC football is God,” Kara grinned. She had graduated from Auburn, where the rivalry with Alabama and Georgia Tech was well known.

“Same thing around here,” Goalie said. She was reading a copy of USA Today. “Says here they're starting up High-School football again. In the liberated parts of Texas, anyway.”

“Any of that around here?” KT asked.

“From El Paso to Amarillo, and down this way, the article says,” Goalie replied.

“Didn't Ivan make that illegal?” Kara said. “I remember hearing things about that.”

“They did, but the article says there's enough places off the beaten path where you can get together for a pickup game.”

Guru nodded. He had relatives in Texas, though they were still in the Occupied Zone. “Well, that's one sign of things getting back to normal. Now, we've got some squadron business to take care of.”

“Such as?” Kara wanted to know.

“Introducing the FNGs, and giving them-along with Sandi and Ken, call signs,” the CO reminded his wingmate.

“Oh, boy...” Goalie said, while Kara blushed slightly. At least her old call sign from Kingsley Field had followed her here.....


Guru went up to the bar, got himself another beer, then rang the bell. “People! Got some 335th squadron announcements to make!” People stopped what they were doing to listen. “Okay, we got our FNGs today, and I'd like them to stand up and be recognized.” The four new aircrew did so. “And we need to bestow call signs on them. But, one of them's already got one. Bob Gatlin?” Gatlin nodded. “Tell them what yours is.”

Gatlin addressed the crowd, AF, Marine, and Navy. “Well, it's T-Bone.”

“How'd you get that?” Don Van Loan wanted to know.

'I kinda put a practice bomb onto a water buffalo at the Crow Valley Range near Clark in the Philippines.” Roars of laughter followed.

“Anyone think we need to change it?” The CO asked. Lots of heads shook no. “All right: T-Bone stays.”

“Thanks, Major,” Gatlin said, sitting down to slaps on his back.

“Okay, Jody Phelan? Front and center!” Guru said.

Phelan got up and went to the CO. “Major?”

“Okay, Jody. Anything in your background that might help?”

“Uh, I got nailed for doing 102 MPH in a 55 my Junior Year in college,” Jody replied.

“How about Bandit?” Kara suggested.

“He sure don't look like Burt Reynolds,” Sweaty shot back. “Got a black Trans Am back home?”

“No,” Phelan replied.

“How about Scooter?” Judge asked.

“Scooter?” Guru replied.

“Yeah. He was scooting down the road,” the pre-law major said.

“Sounds good, Judge,” Guru said. “All in favor?” Nearly everyone's hand shot up. “Opposed?” None. “All right: Scooter it is. And remember: if you don't like it, we'll come up with one even more embarrassing.”

Phelan, now Scooter, nodded understanding. “Yes, sir.”

“All right: Jodi Taylor?” Guru said. “Come on up.”

Jodi left the table she was sharing with Revlon and went to the CO. “Major?”

Guru smiled. “Okay, you're an astronomy major, right?”

“That's right, Major,” she replied.

“Okay, any suggestions?” Guru asked the crowd of 335th crew.

“How about Scope?” Don Van Loan asked.

“'Scope'?” Kara replied. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“She uses a telescope when she's studying the stars,” Van Loan shot back.

“Any others?” Guru asked.

“Cosmo,” 1st Lt. Craig Stevens, who was Mark Ellis' GIB, said. “She's looking up at everything: the sun, moon, stars, planets, the whole nine yards.”

“All right: all in favor of 'Scope'? Show your hands.” Only two or three were raised. “How about 'Cosmo'?” Many more hands rose. “Okay, Cosmo it is,” Guru said.

“Thanks, Major.”

“You and Revlon getting along?” Guru asked.

“Yes, sir,” Cosmo replied.

Guru nodded. “When she tells you what it's like in combat, listen. Revlon's got 127 combat missions on you and has been shot down once already. So pay attention.”

“Got it, sir.”

“Okay,” Guru said as Cosmo went back to the table. “Keith Byrant.” The ex-University of Hawaii linebacker went to the bar.

“He's built like a football player,” Mark Ellis muttered.

“He was one,” Goalie said.

The CO nodded. “You played football at where?”

“University of Hawaii, sir.” Byrant said.

“Fridge!” Don Van Loan shouted.

“'Fridge?'” Kara asked.

“Yeah. He's not as big as the real Refrigerator Perry, but he's still big enough to just run over a quarterback. And stomp him into the ground,” Van Loan said.

“Any objections?” Guru asked. There were none. “Okay, Fridge it is.”

“Thanks, Major,” Bryant said, then he went back to the table he was sharing with T-Bone.

Guru nodded, took a drink, then said, “Sandi Jenkins, front and center!”

“Uh-oh,...” several people muttered.

Sandi smiled, then went up to the bar. “Major,” she smiled at the CO.

“Sandi,” Guru said cheerfully. “You came to us without a call sign, so we're going to rectify that. Floor's now open, people!”

“Yang?” KT suggested.

“Yang?” Preacher asked.

“Yeah,” replied KT. “Yet Another Non-Guy.” And there were howls of laughter.

“Oh, boy...” Sandi muttered.

Guru nodded. “Yang is one, any others?” He saw Kara raise her hand. “Kara, you have an idea?”

“Snag?” Kara said. “Still Not a Guy.” More howls of laughter followed.

“Kara...” Sandi muttered.

The CO nodded. “Steady, girl,” he reminded her. “If you don't like what we give you, we'll get you another one that's even more embarrassing.”

“How about Flossy?” Cosmo asked.

“Care to elaborate?” The XO replied. “You're one of the animals in the zoo, now.”

“She has no noticeable tan lines.”

“And how do you know that?” Guru asked. “Let me guess: you two were roommates for a while.”

Sandi looked at her CO. “We were....”

“Steady,” Guru said. “Any others?” He noticed T-Bone talking with Fridge. “You two have a suggestion?”

“Uh, Major, how about Lamb?” T-Bone asked.

“Lamb?” Don Van Loan asked. “What's that all about?”

“Well, we went down to Stead for a week of weapons training,” T-Bone replied. “When we went into Reno for some down time? Sandi there likes low-cut civilian attire.”

Sandi's face turned red when she heard that. “Major....”

“Let me guess: Look at My Boobs.” Mark Ellis said.

Guru had a grin on his face, then he asked the 335th's crews, “All right: the suggestions are on the table. Let's start with the last one: Lamb? A show of hands.” Hardly any came up at that one. “Okay, 'Flossy'?” This time, though, many hands came up. “'Snag?” Only Kara's and Goalie's hands came up at that one. “And 'Yang?” KT and Hoser were the only two. “Sorry, Lieutenant, but your squadron mates have spoken.”

“I guess so, Boss,” Flossy replied. She glared at Cosmo. “And you were one of my friends,” she said jokingly.

“All right, we got two more. Ken Dahlberg, come on up,” said the CO as Flossy went back to her table.

When she sat down, Dave Golen looked at her. “Uh, how?”

“Long story, Dave,” Flossy replied.

“Okay, Ken,” Guru said. “Anything in your background that you're not entirely proud of?”

“Well, Boss, when it didn't interfere with ROTC Summer Camp, I, uh, had an unusual summer job.” Ken replied.

“And that was...?”

“I, uh, worked in the business of one of my uncles. I worked in the office of a cemetery.”

Jaws dropped at that.”A cemetery?” Sweaty asked, “You have got to be shitting us.”

“Nope. Worked in the business office. Wasn't doing anything else.”

“Okay, Major,” Doc Waters said. “How about 'Ghoul'?”

“I'll go along with that,” Kara said. “You'd have to be one to work in a cemetery.”

“How about 'Digger”?” Hoser suggested.

“Any others?” Guru asked. “Okay, show of hands: all those for 'Ghoul.” About half the squadron's crews raised their hands. “And for 'Digger?” This time, it was just over half. “Ken, your squadron mates have spoken. Enjoy your call sign.”

“And when I tell my uncle...” Digger said. “I'll tell him not to hire anyone who's going into the military later.”

“You do just that,” Guru said. After Digger went back to his seat, where Flossy slapped him on the back, Guru went on. “Now, we've got a special one. Normally, ground officers don't get call signs, but this is special. Stand up, Darren.”

The intel officer was sitting with Doc Waters, Kev O'Donnell, and Ryan Blanchard, and he gulped. “What'd I do?” He asked.

“You're the best intel officer this squadron's had since the balloon went up. Now, Colonel Rivers, rest his soul, got him promoted to Captain. But I think the squadron ought to give him an additional honor. How about a call sign, and I've got one. Sin.”

Preacher looked at his CO. “Sin?” The ex-seminary student asked.

“Sin. Stands for Super Intel Nerd,” the CO grinned.

“Makes sense,” Don Van Loan observed. “Boss, I move it be awarded by acclimation.”

“Sounds good,” Guru said. “All those in favor?” A round of applause came from the 335th crews. “Well, Darren, it's official. Enjoy it, Sin.”

“Thanks, Major.” Sin replied as he sat down.

“Okay, next item. T-Bone, you and Scooter are with the Exec's flight. Hoser? You and KT are back on the schedule tomorrow, and you get a new bird from Japan.”

Hoser and KT were grinning. “Glad to be back, Boss,” Hoser said.

“Now, Scorpion and Judge?” Those two looked at the CO. “That means you go back to the Exec's flight.”

“Thanks, Major,” Scorpion said.

“Now, Captain Thrace has an announcement. It concerns the Scud Pool. Captain?”

Kara got up and went to the bar. “Okay,” she took out her notepad from a flight suit pocket. “Scud pool..... 3 November, 1415 Hours...REVLON!”

Revlon stood up and had a grin from ear-to-ear. She went up to Kara, and happily collected her winnings. Then she used some of it to buy a round for her table, then she went back.

“Not bad for someone who just became part of the only 'unmanned' F-4 in the squadron,” Kara said.

“No, and she did share with her new pilot and the others,” Guru said. “Revlon? Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Major!” She yelled over the din.

“Now, we've got some weather coming in tomorrow night. An all-day stand-down the following day. So there's going to be a maximum effort tomorrow.” The CO looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes until twelve-hour. Drink up, people! That's an order.”

As people went to obey, Colonel Brady came over with Ms. Wendt. “Major, nicely done. It's been a while since I've had to officiate at such a ceremony,” Brady said.

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied.

Ms. Wendt had a confused look on her face. “What was that all about?”

“Part of being a fighter pilot is having a call sign,” Guru explained. “All part of the world of military aviation.”

“And if they don't like the call sign?” Ms. Wendt asked.

Colonel Brady laughed. “Then they'll find one even more embarrassing.”

“That we will, sir.” Guru smiled.

“And since you've got a stand-down, how about that interview?” Ms. Wendt asked Guru.

Guru nodded politely. “If I'm not too busy with paperwork, sure.”

“And the backseat ride?”

“If we've got birds coming out of maintenance, and they have to have a check flight? Remind me and we'll get that done,” replied the CO.

“Thank you, Major.” Ms. Wendt smiled. “I noticed you've now got an all-female crew. Any chance I can talk to them?”

“Go through Kodak Griffith,” Guru said. “If they want to talk to you, fine. If not, just accept it. It's their choice, remember.”

“Of course, Major.” She knew full well that the crew might not want to talk to her, but when she ran the story, as she now intended to, they might change their minds.

Just then, Doc Waters rang the bell at the bar. “Twelve-hour now in effect!”

Guru turned to Ms. Wendt. “That doesn't apply to you, ma'am, but us?” He went to the bar and not only got a plate of nachos, but also a couple of cans of Coke and went over to his table. “Here we go,” he told Goalie.

“Kara's holding court at the pool table.” Goalie said, nodding in that direction.

“She went to work fast. And her potential victims?” Guru asked.

“C-130 guys. There's a couple of Herky-birds that came in after we did.”

Guru looked in that direction. Sure enough, a female C-130 driver quickly found her wallet lightened by $50.00. Then the male navigator tried his luck, and also found out to his sorrow that Kara was very good indeed. She pocketed her winnings, then came over to the CO's table. “Boss.”

'Teaching our MAC brethren a lesson?” Guru asked.

“Always,” Kara grinned. “Always a pleasure to clean out a pair of trash-haulers.”

“Be careful,” Guru warned. “Some of those trash-haulers fly HC-130s. The ones who refuel Jolly Greens and also carry Pararescue? Be nice to 'em.”

“Not these guys, Boss,” Kara replied with indignation. “Vanilla C-130 types.”

“Just reminding you,” the CO said.

“Noted, Boss,” Kara said. She then went and got in onto a poker game.

“So,” Goalie asked. “What's on tap for the stand-down?”

“Stay in bed half the morning,” Guru said.

“Good idea.”

“And sleep.” Guru told his GIB.

Her expression grew coy. “Wanna bet?”


The evening went on, until one of the Navy Flight Surgeons rang the bar bell at 2100. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!” With that, those on the flight schedule the following morning headed off to their tents, and all hit the sack. For it wouldn't be long until 0430 and the beginning of another day.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 20: a new day dawns, as Guru prevents Frank from exercising any authority other than what's absolutely necessary.


335th TFS Operations: 4 November, 1987, 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser came into the squadron offices, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A full day of flying beckoned, before weather came in that evening to force a one-day stand down. The forecast may be for rain and wind, but his maintenance officer, Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, was ecstatic, for it meant that the squadron's mechanics would get caught up on all of their maintenance, so that on the 6th, when flying resumed, all twenty of the squadron's aircraft would be FMC (Full Mission Capable) and thus available. And he was pleased as well, because all of his crews would be well rested and ready to go.

The Major went in, and found Capt. Kerry Collins, the Night Duty Officer, at his desk. “Kerry,”

“Major,” Collins said.

The CO noted that Collins was taking his advice and stayed in his seat. “How you doing this morning? Still on the pills?” He knew the NDO was grounded due to a cold, and Doc Waters, the Flight Surgeon, had Kerry on some cold meds.

“Doing better, Boss,” Collins said. “See Doc tomorrow and....”

“Hopefully, you're off the pills and back on the flight schedule,” Major Wiser said. “XO in?”

“He's in your office, Boss.” Collins said.

Major Wiser nodded. “Thanks, Kerry. And remember, Doc outranks all of us-even me-when it comes to flying. You may think you're ready, but if he doesn't....”

“Roger that, Boss.”

The CO nodded, then went into his office. He found Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, waiting with a cup of cocoa for him. “Mark,”

'Morning, Boss,” Ellis said, handing his CO the cup. “Not much paperwork wise this morning,”

“Tomorrow, we can clear some of that out,” the CO said. “What have you got?”

“Morning Report for MAG-11,” Ellis said. “And the updated aircraft status sheet.”

Nodding, Major Wiser signed the Morning Report, then scanned the aircraft sheet. “Still eighteen for today?'

“Afraid so, Boss,” Ellis said. “Two birds have their hundred-hour checks today. And several birds get that done tomorrow. Including all in your flight.”

“Okay,” Major Wiser said. “Anything else?”

“Update on the weather. We may be getting it a few hours earlier than expected.” Ellis said, handing the CO the weather forecast.

“Light rain after 2000, heavy rain after 2300. Won't let up until after 1400 tomorrow. Cloud base 5,000 with ceiling at 18,000. Swell. Okay, remind me this afternoon: I want two birds loaded for air-to-air for tomorrow. Just in case. It may be rainy down here, but at Angels twenty....”

Ellis nodded in the affirmative. 'Up there, it's CAVU. Gotcha. Who sits alert?”

“We'll sort that out later,” said the CO. “What else?”

“Guess who's SDO today, due to his element's birds getting their checks?”

The CO suddenly had a frown. “Let me guess: Frank.” It wasn't a question.

“Afraid so, unless you have someone else in mind.”

“Hacksaw's grounded as of today,” the CO noted. “Doc told me last night: he's got a cold, just like Kerry does.” He was referring to Capt. Jody Taylor, who was one of Kerry Collins' tentmates. “Find him and tell him he's daytime SDO until he's cleared to fly.”

“Will do,” Ellis said. “Let me guess: anything that keeps Frank from any unnecessary exercise of authority is a good thing.”

“You've got that right. I'll find him, and then I'll tell Frank the good news.”

The CO nodded, then there was a knock on the door. “Show yourself and come on in!”

A blonde female first lieutenant came in, with two cups of steaming liquid. “Morning, Guru,” 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn said. “Guru was the CO's call sign. “And to you, XO.”

“Morning, Goalie,” the CO said to his GIB (and girlfriend). “Still bearing coffee?”

“Have a sip,” Goalie said, handing the CO a cup.

Guru drank a sip. “More cocoa?”

His GIB grinned. “You got it. So what's up?”

“Trying to keep Frank from exercising any more authority than is necessary,” Guru said. He turned to his Exec. “Mark, tell Kerry to find Hacksaw and get him over here. Have Kerry bring some breakfast over from the Chow Tent, and tell Hacksaw that he's now SDO until Doc clears him to get back in the cockpit.”

“On my way,” Ellis said. He headed out the door.

“Let me guess: Frank's penciled in as SDO,” Goalie said.

“Yep. And I'm not trying to violate the Eighth Amendment ban on cruel and unusual punishment,” the CO said.

“Can't have that,” Goalie nodded.

“No,” Guru said. He downed the rest of the hot chocolate, then went out of the office, and Goalie followed. Just as they left the office, Major Frank Carson, the most despised officer not just in the 335th, but on the entire base, came in. “Frank, what brings you here this time of morning?”

“Just ready to begin my stint as today's Squadron Duty Officer,” Carson replied with a smug. And it was clear to everybody in the office that his Boston Blue Blood arrogance was at the surface.

“Not anymore,” Guru said. “Hacksaw's grounded for a few days with a cold. He'll be SDO on the day shift for the time being.”

“What?” Carson asked, staring at this.....peasant from California who was his CO. And his slut of a girlfriend, who was grinning from ear to ear.

The CO got in Carson's face. “I'm not putting you in a position to inflict any unnecessary misery on this squadron. If you've got squadron paperwork to take care of, deal with it. Head to the small-arms range and keep current on your qualification. Other that than, you're lucky.”

Carson glared at the CO. “What do you mean by that?”

“Frank, you and the rest of your element get two days off. Everyone else in this squadron only gets tomorrow. So enjoy it!” Guru said. Right after the CO said that, the Exec returned with Capt. Jody “Hacksaw” Taylor. “You found him, I see.”

“Just got out of the shower, Boss,” Hacksaw replied. “Feeling okay, even with these pills Doc gave me.”

“Okay, just listen to what he says, do what he tells you, and you'll be back flying in no time,” Guru said. “You're day shift SDO until Doc clears you. Any questions?”

“No, Boss,” Hacksaw replied.

“Kerry'll bring you breakfast, and to be honest? I'd rather have you as SDO than Frank,” Guru told him.

“Major, anybody besides Frank is good as SDO,” Hacksaw said.

“Good man,” Guru said. He turned to Goalie and the Exec. “Come on, let's go.” As they went to leave, Guru turned to Carson. “Frank?”

“What?”

“No complaints either from you or about you,” the CO said with due seriousness. 'Got it?”

“Yes....sir.” Carson said, though everyone could hear the contempt in his voice.

“I doubt it, but there's always a chance,” Guru said. “Come on. Let's go eat.”


When the CO, XO, and Goalie got to the Officer's Mess Tent, they found Colonel Brady, Ms. Wendt, and their flights waiting, among other aircrew and ground officers. “Colonel,” Guru said. “And Ms. Wendt. Good morning.”

“Major,” Colonel Brady said. “You're a little bit late this fine morning.”

“Had some unexpected business, as in Major Carson business, sir.” Guru said.

“Major, I'm a Marine and you guys are Air Force, but why haven't you kicked that bastard out of your squadron and off this base?”

“Sir, if I kick him out now? He can go to JAG and claim retaliation. I'm not giving him that pleasure.”

Colonel Brady nodded understanding. “Well, if it's any consolation, Major, I asked my own legal officer if the same situation came up in a Marine unit, and the same thing would apply. Guess we'll have to wait a bit longer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Wendt said. “Major, I'd like to talk to, uh, Cosmo and Revlon, if that's possible.”

“I'll let them know, Ms. Wendt,” Guru said. “But I can't make them talk to you. It's their choice. You probably want to do a story on them, but if they don't want to talk to you just yet? Just wait a few days, and maybe they'll be more willing. They need to settle down as a crew, because they didn't know each other until last night.”

The reporter nodded. “I see.... you want them to get used to each other for a few days.”

“Something like that,” Guru said. “You're catching on. Besides, you've probably got other stories in mind.”

“Now you're catching on to the media,” Ms. Wendt smiled.

“Call it mutual understanding,” Guru replied politely. Then he saw his Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, come up. “Excuse me.” Guru went over to Van Loan, and motioned for the XO to join them. “Don.”

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “What's up?”

“Two things,” the CO said. “First, Hacksaw's now SDO on days until Doc clears him. He's got a cold, and is grounded. Second, T-Bone and Scooter are your new Number Four, right, Mark?”

“That's right,” Ellis replied.

“Okay, let's try this: T-Bone and Scooter fly in the morning. I want to see how Cosmo and Revlon do, so let them take the afternoon.”

Ellis nodded, but Van Loan looked at the CO. “Why not let Hoser and KT have the afternoon off?”

“If either one was grounded, I'd have them fly with us, but since they're not,” Guru said.

“Gotcha,” Van Loan said. “Now that you say it, I'm just as curious myself.”

“So am I,” Ellis added. “First, well, 'unmanned' F-4 in the squadron. Hell, maybe in Tenth Air Force for all we know.”

“Or the whole Air Force,” Guru reminded them. “Don, the ATO?”

“Mission briefs'll be ready after we eat,” Van Loan said.

Just then, the Mess Officer turned the sign on the Chow Tent from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's ready, folks.”

“Let's eat,” the CO said. “We've got a busy day coming.”



After breakfast, Guru's flight went to their briefing room, while the CO went to the Ops desk to pick up their mission packet. To his surprise, Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer” was there. “Dave,” Guru said, recalling the IDF's habit of going on a first-name basis.

“Guru,” Golen replied. “So, what do they have for us this morning?”

“Good question.”

Don Van Loan came over with two mission packets. “Boss? And Dave? Here you go.” He handed both strike leaders their packets. “Looks like you two are going together.”

Guru opened his. “Dispersal field for Forgers. South of Covington.”

“Hmm. Truck park,” Golen said. “Only half a mile from the airfield.”

“Close enough,” Guru said. “Dave, get Flossy and your respective GIBs. Be in my briefing room in five.”

Golen nodded. “We'll be there.” He then headed to round up his element's crews.

“Thanks, Don,” Guru said. “You have a good one yourself.”

“Will do, Boss.” Van Loan said.

Nodding, the CO went to the briefing room his flight used, and when he opened the door, found his flight, along with Golen's element, already there. “Morning, people,”

“Morning, Boss,” said Kara. Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace was Guru's wingmate. “What's up this fine morning?”

“We are, and maybe we'll blow some of Ivan's aircraft sky-high,” Guru said. “And both Dave and Flossy are coming with us,” added the CO, nodding at both Golen and his wingmate.

“So where are we going?” Sweaty Blanchard asked. She led the second element in the CO's flight.

“Gather 'round, and I'll show you,” the CO said. He opened the packet and aerial photos, and a map, came out. “Town called Covington, between Cleburne and Hillsboro on Route 171. There's a dispersal airfield for Forgers there. We get to make it go away.” Forgers meant the Yak-38 Soviet Navy VTOL fighter.

“What are they doing there?” Preacher, who was Sweaty's GIB, asked.

“They're a piece of shit,” Hoser added.

“Just remember, those pieces of shit can carry four Atoll or four Aphid air-to-air missiles, and they can stuff those up your tail if you're not careful,” the CO reminded them. “All the pilot has to do is get lucky, and we won't give them that chance. Now, here's the target. Right here, at the intersection of Route 171 and F.M. 1439, on the east side. Two dispersal areas, with four aircraft apiece, plus tent area for personnel, a munitions storage area with several revetments, and a fuel dump.”

“Who gets what?” Kara asked.

“You and me, “ Guru replied, “are taking the dispersal areas. We'll each have a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes with the Daisy Cutter fuze extension. As for your element, Sweaty?”

Sweaty looked at him. “Boss?”

“You get the munitions storage area, east of the dispersal. Hoser?” The CO noticed that he had Hoser's attention. “Fuel dump, just south of the dispersal area.”

“Same ordnance load?” Asked Hoser.

Guru nodded affirmative. “Dave? You and Flossy get the truck park just east of the Route 171-F.M. 2719 intersection. Same ordnance load we have.”

“Got it,” Golen said.

“Boss, why no CBUs?” Flossy asked. “That's normal for this kind of target.”

“Doesn't say,” Guru replied. “But I'll bet that someone's thinking ahead. This area has a lot of farming and ranching, and after the war, the locals will appreciate not having to worry about dud CBU bomblets being tripped by a tractor or a cow. Don't blame me: it's in the briefing notes.”

“Wanna bet some Senator or Congressman is behind that?” Goalie asked.

“Who knows?” Guru said. “Anyway, the Daisy Cutters will do the job.”

“Defenses?” KT asked.

“Coming to that,” Guru said. “This is the rear area for the Nicaraguans, again. Some SA-6s are reported, but they're Corps-level assets, not divisional ones. They're all around Cleburne, which is Corps HQ, and we'll give that a wide berth. There's also the Hillsboro SA-2 to the south, but we'll be low enough going in and out that it won't be a factor. At the target? Expect ZU-23s, machine guns, and MANPADS.”

“Weasels coming?” Kara's GIB, Brainiac, asked.

“Negative,” the CO replied. “They're all busy, and the Marine Hornets? They're also busy as well. So it's a low-level, high-speed run in and out. With no Weasels, we'll have to rely on our ECM pods.”

“Air-to-air ordnance the usual?” Kara asked.

The CO nodded. “Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, full load of 20-mm, and two wing tanks, each airplane. ALQ-119 ECM pod for the element leads, ALQ-101 for the wingmen.” He looked at the crews. “And before you ask, the MiG threat is unchanged since yesterday.”

Hoser looked at his CO. “Bailout areas still the same?”

“They are,” Guru replied. “Anyplace rural and away from roads. Of course,anyplace north of I-20 is your best bet, as that's the front line. Ingress is along the Brazos River, which is the boundary between the Nicaraguans and the East Germans, and chances are, they're still not talking to each other.”

“Tankers?” Flossy asked.

“Tanker track EXXON is over Mineral Wells,” replied the CO. “Pre- and post-strike refueling, as usual.”

“Weather still the same?” Goalie wanted to know.

“Still good for today.”

“Which means at least four missions, maybe more, before that storm comes in,” Kara noted.

“Chances are? Yes.” Guru said. “We're all Corvette Flight on this one. Any other questions?” He saw heads shake no. “Okay, gear up and meet at 512.”

The crews went to their locker rooms and got into their G-suits and picked up their helmets. As Guru led his people out, they came across Frank, sitting at his desk. When they passed, he gave them a scowl. “What's that about?” Kara asked.

“Upset he's not SDO for today,” Guru said. “Keeping any unnecessary misery he inflicts to the bare minimum.”

“That's always good,” Sweaty quipped.

“It is.” Guru replied.

They headed on out, and went to the squadron's dispersal area. When they got to 512, the crews gathered around for Guru's final instructions. “Same drill on the radio, Boss?” Kara asked.

Guru nodded. “Call signs between us. Mission code to AWACS, tankers, and other interested parties.”

“And MiGs?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“Only if we can't avoid it, or if we jump a strike or recon flight on the way out. Keep the anti-Flanker drill ready if we need it.”

“Which means pray a 'teenage' fighter is around, holler for help from AWACS, and do a Doppler Break,” Preacher said.

“Add to that, 'get your ass north,” said Kara.

“That's pretty much it,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. He clapped his hand once. “Let's go get 'em. Mount up and let's hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went to 512, where the Crew Chief, Staff Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Major,” Crowley said, snapping a salute. “512's good to go.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru replied as he sketched a return salute. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then he signed for the aircraft. Then pilot and GIB mounted the aircraft and got strapped in. Then they went through their preflight checklist.

“No newsies,” Goalie noticed as she ran through her checklist. “What are they up to this morning?”

“Chances are, they're either chasing down Cosmo and Revlon, or are going off base,” Guru replied.

“Either one,” Goalie said. “First 'unmanned' F-4 in the squadron, if not the whole Air Force. Ejection seats?”

“That screams 'STORY' along with that mass grave. Armed top and bottom. Yours?”

“All set. And yeah, either one's what they're up to. Checklist complete.”

“Roger that, and time for engine start,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave him the “Start Engines” signal. Guru then fired up his two J-79 engines, one at a time. When the warm-up was complete, he called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower,” the reply came. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Lead rolling.” Guru gave his CC another thumbs-up.

Crowley signaled the ground crew, who pulled away the chocks from the landing gear, then he gave the CO the signal to taxi out.

Guru taxied the F-4 out of its revetment, and before he turned to the right, his CC snapped a perfect salute. He and Goalie returned it, then Guru taxied 512 to the end of the runway, where they held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. Then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Roger, Corvette Lead. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-four-zero at five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara taxied in right in beside him. Both crews exchanged thumbs-ups, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower replied as usual, not over the radio, but by flashing a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let's go.” Goalie replied.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, closing and locking his canopy, and Goalie did the same. Then he ran the engines up to full power, released his brakes, then 512 roared down the runway and into the air, with Kara in 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, then Dave and Flossy's. All six F-4s formed up, then headed south.