History, Politics And Current Affairs

The lead-up to the Baja War from Guru and Goalie's perspective:

Going to War: Baja



Wing Commander's Residence, Mountain Home AFB, ID, 27 December, 2009, 1715 Hours:


For Colonels Matt Wiser and Lisa Eichhorn, being the only husband-and-wife wing commanders in TAC certainly had its advantages. For Colonel Wiser, running the 419th Tactical Fighter Wing at Hill AFB down in Ogden, Utah, had a good benefit: it was the only wing in the Air Force Reserve equipped with the F-15E Strike Eagle, and he'd been flying Strike Eagles operationally since the mid '90s, though he missed his previous mount, the F-4 Phantom, which he and his wife had flown in the Third World War. For Colonel Eichhorn, being the first woman to command the 366th Tactical Fighter Wing, the “Gunfighters”, meant that she ran what was the “Go” wing for Pacific Command, and was always ready to deploy within forty-eight hours.

That, though, was the furthest from the minds of both Colonels as they were hosting two good friends. Lt. Col. Don Van Loan and his wife, Sarah, were there, along with Lt. Col. Kara Thrace and her daughter Kacey. Both light colonels ran squadrons under Colonel Eichhorn's command, with Van Loan having the 389th TFS, and Thrace commanding the 390th “Wild Boars” TFS. Besides their two friends, all three of the two colonels' children were home for the holidays, with their two eldest kids, Eric and Sandy, home from the Air Force Academy, where Eric was a Junior and Sandy a Sophomore. And their youngest, Melanie, was a freshman at UCLA, where she was on the volleyball team, and taking Air Force ROTC as well. For the two colonels, having their three kids follow them into the Air Force was expected, though finding out that Melanie was also interested in trying for the U.S. Olympic Volleyball team at some point was a surprise.

Now, though, thoughts weren't on the Air Force, or anything related, but on holiday leftovers and football. Everyone was gathered in the living room, watching a bowl game on ESPN, and enjoying leftover turkey and and all the trimmings.

“Dad,” Eric was saying, as they were watching Navy play USC in the Holiday Bowl in San Diego, “Why didn't Air Force get a bowl invitation?”

“Because you were 7-5. Eric,” Colonel Eichhorn said. She was USAFA, class of 1983. “Besides, you lost to Stanford and Colorado. Games you should've won.”

“She's right,” Colonel Wiser said. “Not to mention Fresno State.” He grinned at that. Fresno State was his alma mater.

Van Loan also had a grin. He had gone to Arizona State, another team that was in a bowl. “Well, ASU is in the Rose Bowl, against Michigan, and that'll be good.”

Kara came into the room, with her daughter and Colonel Wiser's. “What is it about guys and football?” She'd gone to Auburn, where SEC football was like a god, but she'd had little interest in football, concentrating on her AFROTC studies.

“Just releasing pent-up aggression,” Kacey said. She was hoping to get into Utah State in the fall. And take AFROTC, just like her mom.

“Gonna be a Psych Major?” Sandy asked. She was finishing up her general ed, and was a Physics Major, so she could have a better chance at getting into flight training.

“Maybe,” Kacey said. She shook her head at several grown people just glued to the TV. “The ROTC people say that major's no barrier to getting into flight.”

Just as she said that, the phone rang. Eric picked it up, as it was on the coffee table where he was. “Hello? Dad, it's for you. Captain Dunlap down at Hill.” Captain Troy Dunlap was the senior active-duty officer in the 419th:; he and several others kept the wing running while the reservists were at their civilian jobs.

Colonel Wiser took the phone. “Yeah? What? Is this somebody's idea of a joke? Okay, okay. Get the telephone trees going, and call the airlines: we've got some folks who do fly for 'em, and tell them to get their asses over to Hill. Right, and did you find Colonel Ray? She's on her way in already? All right. Wheels up when? At LeMay by 1600 on the 29th? We'll be there. I'll be in as soon as I can. Later.” He threw the phone to his wife, who caught it.

“What was that?” Colonel Eichhorn asked.

“419's being activated,” Colonel Wiser said. He turned to Eric. “Get my go bag. It's under our bed.”

“Right, Dad.” His son went off to get it.

“You're kidding, Guru,” Kara said. Guru was Colonel Wiser's call sign.

“Nope. We're to be at LeMay AFB in La Paz, Baja, by 1600 on the 29th,” Guru replied.

Colonel Eichhorn looked at her husband and asked, “Why you guys first? We're PACCOM's Go Wing.”

“Dunlap didn't say, and I bet he doesn't know. But five will get you ten this is Baja related.” Guru said, just as the phone rang. He picked it up this time. “Hello? Yeah. Let me guess, Major, you're looking for Colonel Eichhorn.” Guru saw her head turn. “Here she is. Your wing duty officer, Major Cox.” Guru handed his wife the phone.

“Eichhorn. What?” She looked at her husband and Kara. “When? Let me guess: LeMay AFB. The 29th? Lovely. Who's going? All right, go ahead and start the recall bill. I'll be in ASAP. Thanks, Major.” She hung up. “Well...guess where the 366th is going?”

Sandy guessed it first. “Mom and Dad are going to Baja.”

“You got it. We're headed to La Paz as well. Be glad the AF overbuilt the place. With us, the 419th, and the host 352nd, it's going to be packed.” Colonel Eichhorn said.

“Goalie,” Kara asked. “Who's going from Wing?” Goalie was Colonel Eichhorn's call sign.

“They asked for the 390th and 391st TFSs, Kara,” Colonel Eichhorn replied. “Wild Boars and Bold Tigers.” She turned to Van Loan. “Sorry, Don. Looks like 389 has to mind the store.”

“No problem,” he replied. “Kara, if you need somebody, Kacey can stay with us while you're deployed.,” and Sarah Van Loan nodded.

“Okay, that takes care of that,” Kara said. “Kacey, get ready to go. We have to pack.”

“Got it, Mom,” Kacey replied.

“What about Eric and Sandy?” Colonel Eichhorn asked. “Melanie doesn't have to be back in L.A until when, the 22nd?”

“Yeah,” Guru replied. “Eric, Sandy, I hate to break it to you, but get packed. You're coming with me to Hill.”

“Dad?” Sandy asked. Her brother was nodding.

“I can get you guys on a plane out of Salt Lake easier than your sister can out of Boise or Pocatello. Besides, it'll be a learning experience for the both of you. You two might have your own Wing one day, and you could deploy. So watch what we do, and you might learn something. Get packed.”

“Okay, Dad,” Eric said. He and his sister went to pack.

“They have to be back at the Springs when?” Goalie asked.

Guru looked at a wall calendar. Their kids' return date was marked already. “By the 3rd. They won't be alone, I bet.”

“Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two cadets came back, packed and ready. They had even changed into their BDUs with cadet insignia. “Ready, Dad,” Sandy said.

Guru nodded. “I'll take the Grand Cherokee, Lisa.” He saw her nod, and she tossed him the keys. “Eric, you and your sister go to the Jeep.” He tossed the keys to his son. “Get it warmed up, and I'll be there in a minute.”

“Got it, Dad,” Eric said. They came over and hugged their mom, shook hands with Kara and Van Loan, and hugged Kacey. “See you all later.” The two then went to the driveway and got the Jeep going.

“Don,” Guru said. “Mind the store. Melanie will give you a key, and just come by every day, check on things, feed the dogs, you know the drill.” Guru said.

“No problem,” Van Loan said. “If you have to, kick a few and take a few.”

“Hope not,” Guru said. “With any luck, this is just a reminder to the Mexicans: 'Stay calm, keep to your side of the border, and shut up!” He turned to Kara. “See you down there.”

“Will do, Boss,” she replied. As far as she was concerned, her old CO was still that.

“Melanie, listen to your Mom, and go with her down to Wing. You're only a Freshman in ROTC, but look, listen, and you'll learn something, just like your brother and sister.” Guru saw his wife nod approval. “We'll call and e-mail when we can, and if you don't hear from us for a few days, it's because we're busy.”

“I know, Dad,” Melanie said. “Only if I see that blue car with the casualty officer and the chaplain...”

“You won't,” her father said. He turned to his wife. “Lisa, I'll call you from Hill. Your cell okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Frees up the land line. I'll see you in La Paz, then.”

“You got it.” They kissed. “See you in Baja,” Guru said, picking up his cell phone and Go bag, then he went on to the Jeep, where Eric and Sandy were waiting, with the engine running. “You guys ready?”

Both nodded. “Dad,” Eric said. “What if billeting's full?”

“Then we do it the old-fashioned way, catnapping on office chairs or the office couch,” Guru said as he got the SUV going.


HQ, 419th Tactical Fighter Wing, Hill AFB, UT. 2145 Hours Mountain Standard Time:


Colonel Wiser pulled the Jeep Grand Cherokee into the Wing Commander's parking space in front of the Wing HQ. As he did, he noticed a Bannock County, ID Sheriff's Ford Explorer parked in the Wing Ops Officer's space, and he knew that Lt. Col. Kelly Ann Ray was in. She was a deputy sheriff in civilian life, and he was chuckling at the thought of a couple of deputies coming onto the base to get the cruiser back. He led his kids into Wing HQ, and saw that the only people in AF uniform were the active-duty folks like Dunlap. And the first person he saw was coming out of the Ops office, namely Colonel Ray, still in her sheriff's department uniform. “Kelly.”

“Colonel, and the colonel's cadets,” she said, noticing Eric and Sandy. “When did you guys get in?”

“Just got here,” Guru said. “How about you?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Kelly replied. “I was writing somebody up on U.S. 91 north of Pocatello when I got the call. Some college kid was doing 68 in a 50, and his girlfriend was flashing me, so I was about to write up both of them when the call came on the cell. I tore up the ticket, told them 'this is your lucky night,' then called the Sheriff. Busted my ass to get down here.”

“What'd the Sheriff say about using the cruiser?”

“He said 'no big deal,' and he'll send a couple of deputies down tomorrow to pick it up.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, how many have gotten in?”

“About half, Colonel,” said Troy Dunlap, coming in on the conversation.

“The Exec in?” Colonel Wiser wanted to know.

“Not yet,” Dunlap said. “He's halfway between Minneapolis and Salt Lake right now. His 757 won't be in for another two hours.”

“Did you call Delta?”

“Yes, Sir. They've texted him, and he should know. If not, the Delta Office will tell him,” Dunlap said.

“Okay. Let me know when Dale gets in.” Lt. Col. Mike Dale was the 419th's Exec.

“Right, Sir,” Dunlap replied.

Guru then led his kids into the office. They'd been here before, during summer break, but a Reserve Weekend was a far cry from this occasion. He went and picked up the phone to call the Base Lodge. “See if I can't get us a room for tonight and tomorrow.”

“And if you can't?” Sandy asked her father.

“Then I get my desk chair, one of you gets another chair, and the other gets the office couch,” Colonel Wiser said. “Base Lodge? Colonel Wiser with the 419. Do you guys have a vacancy? Great. Not until tomorrow. All right, put me down for a double and a rollaway. Good. Thanks.”

“A cramped night until then?” Eric asked.

“Yep,” Guru said. He took out a quarter. “Call it. Winner gets the couch.”

“Tails,” Eric said.

Colonel Wiser tossed the coin. “Wrong.”

Colonel Ray then came in. “Let me guess: base lodging is full, and you kids are too keyed up to sleep?”

“Something like that, Ma'am,” Sandy said.

Colonel Wiser looked at his Ops Officer. “Got anything in the meantime a couple of future officers can help you with?”

“I sure do, Colonel,” Ray replied. “You two come with me.”

“Remember, you two: it's a learning experience for both of you. Watch and listen to Colonel Ray and the NCOs. One day, you might be the ones deploying,” Colonel Wiser told his two cadets.

Both nodded, and Colonel Ray told them to go to her office. But she saw the look on her CO's face. “Boss?”

“Kelly.” Guru said. He looked at her square on. “What does your gut tell you about this?”

“This deployment? My head tells me the Mexicans aren't that stupid to try something. They wail about us 'stealing Baja' but don't have the military power to do anything about it. Not to mention at least five major guerrilla groups down there-four of 'em anti-communist, and the other one is the Zapatistas,” Kelly said.

“And your gut feeling?”

“My gut tells me this is for real. Even money bet we're going to war,” she replied.

“I doubt it's that much: seventy percent chance, we're down there, show the flag, tell the Mexicans to keep quiet, stay within your border, and shut up,” the CO said. “ Twenty percent chance, somebody there gets a case of the stupids, and we go and spank him. Ten percent chance....I'm not worried about the Mexicans doing something deliberate-they know if they get into a fight with us, they lose. It's the knothead who's got a battery of Katyushas and a bottle of tequila I'm worried about.”

“Pretty easy to start a war on the border,” Colonel Ray observed. “A war a lot of people have wanted since '89.”

“Yeah. Both of us have had our share,” Colonel Wiser noted. “You, especially, with four years as a guest of Fidel. Let's hope the folks with brains keep this under control.”

“No arguing with that, Colonel,” Ray told her CO. “Shouldn't we get processed in?”

The CO nodded. “Let's get that out of the way, and one other thing?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you find for the kids to do, see if they can't get finished by midnight or 12:30. We all need some sleep,” Guru reminded his Ops Officer.

“I'll see what I can do, Boss. I know, this isn't Doolie Summer.” Though she wasn't an Academy grad, Colonel Ray knew what that was all about.

“All right, then. Let's get ourselves processed in.”





HQ, 419th Tactical Fighter Wing, 28 December, 2009. 1425 Hours Mountain Standard Time:


Colonel Wiser sat in his office, wrapping up the last of the mobilization and pre-deployment paperwork. Almost everyone in the wing had come in, and of those that hadn't, all were in their way-and they were all airline pilots. One had been on a SLC-Seattle-Tokyo flight, and now he was deadheading back. Another was coming up from Florida, where her airline schedule took her from SLC to Miami and the Bahamas, and she was flying back as well. A couple of others were going to be trickling in, but everyone would make the deployment.

Now that he was on active duty again, it felt like old times. Though there was a deployment in the works, with possible combat involved, but God, it felt good to be a fighter driver. Strike Eagles on the ramp, ready to go, and the same feeling came over the Colonel that had come before his old wartime squadron had been set to go to a Red Flag exercise, one that the outbreak of World War III had prevented, and he and the 335th TFS had gone to war. This time, would it be over in a day or two, or would it turn out to be the war of revenge that many Americans had wanted on the Mexicans ever since the end of the last war? He knew full well there were a lot of scores to be settled with the Mexicans, and if they overreacted to Baja's coming into the Union, the Mexicans would regret it-dearly. But going to war was the last thing he-or the other vets in the Wing-and he knew, in other units as well-wanted. They'd all seen and done a lot, and if the trip to Baja came and went without a shot being fired, the Colonel wouldn't complain. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come on in and show yourself!”

Both of his kids came in, still in their cadet BDUs. “Dad,” Eric said. “We, uh, listened to Colonel Ray. She had us get you some lunch.” Both he and his sister Sandy pulled out a Subway sandwich and a bottle of water.

“Thanks. What'd you get?”

“Chicken Teriyaki,” Sandy replied. “We ate already.”

Nodding, Colonel Wiser tore into the sandwich. “Well, you guys learning anything?”

The two USAF Academy cadets looked at each other, and brother and sister nodded. “Yeah. Takes a lot to get a unit ready to deploy.”

“If you think it's bad here, try a full-strength active-duty wing with three squadrons,” their father reminded them. “Three times as many airplanes, and four times as many people.”

“So everybody's been telling us,” Eric said. “The vets say it was like this back in '85.”

“Only a lot more rushed,” his sister added.

“That's an understatement,” Colonel Wiser said. “With us, it was 'man your birds, and head down to the Arizona-Mexico border. Any armor headed north was fair game'. And it was.”

Brother and sister nodded. They'd heard that story a lot. “So what now? You guys just sit and wait for the C-17s to show?”

Their father nodded. “You know, 'hurry up and wait.' All we need is MAC to show up, and we're good to go.”

Just then, there was a knock on the office door. “Come in!”

One of the Ops NCOs came in. “Sir, a fax from Tenth Air Force for you.” He handed the Colonel the paper.

“Thank you,” Colonel Wiser said, and he started to read the paper as the NCO left. “Son of a...”

“What is it, Dad?” Eric asked. He had enough sense not to ask to see the paper.

“You'll find out in a few minutes,” Colonel Wiser said. He got up and went looking for his Ops Officer.

“Kelly, where's Rick Norris?” Major Rick Norris was the 419's Ordnance Officer.

“He's up, along with the Exec,” Colonel Ray replied. “Won't be back for an hour. What's up?”

“Somebody at Tenth Air Force is what's up. They want us going down to LeMay loaded for combat.”

“What?”

Colonel Wiser showed her the paper. “No kidding.”

“Okay, how do you want things?” Ray asked.

The CO thought for a minute. “My flight and yours: four GBU-10s, full LANTIRN, two wing tanks, two each Slammers and Sidewinders, and a travel pod on the centerline. Full load of 20-mm.”

“Got it,” the Ops Officer said. “The rest?”

“XO's flight gets GBU-12s, otherwise the same. Four birds full air-to-air, four with CBU-87s, four with Mark-82 Snakeyes.”

“On the way, Boss,” Colonel Ray said. She went off to inform the ordnance people.

Nodding, the Colonel went back to his office. “Well, here's a twist for you,” he told his kids. They want us loaded for combat now, not when we get there.”

“First time since '85?” Sandy asked.

“Yeah,” the CO said. He went and finished his sandwich. After he was finished, the Colonel had an idea.. “You two, come with me.”

“What is it?” Eric asked as he and his sister got up.

“You'll see,” their father said as he led them to the 419's ramp area, and where the Wing King bird was parked. Already the ordnance people were starting to arm the aircraft. Master Sergeant Bill Woods was at the CO s bird, and the was the senior ordnance NCO. “Sergeant Woods.”

“Sir,” Woods said. “And the Colonel's two Academy cadets,” the veteran NCO said. He'd done a tour at the AF Academy before coming to the 419th, and he was one of the active-duty people assigned to the Wing.

“Getting the Wing King bird ready?”

Woods nodded. “Yes, Sir! We'll have her locked and cocked for you.”

The CO nodded. “Good. Hope you don't mind two future officers watching you. I want them to have a look at how things like this get done. And if they have questions?”

“Not a problem, Sir,” Woods replied. “Just as long as they stay out of the way.”

“You two hear that?” He saw his two cadets nod. “When they're done, come back to the office.” Just as the CO said that, his cell phone buzzed. “Wiser.”

“Hey, Guru.” It was his wife.

“You busier than a one-armed paperhanger?” Colonel Wiser asked. “Well, I am.”

“You've got that right,” Goalie said. “Both squadrons are ready to rock. All we need are the C-17s and we're out of here.”

“Ditto,” Guru said. “How's Melanie doing?”

“She's learning a lot,” his wife replied. “And she's taking a lot of notes. Are Eric and Sandy busy?”

“They have been. I imagine there's a couple of papers already being drafted on their laptops,” Guru noted. “They're watching the ordnance guys at work. We're arming the birds right now.”

“Arming? We didn't get anything about that,” Colonel Eichhorn told her husband. Then a knock came over the line, as if someone was knocking on her office door. “What? OK.” She paused. “Tell both the CO s of the 390th and 391st to start arming their birds.” Then she came back on the line. “We just got the same order. Matt, what's going on?”

“Lisa, your guess is as good as mine. Seventy percent chance, this blows over without a shot being fired. Twenty percent chance, somebody's got a case of the stupids, and they get spanked. Ten percent chance...”

“We go down to Mexico City,” Goalie finished for her husband. “Swell.”

“Not,” Guru said. “Just hope that's not the case,” he said. Then something came over him. “Does Kara still have that strike template for Mexico City? The one I turned down originally, but then we never got a chance to fly?”

“I think she still has her notes,” Goalie said. “Why do you ask?”

“Have her fax whatever she's got to Kelly Ray,” Guru said. “It might come in handy. Just in case.”

“Will do.”

“Want to talk to the kids? This might be the last time before we head south.” Guru told his wife.

“Sure. Anything else?” Goalie asked.

“I don't think so. See you in La Paz.”

“Okay. Put one of 'em on,” Goalie said. “Love you.”

“You too,” Guru said. He went over to Sandy. “Want to talk to your Mom? She's on the line.”

“Sure,” Sandy said as her father handed her the cell phone. “Mom?”

Guru went over to where Eric was, talking with Sergeant Woods. He waved Eric to him. “Your sister's talking with Mom. When she's done, it's your turn.”

Eric nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Learning anything?”

“Just that it's taking longer than I thought it did.”

The Colonel let out a laugh. “That's because this isn't a combat turnaround. They can have a bird turned around in fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on the loadout.”

“That fast?” Eric asked.

Sergeant Woods came over. “Son, we could have this bird turned around in less time it takes to change the oil in your car.”

“When he says it, he means it,” Colonel Wiser said. Then he saw Sandy come over. “Eric, your turn.”

His son took the phone. “Mom?”

Colonel Wiser noted that it was just about finished. “What's left, Sergeant?”

“Just the twenty-milometer,” Sergeant Woods replied. And just as he said that, the ammo truck came over. “Excuse me, Sir.”

“What do you think, Sandy?” The CO asked his daughter.

“You and Mom going to war?”

“Not likely. This is going to blow over without anyone firing a shot. If the other side has any brains, that is.”

“And if somebody gets stupid, then they pay for it,” Sandy observed.

“Yep,” her father said. “And if they have half a brain, they'll quit after that. If not...”

“Yeah.”



Marie Callender's, Layton, Utah (south of Hill AFB), 1810 Hours: 28 December, 2009:


Colonel Wiser and his two cadets were in the lounge at one of his favorite eateries near Hill. They were waiting on someone's arrival to make it a fourth. And the talk centered around the day's events. “You kids learned a lot, right?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Eric said. “We'll have a lot of notes to type into our laptops.” And his sister merely nodded.

“Keep in mind, this may not even involve combat, but somebody thinks it might, so better to be prepped for that,” their father said.

“How many times would you guys have to fly, if it comes down to it?” Sandy asked. She knew her father had times in the war when seven or more combat flights a day had been the norm.

“It won't be like the bad old days,” the Colonel said. “Best guess would be three a day, four at the most.”

“'And that's if there's any shooting,” a voice said.

“Finally got away?” Colonel Wiser asked.

“Finally,” Colonel Ray said as she slid into the booth next to her CO. “Everybody's ready to go. Twenty-four birds ready for 1000 tomorrow morning.”

Colonel Wiser nodded. “Now, we're off base and off the clock,” he told his kids. “Now you can call her 'Aunt Kelly' if you want to.”

“I think we've outgrown that,” Sandy quipped. “But we did learn a lot last night and today.”

“Well, like your dad said; you guys might be deploying yourselves one day, so this is what it's like,” Kelly Ray said.

Just as she said that, the waitress came over. “Ready to order?”

They nodded. The kids both had cheeseburgers and fries, while their dad went for fish and chips, and Kelly Ray had the ribs and shrimp. After the waitress left, they resumed talking.


“So, Dad,” Eric asked, “you still think this might blow over?”

“Yeah, I do, Eric,” Wiser replied. “The Mexicans know that if they get into a fight with us, they lose. All we'll wind up doing is showing the flag, And if the other side's got any smarts, they do nothing but holler about losing Baja for good.”

Colonel Ray chimed in, “Both your dad and I each had our war, and going into combat again is the last thing either of us want, and your Mom, too. But if we have to, we'll do it.”

“We know,” Sandy said. “Just hope it doesn't come to it.”

Both Colonels nodded at that.

Then Eric noticed someone coming their way. “Dad, there's a bird colonel coming, and he looks like he's pissed about something.”

The two Colonels looked at each other. “Okay, that's Dave Sobel. He runs the 388th like it's his personal fiefdom, treats ROTC and OTS people like dirt, and is a general, all around, asshole,” Colonel Ray said, and her CO nodded.

“Let us do the talking. You two, just smile, nod, and stay quiet,” Colonel Wiser said. Then Colonel Sobel came over. “Dave.”

Sobel came over with a sneer. “So...the Weekend Warriors are going to war, and the 388th is staying put.”

“That's about it, Dave,” Colonel Wiser said, chewing on a slice of corn bread. “It helps a lot if you pass an ORI.”

The two cadets looked at each other. Then they watched their father.

“I don't get it. A unit run by an OTS grad, an Academy guy who's clearly lost his way, and an ex-POW who's off making movies is going to Baja, and we're staying put? Something's not right,” Sobel growled.

Colonel Wiser grinned. “Well, we have more combat veterans than you. As I recall, only your Exec, Ops Officer, and squadron commanders have experience from the big war. You got in just as Cuba ended.”

Sobel's face turned red. “Of all the....” But he held his temper, because Sobel knew Colonel Wiser was right about that, and his own lack of combat experience had gnawed at him his whole career. “At least your kids are on the right path.”

“They did learn something from their Mom, who did go to the Springs,” Colonel Wiser said. “They don't let going there get to their heads.” He saw the kids nod. “And their Mom never wears her class ring; she knows having one doesn't make you a know-it-all on everything.”

The kids grinned at that. That was one thing their Mom had told them before going to Colorado Springs. Never let being an Academy product go to your heads.

“And your movie-making friend with the Cuban bracelets...” He never finished that, for Kelly Ray glared at him.

“I'm going to try and forget I heard that,” she replied. “But I might have a talk with General Reynolds.” Brig. Gen. John Reynolds was the base commander. “He might have something to say about that.”

“What do you mean?” Sobel asked.

She had an evil grin on her face. “Oh, he spent 3 ½ years in Cuba, when I was there,” she replied. “In case you haven't noticed, a lot of us ex-POWs keep in touch. Before we go, I might just let him know about that little remark....”

Sobel glared at all of them. “I'll be glad when this tour is up. Because then I'll be free of all of you,” then he went off in a fit of the sulks when his wife came in and motioned to him. Just as he did, the waitress came by with their order. “What was that all about?”

“Just some petty jealousy,” Kelly Ray said. “We're deploying, and he's staying put.”

“This Baja stuff?” The waitress asked as she started putting food on the table.

“Yeah,” Colonel Wiser said. “How'd you guess?”

“It was on CNN before I came in. The Army's on some kind of alert, the Navy's moving ships, and there's Marines leaving North Carolina. What's up?”

Colonel Wiser nodded. “Your guess is as good as mine, but probably 'sending a message' to Mexico City. Baja's ours now, we're keeping it, and you can't do a thing about it. So put up and shut up.”

“Well, you guys come back safe, and Colonel Wiser?”

“Yeah?”

“If you guys have a welcome-home party, we'll cater it.”

The two 419th Colonels looked at each other. “Might just take you up on that,” Colonel Wiser said.


After they had their dinner, the waitress asked if they wanted any pie, and all four said yes. Colonel Wiser had his favorite, Key Lime, while the kids enjoyed chocolate, and Kelly Ray had a Lemon Meringue. But the conversation returned to their encounter with Colonel Sobel. “Dad,” Eric asked. “What's with that Colonel Sobel? He's pissed about something.”

“I'll explain it,” Colonel Wiser said. “He's the kind of Academy graduate that your Mom is embarrassed about. The kind who thinks having a class ring entitles him to whatever he wants in the Air Force, makes him an expert on everything-when he isn't, blindly follows the book, even when the book's out of date or doesn't apply, and has no use for officers who are ROTC or OTS.”

“Not to mention treating NCOs and enlisted as if he's the Lord and they're the peasants,” Kelly Ray chimed in.

Both cadets nodded. “Kind of like that Carson guy you told us about,” Eric observed. “They still talk about what happened to him.”

“The difference between Carson and Sobel?” Colonel Wiser asked. When his kids shook their heads, he explained. “Sobel actually is a pretty good stick. He can fly a plane-any plane-and do it well. Carson, though, he was an accident waiting to happen. Other than that, they're pretty much the same.”

“Not to mention one difference,” Kelly added. “He's never seen combat.”

“So,” Sandy asked. “He'd be a general by now if he'd been in combat?”

“That's the way he feels,” Colonel Wiser said. “The difference between guys like that and people like your Mom, Mike Dale, Colonel Van Loan, and Colonel Rivers, rest his soul, is that they never let that attitude get into their heads. Your Mom never wears her class ring, and even after the war, she always has time to be 'one of the guys' after hours. She's cool with ROTC or OTS grads, gets along fine with reservists-and not just us, mind, and treats the NCOs and airmen the way she'd like to be treated: with respect. Not as pieces of equipment.” And he saw his kids nod.

The waitress then came with the bill, and Colonel Wiser paid. They were just getting ready to leave when his cell phone buzzed. “Whoa. It's cousin Jaqcui.”

“Our A-6 driving cousin?” Eric asked.

“Yeah,” his father said. He replied “Yo, Jacqui! Yeah, we're deploying sometime tomorrow. What? This on the level or Navy BS? It's on the level. Which means it'll be on CNN within an hour or two. Okay, thanks. I'll pass it along. You coming to this one? No. Good. Chances are, this is just hot air from the Mexican side, and no shots get fired. Yeah. So do I. I'll e-mail you from down south. All right. Tell Nathan I said hi. OK. Later, then? Bye.”

Both Eric and Sandy were looking at their Dad. “What's Cousin Jacqui got to say?” Sandy asked.

“Two carriers-one headed out from San Diego, one headed back, They got diverted. As in diverted south.”

“Somebody's thinking blockade,” Kelly Ray observed.

“That's my guess,” Colonel Wiser said. “If it comes to that.”

“Who's Nathan?” Kelly asked.

“Her boyfriend. She's married to the Navy otherwise.”

“So is Cousin Jacqui going?” Eric asked.

His father shook his head. “No, but he is. He's on one of the carriers.”

Sandy nodded. “This is getting serious.”

“Not that serious,” Colonel Wiser said. “When you see the army getting ready, then you know what's about to happen.”


HQ, 419th Tactical Fighter Wing, Hill AFB, UT. 0945 Hours, 29 December, 2009:


Colonel Wiser got up from his desk. The last of the pre-deployment paperwork had been sent off, and now his desk was clear. All of the 419th's birds were locked and cocked, ready to go, and the C-17s had been there since 0800, and the first couple cargo birds were also ready to go. He went over to his Exec's office, and his Ops Officer's, and motioned for them to follow. His two cadets were right behind them as they went into the briefing room. “CO on the deck!”

“As you were, people,” the Colonel said, motioning for everyone to have a seat. “All right: we're all locked and cocked, and the first of the -17s are ready to go. I'll take my flight, the Ops Officer's, and Tim Sullivan's first. The Exec takes everybody else with the rest of the -17s when they're finished. Now, the weather on the way is fair, and that's good. Once we get into Baja, it'll be pretty much CAVU. Remember to watch your navigation, and keep an eye on the Mexican side of the Gulf of California. They may start to hassle us, but remember the rules of engagement, and as long as they stay on their side, it's weapons tight. No AWACS yet, but when they show up, they'll be watching everybody and everything.” He paused, then went on. “Now, the intel's got some new poop, then those on the first three flights, get ready to hit the sky.” Colonel Wiser nodded to the Intelligence Officer. “Bob?”

Major Bob Toland was the 419's intelligence officer. He was ex-Navy, which was unusual, but not unknown in the AF Reserve, and worked out at one of the ranges in Western Utah for a government contractor in civilian life. Now, he was in BDUs and getting ready to deploy with the Wing. “Thanks, Colonel.” He pulled down a map of Mexico. “Now, there are two carriers headed to the West Coast of Mexico, and two more just entered the Gulf of Mexico through the Florida Straits, with some Marine amphibious ships right behind them, along with a battleship and a cruiser.” Hearing that got everyone's attention. Was somebody thinking blockade? It sure looked that way. “The Army is on some kind of alert along the border, but nobody's moved out of the various Army bases yet, but that can change at any time. So far, nothing but propaganda from Mexico City, and Twelfth Air Force says it's likely to stay that way. But that, too, can change.” He turned back to the CO. “Colonel?”

“Any questions?” Colonel Wiser saw Capt. Jody Tucker, Kelly Ray's WSO, raise his hand. “Jody?”

“Sir, what's the threat level?”

“Good question, Jody. Bob?”

Major Toland answered. “Right now, at Hermosillo and Guyamas, it's MiGs of varying type and age. There's MiG-21s at Hermosillo, and -19s and -21s at Guyamas, along with a few Su-7s as well. SAMs are only SA-2 and -3, and no radar-guided AAA. If it comes to it, Weasel Vipers from the 352nd can shut those guys down.”

“Satisfied, Jody?” Colonel Wiser asked, and he saw not just Jody's head, but several others, nod. “Anyone else? Yeah?”

One of the pilots raised her hand. “Sir, what about their drivers? Anything on them?”

“So far, most of the MiG drivers appear to be Mexicans,” Toland replied. “There are reports of a few Russians and Cubans in-country: whether these are stay-behinds from the war, a Military Advisory Mission, or people seconded to the Mexican military is unknown at present. No sign of any of the....special MiG drivers that were encountered near the end of the war, which is good.”

Hearing that, there were audible sighs of relief. Everybody knew about the Mexicans using 16-to-18-year old kids as MiG pilots near the end, and that the Colonel had killed several, kills he never claimed.

“Glad to hear that, Major,” Colonel Wiser said. “Anything else? Okay, first three flights, get ready to hit it. Dismissed.”

Eric and Sandy had listened to their father. “Dad gives a good brief,” Eric told his sister, and she nodded. Then his pocked buzzed. Their father had given him his cell phone. He checked the phone. “It's Mom,” he said, then he answered it. “Hi, Mom. Dad had me keep his phone while he gave a brief. They just finished up. Do you want to talk to him? Okay. Wait a minute.” Eric waited a minute, then saw his Dad glance over his way while talking with Colonels Dale and Ray, and he showed his Dad the phone and mouthed the word “Mom.” Then his dad came over. “It's Mom.”

Colonel Wiser took the phone. “Lisa? What's up?”

“The 366th is what's up. First C-17s are rolling right now. I'm ten minutes from wheels up myself.”

“Same here. Looks like we'll be down there at the same time. Is Melanie there?”

“She is,” Colonel Eichhorn answered. “Want to talk to her?”

“Yeah, and when she's done, she can talk to her brother and sister. Anything else otherwise?”

“No, just calling to say 'See you in Baja.'” Colonel Eichhorn said.

“Same to you. Put Melanie on.” There was a pause. “Melanie, Dad.”

“Hi Dad!” His daughter replied. “I was busy yesterday, and didn't get a chance...”

“Not to worry. Let me guess: you've been listening to your Mom and Aunt Kara, and now you know what a deployment's like?”

“Yeah, Dad. It's a lot more...complicated than I thought,” she replied. “Lots of work just to go someplace.”

“Well, same here, only with one squadron, it's not as bad. Anyway, you writing something for your ROTC course?” Colonel Wiser asked.

“Mom told me to, and I took a lot of notes.”

“Same with your brother and sister. I imagine in the SLC departures area they'll be pecking away on their laptops, with some kind of paper,” her father said.

“Or watching CNN online. Every TV on base is tuned to that, Mom said.”

“Same here. This'll blow over without anyone firing a shot, I bet. But if it doesn't..”

“I know, Dad. Aunt Kara's got a pool as to when it starts. The war, I mean.” Melanie told her father.

“And Kara's the type who would do that,” Her father observed. “Okay, I'll let you talk to your sister and brother. Safe trip back to L.A., drive safe, and we'll e-mail you when we can.”

“Okay, Dad. Love you.”

“You too.” Colonel Wiser said, then he handed the phone to Sandy. “Your sister. Talk for a few, then let your brother say something, then get back to my office.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Colonel Wiser let his kids talk, while he went to his office. There, he found Mike Dale, Kelly Ray, and Technical Sergeant Art Randell, who would be the senior NCO of the stay-behind detail, who would answer phones, collect unit mail, and work with the 419th's Family Support Group. “Mike,” Colonel Wiser nodded. “All set?”

“We're almost ready. My half will be an hour behind yours.” Colonel Dale said.

“Okay. Kelly, ready to rock?”

“Whenever you are.”

“Sergeant Randell, everything set here?”

“Yes, Sir! Captain Bryce is the OINC; he came in, even though he shouldn't have.” He was referring to Capt. Walt Bryce, one of the maintenance officers. He couldn't deploy because two weeks earlier, he'd broken his ankle in a skiing accident, and was still hobbling around in a cast. But at least he could run things here while the rest of the Wing deployed.

“And that other...request?” The CO asked.

“No problem, Sir. I'll take 'em to SLC International personally.”

Colonel Wiser nodded. “Wait until the last ones have departed, then get them to the airport. Their flight doesn't leave until 4:30.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Then there was a knock on the door. It was Jody Tucker. “Boss, here's your phone. Your kids had to go into the Locker Room.”

“Nerves, and they don't want to show it,” Colonel Wiser said. “They're human, just like the rest of us.” He looked around. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right: let's go and do it.”

Colonel Wiser then headed on out with Colonel Ray. As he left the building, a staff car pulled up. It was General Reynolds, the base commander. “General,” Colonel Wiser said, saluting.

“Just wanted to see you off, Colonel,” Reynolds said, returning the salute. “Safe trip down and back, and hope you don't have to fire a shot.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And if you do go into combat? Make sure none of your people take an expense-paid trip to Mexico City,” Reynolds said with due seriousness.

Colonel Wiser nodded, and gave a firm smile. “Yes, Sir.”

Reynolds nodded, then turned to Colonel Ray. “Colonel, you make sure of that as well. We don't need any new members of our group from the 419th.”

“We'll do our best, Sir.” Ray replied. “You did get my message about Colonel Sobel's remarks last night?”

“Indeed I did,”Reynolds said. “Rest assured, Colonel, I will have a talk with him about his poor choice of words.”

Both Colonels nodded.

“Good luck, and come back safe,” Reynolds said, shaking their hands.

“Like Colonel Ray said, Sir, we'll do our best,” Colonel Wiser said. And as they headed out to the aircraft, they were joined by their respective WSOs. As they got close to the Wing King bird, they noticed the crew chief, Staff Sergeant Tommy Wagner, talking with two people in dress blues. Then it dawned on Colonel Wiser. His kids had changed into their dress blues to see him and the others off. And for the first time, they came to attention and saluted their Dad.

Returning their salutes, Colonel Wiser said, “You guys didn't have to.”

“We wanted to, Dad.,” Eric said. “It just felt like the right thing to do,” and Sandy nodded.

General Reynolds came over, and the two cadets came to full attention. “As you were, Cadets,”

“Yes, Sir!” Eric replied.

“Nice of both of you to see your father off. When he gets into his aircraft, come over to my car, and we'll watch him leave together,” Reynolds said.

“Yes, Sir!” Sandy said.

“Carry on, then,” and Reynolds headed back to his car.

“Dad..” Eric said.

“Don't worry about me or your Mom. We've done this before, and chances are, this time, nobody fires a shot,” their father said.

“But if it doesn't...” Sandy said.

“If it doesn't, we kick some and take some. And we all come back,” said their Dad.

“Yeah,” Eric said. “Just stay safe, Dad.”

“I will. Study hard, both of you, and what team are you trying for this spring?”

“Track for me,” Eric said.

“Softball here,” Sandy said. “Well, the JV team, anyway.”

“Good. Your Mom was on the softball team, and she'll be glad to know that.” Colonel Wiser said. “Give me a hug, both of you.” They took turns hugging, then he said, “Safe trip back to the Springs, and you'll have an interesting story to tell about how your Christmas Break ended.”

His two kids smiled. “We will, Dad.”

“All right, time for me to go to work,” Colonel Wiser said as he got ready to do his preflight walk-around. He was joined by Captain Melissa Bryce, his WSO. “Ready to rock?”

“Rock'in ready, Colonel,” she replied.

They did the walk-around, then got into the aircraft. Then Sergeant Wagner brought their flight helmets, and they did their cockpit checks. After that, it was time for engine start. First one, then both engines were running, and as they warmed up, he saw the kids run to the General's car. “Hill Tower, Camaro One-One with four, request taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Copy, Camaro One-One. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Two. Hold short of the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Camaro One-One rolling.” As he rolled out, the kids waved, and he waved back. Then he taxied to the hold position, where the armorers pulled off the weapon safeties. Then the tower cleared them to taxi onto the runway. One final check, and everything was good to go. “Hill Tower, Camaro One-One, request clearance for takeoff.”

The tower replied. “Camaro One-One, Hill Tower. Clear for takeoff. Winds are three-two-zero for ten.”

“Roger. Clear for takeoff.” Colonel Wiser then pushed the throttle forward, and the big Strike Eagle rolled down the runway and lifted into the sky, with the other three in his flight following. Then Colonel Ray's fight, and the third, went. They were soon followed by the first of the C-17s.Soon, the first half of the 419th was in the air and headed south, with the rest not far behind.


Tent City Officer's Club, LeMay AFB, La Paz, Baja, 30 December, 2009, 1745 Hours:


For the 419th and their friends in the 366th, the first full day in Baja had been seemingly routine. Each Wing's lead element had arrived within a half-hour of each other, and the tent city that the resident 352nd TFW had promised to erect was already up and ready for occupancy. The new arrivals had their theater indoctrination flights, and now, they were simply waiting, while the 352nd flew CAPs over the Gulf of California and over Baja proper.

Though none of the new arrivals had a chance to go into town, the local TV stations were already counting down to midnight on New Year's Eve, because that would mean that Baja was officially the 51st State. The local TV stations were already network affiliates, though a couple were picking up the Spanish-language networks based in Miami or L.A.; the newspapers were mostly in English, though one easily found USA Today, and the road and street signs were mostly now in English. Not to mention that nearly every building was flying the Stars and Stripes, it seemed. No one was surprised, for Baja had voted to join the Union with an 85% “Yes” vote. Still, security measures were at wartime levels, and though the base had to share the runway with what was still called La Paz International Airport, the military had taken over perimeter security, and USAF tower operators had replaced the FAA ones. As for air defense, a battalion of Army Patriot Missiles had arrived, and were busy setting up shop. There was decidedly a wartime feel to the base, what with statehood not that far off, and the angry Mexicans across the Gulf of California.

Colonels Wiser and Eichhorn were sharing a table at the Tent City's Officer's Club, though a lot of the 352nd people had begun to show up there as well. “Well, Goalie,” Colonel Wiser asked. “What's your take?”

His wife thought for a minute. “Fifty-fifty chance we go to war, Guru.”

“Before I came down here, I was thinking seventy percent chance this blows over without a shot being fired,” Guru said. “Now, I'm still an optimist, but best guess is sixty percent now.”

“And the rest?”

“Twenty percent chance, there's a shooting incident or two, we go over and spank somebody, and they call it a day-”

“And twenty percent chance this goes all the way to Mexico City,” Goalie finished for her husband.

“Yeah.”

Then Kara Thrace came up to their table. “Colonels, want in on the pool?”

“What pool?” Colonel Eichhorn asked. “You didn't...”

“Yep,” Kara replied. “When the war starts. Day and time.”

Guru scowled, then he realized that this might just be their last war, and if old habits resurfaced one last time....”Oh, hell, put me down for a spot.”

“Five bucks buy-in, Colonel,” Kara said. “Goalie, how about you?”

Goalie looked at her husband. “If he's in, I'm in. Put me down for five. 0645, New Year's Day.”

“Got it,” Kara said. “And you, Guru?”

“I'm still an optimist, but if anything happens, it's going while there's still daylight. Put me down for 4:00 PM, New Year's Day,” Guru said.

“Done, Colonel.”

Then Kelly Ann Ray came into the tent. She got a beer, then came over. “Just debriefed with Toland and the intel shop.”

“How'd your flight go?” Guru asked. She had flown her indoctrination run with her flight.

“Fine. Same MiG-19s, they say, coming out from Guyamas down towards us. As long as they don't come into the twelve-mile limit, it's a free sky,” Kelly said.

“They say who those guys are?” Goalie asked. “We saw them coming down.”

“Same here,” Guru said.

“Toland asked the 352nd guys about it. Seems they've been flying since before Christmas. They come down, have a look, see the F-15s or F-16s orbiting, then they turn around and go back,” Kelly replied.

“MiG-19s?” Goalie asked. “Those birds are ancient!”

Kara nodded. “Remember, during the war, Ivan didn't want the Mexicans having any top tier stuff.” She pulled on her beer. “These are probably leftovers.”

Guru nodded agreement. “Keep in mind, people, as long as they don't breach the twelve-mile limit, it's a free sky until somebody tells us different.”

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “What's this I hear about a pool?”

“Kara's running a pool. Guess the date and time the war starts.” Goalie said.

“This for real?” Kelly asked. “Or have I gone back into a time warp?”

“For real,” Kara said. “Old habits resurface in war zones.”

“It's not one yet,” Guru pointed out.

“You know what I mean, Colonel,” Kara said, giving a jibe at her wartime CO.

“What the hell. Put me down for....” Kelly thought for a minute. “12:15 AM, New Year's Day.”

Kara checked her notebook. “Let's see...Got you. 12:15 in the AM, 1 January.” Kelly gave her the $5, then she went off to the pool table.

Guru groaned, then went to the bar. “Two questions,” he asked the barkeep. “First, can you place a food order from here?”

The bartender, a local, replied. “Si, Colonel. What will it be?” '

“A large plate of nachos. Second, what do you have that's nonalcoholic?”

“Iced tea, Coke, Pepsi..”

“Iced tea, please.” Guru said, and the barkeep put a bottle of tea on the bar. He paid him, and went over to the pool table. “Good Lord, Kara. You getting back into that?”

“Why not, Colonel?” Kara replied.

“Remember Fairchild, Kara, “ Guru reminded her. “No Fairchild-like shenanigans.”

“Sir! You know me.”

“Yes, I do.” He looked at Goalie, who nodded. “If they lose, and can't pay cash? Take a check.”

“Yes, Sir,” she grumbled.

Guru went back to the table, and Goalie was nodding. “Same old Kara.”

“She hasn't mellowed completely now that she's had Kacey, you know that,” Goalie said.

“I know,” Guru said. “She's not as free with the liquor, doesn't hop into the sack like she used to, and holds her money. But down here...different story.”

“One last fling,” Goalie commented.

“Yeah,” her husband noted.

“What's this about Fairchild?” Kelly asked. “Forgive my ignorance, but...”

“I'm surprised you haven't heard about it,” Guru said. “Armistice Day, '89. The 335th was at Fairchild, and the booze flowed and one-night stands were the rule.” He looked at his Ops Officer. “Anyway, long story short, Kara cleaned out these two B-52 guys at the pool table. They'd lost at Poker, and tried recouping their losses at the pool table. Kara thought otherwise.”

“Let me guess, they couldn't pay,” Kelly said.

“Right you are,” Goalie said. “Now, our dear Kara had an....alternative payment. She did a striptease, then took those two guys into a walk-in storage closet, and....”

“I get the picture,” Kelly said. “She's free with the booze, and she's also a nymphomaniac.”

“That night, yeah,” Guru said. “She's mellowed a lot since having Kacey, but like I said, old habits die hard.”

Then a waitress came in with Guru's nacho order. She brought it to the table, and he paid her. “Gracias,” he said, and she smiled.

“You're welcome, Colonel.”

Nodding, the trio tore into the Nachos. Then the TV caught their attention. “Can somebody turn that up?” Kelly asked.

Nodding, the bartender used a remote to turn the big-screen TV up. It was a “Special Report” from NBC News. “Defense sources are reporting that the Navy has moved the battleship Missouri and the cruiser Salem to the West Coast of Mexico, to join with the two carrier battle groups already there. Other sources are reporting that the Army has placed bases in Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, Louisiana, Oklahoma, and as far away as Fort Campbell, Kentucky, Forts Benning and Stewart in Georgia, and Fort Bragg, North Carolina on a heightened state of alert. No formal announcement has been made, and none is likely until the morning. In addition, Air Force Bases in California,
Baja, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas have been receiving additional aircraft from bases in other states. So far, there has been no official Defense Department reaction, and the President has issued a statement through his Press Secretary stating that 'Baja will become our fifty-first state on New Year's Day, and no threats from Mexico will change that. Whether or not there is violence on the border is up to Mexico, and not the United States. If there is, then the United States will take appropriate action as necessary.' Stay tuned to NBC for further updates, and we return you to our scheduled program.”

“WTF is happening?” Guru asked. “They must know something we don't.”

“Somebody's gone crazy, somewhere,” Kelly said. “I'd sure like to know who and where.”

“Yeah,” Goalie nodded. She turned towards Kara. “Kara! Finish that beer, then the twelve-hour rule kicks in.”

Kara nodded acknowledgment, then said, “You got it, Colonel.”

“Go talk to Bob Toland?” Kelly asked.

“The intel guys probably found out, just like us,” Guru said. “Probably won't know anything new until morning.”


Briefing Room, 419th TFW Operations Tent, 0730 Hours, 31 December, 2009.

Colonel Wiser was standing outside the Operations Tent with his Exec, Mike Dale, and Kelly Ray, his Ops Officer. “Any of you hear anything new since last night?” He was waiting to give the morning brief to the Wing before they began flying real CAPs and sitting ground alert.

“I caught the beginning of Good Morning America,” Kelly said. “Nothing new. And DOD isn't likely to have anything formal until afternoon.”

“Good,” Colonel Wiser said. “Just hope the other side has half a brain, and realizes they can't win a fight. Because if they don't...”

“Yeah,” Mike Dale replied. “We go to war.”

“Let's hope not,” Colonel Wiser said. “The three of us have seen and done enough.”

“No arguing that, Guru,” Kelly said. “For sure, I don't want anyone going to Mexico City-the hard way.”

“Don't blame you for feeling that way, Kelly,” Guru replied. “Okay, let's get this over with.” And he led the other two officers into the briefing room.

“CO on the deck!” Someone shouted.

“As you were, people,” Colonel Wiser said. “Right now, we're dispensing with a lot of peacetime rules. We're in a war zone, for all intents and purposes, and we can get rid of the jumping up and down nonsense.”

There were some murmurs at that. They knew the CO had led his wartime squadron the same way: minimal spit and polish, going by first name or call sign, and folding, spindling, bending, going around, and plain mutilating a few regs if that was what it took to get results. And nobody could argue with that. “What's new, Colonel?” Capt. Terry Reed asked.

“We start flying for real today,” Colonel Wiser said, and there were some grins. “Half of us are going to be flying CAP, loaded for air-to-air. Half of you will be loaded for air-to-mud, and will be on a fifteen-minute alert level. You're going to be issued with target folders, and if you do scramble, you'll be told which targets you are going to hit. Now, FYI the 366th is doing the same thing, so there will be quite a few Beagles in the air. The Albino Eagles from the 352nd will not be in the air, as they need a day off, but they'll be on ground alert. And Rules of Engagement stay the same: fire only if fired upon, or if someone locks you up, but hasn't fired. Other than that, it's weapons tight. Nobody on our side wants a war, and let's not give the other side an excuse.”

“Not like we're giving them one already,” Jody Tucker noted.

“Yeah, Jody, and I'd tell those Comrades in Mexico City, 'tough shit, because you guys lost the last time.'” That brought some chuckles from the aircrews, then the CO went on. “All right, Bob Toland has some new intel, then it's time to hit the sky. Major?”

Major Toland came up to give his portion of the brief. “Now, not much has changed overall since last night, but there are three new developments. First, there are MiGs reported at Culican, Los Mochis, and Mazatlan. Exact types are as yet unknown, but that should be available by this afternoon. The SAM threat remains the same, with SA-2s reported at the first two, and SA-3 also at Mazatlan. Second: the 27th Marines are now out, patrolling La Paz and the surrounding area on the Counter-SOF mission. Third, the Marines have flown into Cabo San Lucas, and have both F/A-18s and A-6s flying. So the sky's going to be busy.”

“Any word on the border?” Kelly Ray asked.

“Nothing new there, though the intel grapevine has it the Army's getting ready to roll to the border if they have to. So far, nobody's moved yet,” Toland replied.

“And the Mexicans, Bob?” The CO asked.

“Some activity, but with five major and who knows how many minor insurgent groups there, raising whatever hell thy can create, some of it can be explained away as COIN,” Toland said. “They can't move heavy armor or air defense within twenty-five miles of the border, and so far, they're playing by those rules.”

“All right. Bob, anything else?”

“Only that AWACS is now operational in-theater. Call sign is Teaball.”

Colonel Wiser nodded. “Everybody got that?” He saw the crews nod. “Okay. If you're flying CAPs, get ready to hit the sky. Those of you on ground alert, go over your target folders, then all you do is sit and wait. Just hope the horn doesn't sound. Is there anything else?” There wasn't anything. “All right, let's hit it.”


Corvette Flight, north of La Paz, over the Gulf of California, 31 December, 2009, 1515 Hours:


Colonel Wiser was at the helm of the Wing King Bird, and he was leading his flight on an afternoon CAP over the Gulf of California. So far, there hadn't been anything new in the air, but before departure, Major Toland had told him and the others that there was some more Mexican military activity south of the Armistice Line, but nothing definite. Several times in the '90s, the Mexicans had tested the limits of the Armistice, moving armor, artillery, and air defense assets north of the line, only to be reminded of the penalties for such misbehavior-as in the offending assets being hit by USAF or Marine air strikes. It had been nearly fifteen years since there had been anything like that, and hopefully, it would continue. On other occasions, there had been rocket and mortar fire across the Rio Grande-especially in the El Paso area, and the Army out of Fort Bliss often shelled the offenders into submission, and that, along with the damage left over from the war, had left Juraez a ghost town, with one wag commenting that “it looks like Stalingrad, only without the snow.”

Now, Colonel Wiser and his flight were wondering if there would be another war. For sure, the handful of fire-eaters were chomping at the bit to get at it, but they were a distinct minority, for the majority, including those who'd flown or otherwise served in World War III, combat was the last thing they wanted. Everybody wanted the deployment to end without a shot having been fired, or, failing that, if combat did become a necessity, it was over in a couple of days.

As his flight approached the top of their figure-eight patrol pattern, Colonel Wiser picked up two hits on his radar. “There they are, Melissa.”

“Same as yesterday, Guru?” Captain Melissa Bryce, call sign Shadow, was his WSO. At first, Colonel Eichhorn had looked at his having a female WSO, but a mock dogfight over the Great Salt Lake proved that Colonel Wiser had made the right call.

“Yeah,” Guru replied. He decided to call this in to the AWACS. “Teaball, Corvette One-One.”

“Corvette One-One, Teaball, go,” the controller replied.

“Teaball, two bogeys at our Twelve O'Clock, eighty-five miles.”

“Copy, Corvette, we show two bogeys at your Twelve, range now eighty-three miles, medium, closing. Close to identify.”

“Roger, Teaball,” Guru replied. “Two, Lead. Let's go see who these guys are. Three and Four, drop back and follow us.”

“Roger, Lead,” Capt. Kevin Morgan, flying Corvette One-Two, replied.

“Three copies,” Capt. Dan Newsom in One-Three said.

“Four, roger,” Capt. Deanna DeSilva in One-Four said.

The four F-15Es headed north, and as they closed in, the bogeys were interrogated by IFF. Negative. “These guys are Mexicans, Guru,” Shadow said.

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Teaball, Corvette One-One. Bogeys now sixty-five miles, negative IFF.”

“Roger, Corvette. Close to visual ID, over.”

Eyebrows perked up in cockpits. From what they'd heard, none of the 352nd guys had ever done that. “Roger, Teaball. Close to Visual ID.”

“Copy.”

The F-15Es closed with the Mexican aircraft. One thing the F-15E shared with its albino brother, the C, was that it had an enemy IFF interrogator, one that could read the bad guy's IFF signals. And now Guru decided to take advantage of that. It was Shadow who came back with the ID. “Bogeys are MiG-19s, Guru. Range now twenty miles.”

“Got it.” They were at 24,000 feet, and the Mexicans were at about 20,000. The F-15Es would overshoot the Mexicans, then come in alongside, and politely, but firmly direct them to turn back north. Then the AWACS called again, and this call was totally out of the blue.

“Corvette One-One, Teaball, bogeys are now designated as bandits. Take them out. Weapons are free, repeat: Weapons-free.”

Heads perked up in all four cockpits. “Guru, did he just say 'Weapons-free?'” Shadow asked.

“Lead, Three. Did you just hear what I heard?” Newsom asked.

“Stand by. Will authenticate.” Guru replied.

“Fifteen miles, Guru,” Shadow reported.

“Teaball, Corvette. Authenticate your last. Sierra, Eight, Tango.” Guru called.

“Corvette, Teaball. Whiskey, Four, Charlie.”

Guru checked the authenticator code. That signaled a valid transmission.

“Guru,” Shadow said. “I have a valid message.”

“Concur, Shadow,” Guru said. “Three, you and four drop back. We'll take these two.”

“Roger, Lead,” Newsom replied. He signaled Four to follow, and he pulled up and into a cover pattern as Guru and Kevin Morgan, call sign Dusty, went in.

“Dusty, take the one on the right. I've got the leader. Stand by.” Guru said.

“Copy, Lead,” Dusty said.

“Teaball, Corvette One-One. Copy your last. Bogeys are now Bandits. Cleared to engage?”

“Copy that, Corvette. Clear to arm, clear to fire.” Teaball replied.

Behind his oxygen mask, Guru gulped. Then he took a deep breath. Here we go again, he thought. “Two, Lead. Go Slammer.” He then quickly locked up the Mexican flight leader, put his nose slightly down, and rolled in on the MiGs, who were now ten miles away.

“Copy Lead-”

“FOX THREE!” Guru called as he pushed the pickle button on his stick. He had just fired his first-ever AIM-120 in combat. The AIM-120 shot off the left front station on the fuselage, then accelerated away and streaked for its target. Just at the last second, or so it seemed to Guru and Shadow, the MiG pilot seemed to realize that he was under attack. It didn't help, for the Slammer tore into the cockpit and the MiG fireballed. “Splash one!” Guru called.

Just as Guru called 'Splash' Dusty Morgan in One-Two locked up the Mexican wingman and fired. His AIM-120, too, flew straight and true to the target. That pilot only belatedly realized that his leader was now dead, and frantically turned away. It made no difference, for the AIM-120 struck the MiG and blew it into three pieces. It reminded both crews of a scene in the Dogfights TV show, where a MiG-19 had been blown into three pieces by an Israeli Mirage. There were no chutes from either MiG. “Splash Two!” Dusty said.

“Copy, Two,” said Guru. “Teaball, Corvette One-One. Splash two MiG-19s. Negative chutes.”

“Copy, Corvette. Albino Eagles inbound your location. Clear to RTB,” the controller told him.

“Roger, clear to RTB.”

Corvette Flight formed up and headed back towards LeMay. As they headed back, Guru was wondering, Did I fire the first shot in a war? And what is going on? His thoughts were interrupted by Shadow. “Guru, take a look at the radar.”

He checked his radar. Multiple flights were now outbound from LeMay, and he could now tell on his TEWS gear that a Patriot radar was tracking him. “Corvette Flight, verify IFF is on, out.”

All four pilots turned on their IFF gear. The closer they got to LeMay, they could see aircraft taking off. And it wasn't just a few. The field wasn't being cleared, but it looked to everyone that the ground alert birds were being flushed. “Corvette One-One, LeMay Tower.”

“LeMay Tower, Corvette One-One with four, request approach and landing instructions.” Guru called.

“Corvette One-One, LeMay Tower. You are number one in the pattern. Clear to land. Winds are calm, and be advised of Army air defense activity.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said. And he led his flight into the pattern, then came in and landed. As he taxied away, he noticed a familiar-looking F-15E taxiing out for departure. It was the Squadron CO's bird from the 390th. Kara was leading her squadron out. When he taxied into his parking space, under a sunshade on the ramp, he could see Bob Toland waiting for him. “Bob, WTF is going on?”

“You haven't heard?” Toland said as they headed to the operations center.

“Heard what?” Guru yelled over the rumble of outbound traffic, as both Strike Eagles and Weasel Vipers were taking to the air. “We're closing in on the usual MiG-19s from Guyamas, AWACS tells us to get a visual, then they tell us to splash 'em.”

“Word is that somebody fired a bunch of Katyushas at El Paso and Laredo, and the same at Nogales,” Toland said. There's armor moving north of the Armistice Line, and there was even a Scud fired at Davis-Monthan.”

“WHAT?”

“You heard right, Colonel,” Toland said as they went into the operations center.

When they got in, Guru saw a bunch of people from all three wings, plus the Air Operations Team that Twelfth Air Force had sent down to run any air campaign out of Baja. “What's up?” Guru asked. “WTF just happened?”

“This ain't no 'incident,' Colonel,” Brig. Gen. Ken Hildebrand, the Deputy Commander of Twelfth Air Force, said. “Looks like this is it.”

“All out, Sir?”

“Looks that way,” General Hildebrand said. “Colonel, get your birds loaded for an anti-airfield mission. You people from the 419th are going to Culican to put that airfield out of business.”

“Yes, Sir. We can be ready in a half-hour,” Colonel Wiser said.

“Good,” the General said. He noticed Goalie coming in “Colonel Eichhorn? I want a package from your wing, ready in forty-five minutes. You're going to Los Mochis.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Both of you will have Weasel Vipers from the 352nd, and they'll handle both the SEAD and TARCAP mission. Get your people and birds prepped.”

“Yes, Sir,” both Guru and Goalie said.

“All right, let's get it done.” Hildebrand said.


As they left the Operations Tent, Guru and Goalie ran into Kelly Ray. “Colonels. What the hell is going on? I'm out, east of La Paz, and there's two MiG-21s from Los Mochis, coming along, fat, dumb and happy. All of a sudden, AWACS tells me to splash them. They got killed, and we come back to find organized mayhem.”

“It's started, Kelly.” Guru said.

“What's started?” Kelly asked, confused at first. Then it hit her. “Wait...did we just go to war?”

“Yep. About a half-hour ago,” Goalie said.

“Somebody's jumped the gun. Baja's not a state yet!”

“Tell that to the Mexicans, Kelly,” Guru said. “Get your flight turned around and loaded for an anti-airfield mission. Be ready in a half-hour.”

“Got it.” She was clicking into game mode.

“And Kelly?”

“Yeah, Guru?”

Her CO looked at her with all due seriousness. “Congratulations on number four. One more and you're an ace.”

“Ace...hell of a way to get on that path,” Kelly said. “An honest fight beats nailing somebody who doesn't even know there's a war on.”

“Take 'em the way we get 'em,” Guru said. “At least they're not putting kids in cockpits like last time.”

“I read about that,” Kelly said. “All right, we'll be up and ready. Thirty minutes.” She then headed off to get the aircraft armed and ready for the new mission.

Goalie looked at her husband and fellow wing commander. “What's the saying? “Once more unto the breach, dear friends?'”

“Something like that. I'll e-mail the kids.” Guru said. “It'll only take two minutes.”

“Okay. Too bad we can't have one final combat flight, like in the old days.” Goalie quipped.

“Husband-and-wife in the same cockpit is still a no-no,” Guru reminded her. Too bad. “Maybe we can fly the same strike, once.”

“Yeah,” Goalie said as they came to the 366th's area, and Jody Tucker came out.

“Colonel-oops, Colonels, guess who won the pool?”

“Who?”

“Captain DeSilva, from the 419th.” Jody said.

“I'll let her know,” Guru said. He turned to his wife. “Good luck.”

“You too,” she said. And they kissed. Then she headed into her own Wing's Operations Tent, and he went for his. When he got there, he found Kelly Ray waiting.

“Kelly?”

“Birds being turned right now. We'll be ready on time,” she replied. “And Intel confirmed both our kills.”

“Okay, then,” the CO said. “I'll be a few minutes, then I'll be with you in the planning cell.”

She had an idea of what her CO had in mind. “E-mailing the kids?”

“Yeah,” Guru said as he went to his laptop and powered it up. After a couple of minutes, he logged into his e-mail and composed a message. “Kids, Dad. Well, Eric and Sandy guessed right: your Mom and Dad are going to war. Hopefully, this won't take long, and your Mom and I will be back soon. If you don't hear from us for a few days, it's because we're busy. Just stay calm, relax, and when you're able to, keep an eye on the news. That's it for now. Be in touch soon. Dad.” He hit Send, then Kelly came in.
“Yeah?”

“Planning cell, Colonel?”

“Be right there.” He shut down the laptop, and as he headed off to plan the mission, he realized something for the first time. He'd never gotten out of his G-Suit and harness after landing. Oh, well...and a half-hour later, Guru was leading his first strike mission of the war, and fifteen minutes after that, Goalie was airborne on her first combat mission in a Strike Eagle. And three weeks later, it was over.

Gotta wonder if Teaball did the same thing first: ask WTF and get an authentication on their orders...

If I remember correctly, the two most common names for this were, the WTF war and The Redhead stepchild rented mule war, that's how badly the Mexicans were beaten.

jemhouston wrote: ↑Wed Feb 12, 2025 12:10 pm If I remember correctly, the two most common names for this were, the WTF war and The Redhead stepchild rented mule war, that's how badly the Mexicans were beaten.

It got called the WTF War when ABC called one of their retired GOFO military experts, didn't get it through to him that he was live, and when they asked his thoughts, he said WTF--and the censor didn't bleep it out.

Mexico definitely got beaten like they were the redheaded stepchild of a rented mule.

Redheaded stepchild of a rented mule that owed us money…

You really have to wonder what the Mexico City Head Shed thought(?) they were doing by pulling the trigger. After the post-WW3 build-up in the Continental Forty-Eight, matched against the steady degradation of Mexican capabilities without active Soviet support over the same period, no sane military professional would have told Mexican leadership they had a hope in hell of being anything more than a judder bar to American arms if the border went hot again. So, either there weren’t any military advisors in the room soberly appreciating the situation and willing to point out the Objective Conditions (as the Sovs used to put it) limiting Mexico’s ability to be anything more than a nuisance, or such rational advisors were in the room and the decision-makers actively refused to listen to them. Frankly, either suggests a degree of wilful ignorance, denial, and outright stupidity that just boggles the mind — and in national leadership figures, people supposedly sworn to serve their people and their interests to the best of their ability, one could argue it verges on active treason.

Call it a mix: Latin Pride, Hubris, Believing one's own propaganda, or whatever. And an unwillingness to listen to news that ran contrary to one's thinking. Not much is known of the General Secretary's decision-making, but we do know that he and his faction in the Politburo and Central Committee painted themselves into a corner. They couldn't back down without a) losing face, and b) inviting a coup. They were briefed by the professionals at the Defense Ministry-thought the Defense Minister was a crony of Ayala, but when presented with information that ran contrary to their thinking, it was ignored. Not to mention a feeling that giving up in '89 when they did was the act of "Defeatists, Cowards, and Traitors."

Ehhh... I would lean towards beleiving their own propaganda.

The odds are very good that they sat there, and managed to convince themselves that the gringos weren't actually serious, and if they pushed, the gringos would give way.

Serious miscalculation, and apparently everyone involved in WW3 was not in the room at the time, as others have observed.

Belushi TD