Wolverine and Chiefs

[Matt Wiser]

I should have the next segment up in 24 hours or so: thanks for your patience.

[Wolfman]

Fingers crossed, Matt.

[Matt Wiser]

And here we go:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1345 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was at his desk, wearing all his flight gear except for his G-Suit, for if the siren sounded again, he fully intended to be in the air instead of being caught on the ground. And that G-Suit was draped over a chair, waiting.. One scramble was enough, he thought, but one ever knew what the Russians were up to, so it was best to be prepared.

He was busy going over some papers that he had missed during lunch, when there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The Exec, Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss, got a couple of things for you. Weather first.” The XO handed the CO the weather brief.

Guru scanned the briefing sheet. “Chance of rain or snow down to ten percent. Cloud Base 5,000, topping out at 15,000. Visibility 5.” He looked up. “This means we're now VFR.”

“That it does, Boss-man, and that leads to my second item. MAG-11 has reported us as having available aircraft. Even though-”

“Even though half our birds are still officially down,” the CO finished. Though Guru knew that as birds came out of maintenance, their crews would be doing check flights. As if to punctuate that, the rumble of J-79 engines could be heard.

“Four-decimal zero, Boss,” Ellis said. He noticed the CO was thinking. “You've got something on your mind?”

Guru nodded. “Tell Kerry Collins to have air-to-ground ordnance ready, just in case. We might just get a call for CAS or a Scud Hunt.”

“Arm the birds?” Asked the XO.

“No,but have that stuff ready,” said Guru. “My flight? Rockeyes. Yours? Mark-82s. And I want Dave and Flossy with Mavericks.”

“On it. You want them to go with you?”

“Yeah. And I want Dave Gledhill's element with me as TARCAP. Tell your RAF counterpart he's coming with you for the same.”

“Gotcha.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Goalie came in, similarly attired as the CO and XO. She had some papers in hand. “Got this for you. One of my airmen wants permission to get married.”

The CO took the papers and scanned them. “Wants to go back to Traverse City, Michigan and marry his high-school sweetheart.”

“Read further. She's in the service-not far from here, mind.”

Guru did so, then looked up. “She's in III Corps Aviation?”

“Downtown Kickapoo Airport, to be precise,” Goalie said. “They want to go home when their R&R comes, get married in front of friends and family, have a little honeymoon, you get the idea.”

“Interservice marriage?” Ellis asked. “That can be a killer, from what I understand.”

“It can be,” Goalie agreed. “Heard the same things about that, mind you.”

“Just so the young man knows what he's getting into,” said Guru. He found the APPROVED line on the form and signed it. “Let him know,” he added, handing Goalie the papers.

“Will do,” Goalie nodded.

The CO nodded, then got up and went to his office window. The skies were definitely getting clearer. And that meant if it was now VFR for them, it would be so for Ivan as well. He nodded, turned to the XO and Goalie. “Pass the word to our flights-and to both Dave Golen's element and Dave Gledhill. Get everybody that flew after noon back to their birds and preflight them. I have a hunch we may be flying.”

“And that hunch is?” Asked the Exec.

Guru pointed to his office window. “Have a look outside. It's a mix of clouds and sunshine, and that means it's now VFR. And it is for us?”

“It is for the bad guys,” Ellis nodded.

The CO grabbed his helmet and G-Suit-and both Ellis and Goalie were nodding again. “Then let's do it. If we get a no-notice mission, or that siren sounds again...”

“We'd better be ready,” Goalie said.

It wasn't long before the crews in question were at their aircraft, going through their checklists and getting the aircraft ready for another scramble, if it should come to it. At 512, Guru and Goalie were wrapping up, making sure the weapons panels in each cockpit were “safe.” And a quick glance at both wings showed the Sidewinders with their seeker heads covered. Those were among the last things armorers removed before takeoff. “Checklist complete,” Guru said when finished.

“Concur. We're done,” Goalie replied.

After getting down, and accepting some coffee from Sergeant Crowley, Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, where, just like after a mission, the rest of his flight was gathered. “Boss, you think this was a good idea?” Sweaty asked.

“Better safe than sorry,” Guru said. “If Ivan came once today, even up high, they can do it again.”

“And down low,” Kara added. She, like everyone else, had noticed the improving skies. “And if we get a Scud attack?”

“Just clear the field,” said the CO. “I'd rather be in the air than taking a chance on getting slimed.” Though Scuds could-and did-carry CW warheads, none of the chemical Scuds had been launched at any field that MAG-11 had been located. Yet.

“Got you,” Sweaty nodded.

The rumble of J-79 engines interrupted their conversation, for as aircraft came out of maintenance, those that had finished engine changes or their hundred-hour checks were launching on Maintenance Check Flights. “Another sign things are getting back to normal,” KT observed.

Guru noted it as well. After a pair from the 335th took off, a four-ship of Marine Phantoms followed, then a pair of VA-135 A-7s. After that, the eastbound C-141 on its shuttle run landed. Then came a pair of Marine F/A-18s doing their takeoff.

Then Preacher said, “Just can't shake this feeling.”

“What?” Goalie asked.

The ex-seminary student nodded. “That the other shoe's about to drop. And soon.”

“Got some inside information?” Guru asked, half-jokingly.

Sweaty's GIB let out a laugh. “If I had finished the Seminary, I would be able to say 'yes.' But you know that feeling we had the morning of BOLO II?” He saw heads nod, then continued. “Same exact thing.”

Guru knew what Preacher was talking about. That morning had been filled with more than the usual pre-mission jitters and tension. Though people tried not to show it. And he had been one of them. “That's been at the back of my mind since we got back from the Foxbat scramble.”

“And moving up fast,” Kara noted.

“Full military,” the CO admitted.

Then the Ops Officer arrived, and Capt. Don Van Loan was in full flight gear. “Boss, I'm taking my element up on our check flight, but I just got a warning from MAG-11 Ops. There were some Scud attacks on Decatur, Bowie, Jacksboro, Graham, and Bridgeport. Not much damage or casualties, but...”

“But we might be the ones to go out to find the guilty parties and put some hurt on the bastards,” said Guru. It wasn't a question.

“You said it, Boss, I didn't.”

“Where's Kerry Collins?” Guru asked. Capt. Kerry Collins was the squadron's Ordnance Officer.

“Right here,” Collins said. He came up just behind the Ops Officer.

Guru nodded. “How fast can you have birds prepped and ready for air-to-ground?”

The Ordnance Officer had a guess as to what the CO had in mind, but asked anyway. “Normal or Combat Turnaround speed?”

“The latter, and not a second over.”

Collins nodded, “Twenty minutes, Boss. Easy.”

“All right.” Guru thought for a moment, considering some options. “Have Dave Golen's and Flossy's birds loaded with Mavericks instead of what they've got standing by.” He turned to the IDF Major and his wingmate. “I want you and Flossy with me.”

“Understood,” Golen said.

Dave Gledhill then arrived. Like the others, he was nearly in full flight gear. He'd noticed the commotion. “Something going down?”

“You ready for a Scud Hunt?” Guru asked.

“We're ready now,” the RAF Squadron Leader said. “When?”

“In twenty.”

“I'll tell Paul and Susan,” said Gledhill.

“Good. Your second element goes with the Exec, as usual,” said Guru. “Kerry?” He turned back to the Ordnance Officer “First element back from their check flight? They get Mavericks and go with the XO.”

“Got you,” Collins said. “Anyone know where we're going?”

“East German sector, and probably the Libyans,” Don Van Loan said. “All I know.”

“Okay,” Guru said. “Don? Get that check flight done, then get your element turned around for a mission.”

The Ops Officer nodded. “On my way,” then he headed for his aircraft at a run, collecting his GIB and wing crew as he did.

“Kerry?” Guru asked. “Tell your crews to bust ass. Twenty minutes and not a second over.”

“They're busted,” Collins said, going off to tell the ordnance crews to get busy. His own bird was still being worked on, and wouldn't be ready for an hour.

“Good. Kara?” Guru turned to his wingmate and Deputy Ops Officer. “Call MAG-11 Ops and find out where we're going. East German sector, Libyans, hell, maybe Soviet 32nd Army or the Cubans near Hillsboro. Get that and our call signs, AWACS info, the usual.”

Kara knew what the CO wanted. “I'm on it.” She took off for the squadron's Ops office and a phone.

Guru then said, “Okay, find some food and something to drink, hit the latrines, then be at Five-twelve's revetment in twenty. We'll brief there, then fly.”

The CO went back to his office, and his secretary, Staff Sergeant Lord, was waiting. “Major? Phone call for you, sir. It's Colonel Brady.”

“I'll take it here.” After Lord handed him the phone, he said, “Colonel?”

“Major, how fast can you have sorties generated and ready to fly?” Brady asked.

“Sir, is this related to the Scud activity? My Ops Officer got a heads-up from Group Ops.”

“It is, Major. How soon?” The MAG-11 CO wanted to know.

Guru looked at the wall clock, then at both Goalie and Kara, who had just come over. “Sir, I can have ten birds prepped and ready in twenty. Wheels up five to ten minutes after that.”

“And more as they come out of maintenance?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, Major. Just so you know, you'll have company. Both -314 and -333 are doing the same thing you are, along with VA-135. You should have a fax with the call signs and mission info,” said Brady.

Guru turned towards the office's secure fax machine, and papers began coming out. “I think we just got it, sir.”

“Okay, Major. FYI I'll be up there as well. Hell of a way to end a stand-down,” Brady commented.

Guru sighed. “Well, sir, we're back in the game. Just a lot sooner than we thought we would.”

“Ain't that the truth?” Brady said. “Good luck, Major.”

“Sir.”

One of the NCOs in the office brought the faxes to Guru, just as Goalie, Kara, and the XO arrived. The CO reviewed the papers, then nodded. “Mark?” He said to the Exec. “You're Mustang, and I'm Camaro. The first flight back from a check run? They get Mavericks and go with you.”

“Sounds good,” the XO said. “What about MiGs?”

“Good question,” Kara nodded.

“Says here unchanged since yesterday. AWACS is Crystal Palace. SAR, bailout areas, all of that also unchanged,” Guru said.

Both his wingmate and the XO nodded. “Question: What if we don't find what we're looking for?” Ellis asked.

“Also a very good question,” Goalie said.

Guru thought for a minute. “We'll be an an Army-level rear area, so there should be plenty of opportunity targets. But.... If time's running short? I know it's their Army-level HQ, but the East Germans have a big supply dump south of Stephenville. Drop on that, or the airport.”

“I'll let Don know, and he can pass that on,” Kara said.


Guru nodded approval.”Do that, then get something to eat and I'll see you at 512.”

“On my way,” Kara said. She then went off in search of the Ops Officer.

The CO and XO then shook hands. “Good luck, Mark.”

“You too,” Ellis said. The Exec went off to round up his own flight.

“Mom sent me some brownies a couple days ago,” Guru said to Goalie. “Have one, then let's get going.”

“And we get to earn our flight pay,” Goalie quipped.

“Not enough.”


After the snack, the two went back out, found their helmets and G-Suits, then went back to 512's revetment. They found the rest of their flight, along with Dave Golen, Flossy, and the two RAF crews. “Okay, people. Here's the deal. We're Camaro Flight. And we're headed down to the East German sector.”

“Lovely,” Sweaty said. “If it was those guys, chances are, they're already on the move, or are already hidden.”

Dave Golen nodded agreement. “Good point.”

“It is, but they want us to give it the old college try,” Guru said. “And if we can't find what we're looking for?”

“Something that had occurred to me,” Hoser said.

“Opportunity targets?” Flossy asked.

Guru nodded. “It's an Army-level rear area, so we should be able to find something. If not, or we're pressed for time as it gets closer to sunset? We drop on either the supply dumps south of Stephenville, or on the airport proper.”

“They'll be hairy,” Kara said.

“It usually is,” The CO admitted. “Okay, rescue and bailout areas are unchanged.”

Dave Gledhill asked, “MiG situation?”

“Unchanged since yesterday.”

“Sounds good.”

“All right, if you see Scuds?” The CO said. “Do a strafing run with those SUU-23 gun pods, and we'll follow up.”

“Got you. And we'll break up anyone coming to crash the party.”

“Do that,” Guru said. He looked at 512 and saw the ordnance people had finished. Besides the air-to-air load, she had a dozen Mar-20 Rockeye CBUs along with two wing tanks to go along with the ALQ-119 ECM pod. He turned to Dave Golen. “You and Flossy have Mavericks. If we find what we're after? You two go in, take your shots and kill any air-defense assets you find. If they're not around? Just take the shots and we'll follow on. Rest of the flight has the same load Five-twelve has.” Guru pointed to his aircraft and the ordnance loadout.

“Tankers?” Hoser asked.

“Tanker Track GULF is where we're headed next, north of Mineral Wells,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “We're back in the game, people, and a lot sooner than we thought. See you at ten grand overhead.” He clapped his hands for emphasis. “Let's hit it, because we've got somewhere to be.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went to 512, Sergeant Crowley was waiting as the ordnance crews got clear. “Major, Captain? Five-twelve's ready to rock.” The Crew Chief then snapped a salute.

Guru and Goalie returned it, then the CO said, “Thanks, Sarge.” He and Goalie did the preflight walk-around, then after signing for the aircraft, they mounted the crew ladder and got into their seats. After plugging in their G-Suits, oxygen masks, and helmet earpieces, they got their helmets on and went through what was left of the preflight.

“Hell of a way to end what should be a stand-down,” Goalie said as she went through a scramble checklist. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours, and the Russians already ruined it with that Foxbat chase,” Guru said. “Be glad it wasn't the Libyans.”

“At least they get sloppy and easy to find,” Goalie replied. “Preflight finished and ready for engine start.'

Guru checked his watch. Twenty-two minutes from getting the warning to engine start. “And so we are” He gave a thumbs-up to Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one,then both, J-79 engine were quickly up and running. A minute or so for the warm-up, then he called the tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with eight, requesting clear to taxi and takeoff.”

A tower controller replied instantly. “Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number one in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Lead rolling.” Guru then gave the “Chocks” signal, and the ground crew pulled away the wheel chocks. After that, Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, and taxied 512 out of the revetment. Once he cleared, Crowley snapped a salute, which Guru and Goalie both returned. Guru taxied towards Runway 35L, and the rest of the flight followed. He glanced behind him, and saw not just his flight, but four Marine F-4s and two Navy A-7s behind his, and another Marine flight, this one with four F/A-18s.

When they got to the Holding Area, the armorers removed the weapon safeties. That made the ordnance “live.” Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-eight-zero for five,” the controller responded.

Guru taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A final check in the cockpit, then a glance to 520,and Guru and Goalie saw Kara and Brainiac give a thumbs-up. Everything was set.

“Ready?” Guru asked.

“Ready back here,” Goalie replied. “As you like to say, 'we've got somewhere to be.'”

“That we do,” Guru agreed. He pulled down his canopy, closing and locking it, and Goalie did the same. A final look showed 520 just as ready. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower just flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

Guru checked his watch. Twenty-seven minutes from warning to takeoff. Not bad. “Here we go.” He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512, with 520 alongside, rumbled down the runway and into the air. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's element, followed by Dave Golen's and then the RAF pair. The flight met up at FL 100 before heading south for the tankers. For hostile territory beckoned.

Back at Sheppard, Erica watched with Lt. Alex Monroe, the Marine PAO and chaperone. Patti Brown, the PAO for the 335th, had been with them, but she went to get dressed to fly. “Good luck, guys.” Erica said as the CO's flight assembled above, and the Marines began their own launches.

[Poohbah]

SCUDs are fairly accurate. They hit the ground nearly 100% of the time.

[jemhouston]

SCUDS, Russian's answer to the V-2.

[Wolfman]

SCUDS go up; where they come down is not my department…

[Poohbah]

SCUDS go up; where they come down is not my department…

The Ghost of Sergei Korolev: "I aimed for the stars, but ended up hitting Wichita Falls. My bad!"

[Wolfman]

SCUDS go up; where they come down is not my department…

The Ghost of Sergei Korolev: "I aimed for the stars, but ended up hitting Wichita Falls. My bad!"

I tend to think he’d call that a design feature…

[Matt Wiser]

Remember, it's not the one with your name on it that one has to be concerned about: it's the one marked "To whom it may concern" that you need to worry about.

[Poohbah]

Remember, it's not the one with your name on it that one has to be concerned about: it's the one marked "To whom it may concern" that you need to worry about.

Or worse, "OCCUPANT."

[Matt Wiser]

Folks, I apologize for the delay in the next chapter, but RL and the insidious and dreaded Writer's Block have been in the way. The next piece is in preparation, and Thanks for your patience.

[Poohbah]

Folks, I apologize for the delay in the next chapter, but RL and the insidious and dreaded Writer's Block have been in the way. The next piece is in preparation, and Thanks for your patience.

Writer's Block is bad enough. Sometimes, there's also Writer's Tackle.

[Wolfman]

Folks, I apologize for the delay in the next chapter, but RL and the insidious and dreaded Writer's Block have been in the way. The next piece is in preparation, and Thanks for your patience.

There’s the rest of the BOLO II storyline that’s waiting to be posted…

[Matt Wiser]

I'm about halfway done with the next chapter: getting over a nagging cold has been the chief obstacle.

[Matt Wiser]

After a delay caused by RL, writer's block, and a cold, the next segment is hereby posted:



Over Central Texas: 1455 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight was over the southern part of the East German sector, southeast of Stephenville. So far, they had not found Scuds, or anything that looked like support, such as a convoy of missile reloads or a support facility, but given the East Germans' mastery of camoflauge, that was not a surprise. But seeing several convoys on the roads-U.S. 67, State Route 220, and some of the Farm-to-Market Roads was. The East Germans-and no doubt the Soviets to the west and both the Libyans and Nicaraguans to the east-were gambling that American air activity would be on pause due to the weather. Well, maybe something could be done about that if they came up short on Scuds....

Looking out over 512's starboard side, Major Matt Wiser shook his head. So far, the East Germans were living up to their name. Did they inherit that from their grandfathers back in WW II, from the Soviets, or both? He called up his GIB. “Goalie, anything?”

“Negative,” Capt. Lisa Eichhorn replied. She was scanning with binoculars, just like the rest of the backseaters. “Not a thing, unless you count those convoys.” They were currently flying along State Route 220 towards Hico and both U.S. 281 and State Route 6. “And that Mainstay's still on the EW.”

Guru winced. Not long after penetrating the FEBA and going south along the Brazos River and turning west just south of Granbury, they had picked up an A-50 Mainstay's search radar. The EW display in both cockpits showed the strobe of that radar, and the SEARCH warning light was on. At 500 feet AGL, though, they should still be lost in the ground clutter. Hopefully. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” An AWACS controller replied. “First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-five-five for seventy. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-zero for eighty. Medium, going away. Fourth threat bearing Two-one-zero for ninety. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru called. “Do you have bogey dope?”

“Mustang, First and second threats are Floggers. Third threats are Flankers, and fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that.”

“Fulcrums and Flankers?” Goalie said. “They've got their varsity up.”

“Yeah,” Guru said as the town of Hico appeared dead ahead. “Flight. Lead. Turn on me.” He put 512 into a right turn, and the rest of the flight followed. They flew up U.S. 281, and as they did, some sporadic flak from the town came up in their wake. Whoever was down there was on the ball.

Guru turned slightly right, staying clear of the highway, and yet, still being able to see traffic on the road, and also watching some of the local roads east of 281 as well. He checked his fuel. “Forty-five minutes at this speed.”

“Then we find something to dump on?” Goalie asked. She knew full well they didn't get paid for bringing ordnance home.

“You said it, I didn't.” Though Guru was hoping they would find something missile-related, even if it was just a convoy of missile reloads on a road somewhere, and strike that. The maps both had in their kneeboards showed a number of potential opportunity targets should the flight come up empty on Scuds, just in case... Then he noticed a “4” come up on the RWR display, and a strobe at his Twelve O'clock. That meant Stephenville and the East German SA-4s. “Flight, Lead. Music on.” He turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod and the others followed suit.


The Flight was just north of the U.S 281-S.R. 6 junction when something caught they eye of Flossy and Jang in One-six. “What's that?” Jang called as she was searching with binoculars off to the right. Then it was obvious: a convoy of trucks pulling missiles on trailers. “Got a missile convoy.”

Flossy took a look for herself. “Lead, Six, she called. “Missile convoy at our Three.”

So, this isn't a wild goose-chase after all, Guru thought. All right, Ivan or Franz, your turn to die. “Copy that, Six. Five, you and six take Rifle shots.” That meant Mavericks. “Kill any air-defense assets. Sweaty, you and Hoser make a Rockeye pass and tear those chumps up. Kara, on me and we'll head north. See if we can find where they're headed. Seven and eight, kill anyone crashing the party.”

“Roger, Lead,” both Sweaty and Dave Golen called, and Kara simply gave a thumbs-up, while the two F-4Js climbed to assume a TARCAP.

“Mustang One-Five, Rifle!” Dave Golen called as he took a Maverick shot.

“One-six, Rifle!” Flossy added.


On the road the map called F.M. 239, an East German Captain of Missile Troops was in his UAZ-469 jeep, headed north. His convoy of several ZIL-131 trucks and their missile trailers was headed north, towards the launch point where the launchers of the Second Battalion, 5th Missile Brigade, were concealed. There, they would deliver the missiles to the firing unit, then move to the missile supply point to pick up reloads. Only then would the Captain know where to go to next, as he knew all too well there were many parties in this part of this wretched state called Texas who would like to know where the missiles were at any given time. The bandits and counterrevolutionaries who called themselves the American Resistance, to begin with, then the Americans' own Diversionists and Reconnaissance troops-the ones called “Green Berets,” and even the civilian population, who had never been pacified. All it would take was someone watching from the right place, a simple phone call, and an hour or so later, there would be an air strike or some other attack. If it's an ambush, we can defend ourselves, the Captain thought. His convoy had two BTR-60P APCs, and two BTR-152s fitted out as air-defense vehicles, but instead of the effective ZU-23 AA guns, they had to make do with ZPU-2 twin machine guns. Those might be effective against helicopters, and would deal with any would-be ambushers, but against attack aircraft, it was a different story. His soldiers also had some Strela-2 (SA-7) shoulder-fired missiles, but those lacked any kind of all-aspect engagement capability, which meant they could only fire as aircraft pulled off of their runs.

Still, the Captain checked his map, then his watch. They were on time. There had been fire missions earlier in the day, to keep the Americans on their toes, and no doubt there would be some more. And there hadn't been any problems, not even a sniper firing on them, or a roadside bomb going off. The Captain smiled, then suddenly, his rear-view mirror was filled with a fireball as the lead BTR-152 exploded. His gunner turned the single PK machine gun around, and as the Captain turned himself, he saw two dots growing larger as they approached. “DISPERSE! AIR ATTACK!” He then nudged the driver, who turned the jeep off the road into a field to his right.

“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. As she did, she saw some tracers, and at least one missile trail, come up after her. Not today, she thought. Not now. She selected CENTERLINE, expecting to find either more Scuds or hit some opportunity target, and told Hoser to do the same. Then she lined up the lead vehicles in the convoy in her pipper. “Steady.. Steady... THEY”RE OFF!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and half a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off the racks. She then pulled up and away, jinking as she did. “Three's off target.”

In the field, the East German Captain and his driver took cover underneath their jeep, while the gunner fired away with his PK machine gun at the Fascist F-4 as it made its bomb run. He watched helplessly as cluster bombs came off the aircraft, and the bomblets detonated-exploding two of his trucks, one of his BTR-60s, and most importantly, two of the missiles. “Schisse,” the Captain muttered. Though tempted, he stayed put beneath the jeep. For he knew from bitter experience that American aircraft didn't attack alone.

“SHACK!” Preacher called from the back seat. “Got some good hits.”

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as she turned around. Though a second pass wasn't on the agenda, two SA-7s coming up made that decision easy. She then saw some burning vehicles, and then one fireball.

“Got one at least.”

“Good enough,” Sweaty smiled beneath her oxygen mask. Then she turned to pick up the CO's element. She also saw Hoser making his run.

“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He watched as Sweaty made hers, and adjusted to hit the trailing elements of the convoy. Like Sweaty, he saw tracers come up, and at least one missile, but he ignored them, concentrating on the bomb run. As Sweaty had told him, he selected CENTERLINE, and that meant six Rockeyes. The trucks and their trailers grew larger in his pipper. “And.. And... NOW!” Hoser hit the pickle button, and sent his CBUs downrange. He then pulled up and away, jinking like his element lead, and dodging one SA-7 as he did. Then Hoser called, “Four's off.”


“Verdamnt!” The Captain shouted as Hoser's F-4 came in. He pounded his fist into the ground as the F-4 released its bombs, and the CBUs showered the rear of the convoy. Again, the trucks, missiles and trailers and the APC exploded as bomblets found their mark. The Captain got up, and saw the convoy wrecked, with almost every vehicle ablaze. He glanced upwards, and saw several aircraft circling. Then they flew off to the north, evidently viewing his convoy as no longer worth attacking, and he shared that view. When his deputy, a Senior Lieutenant, straggled to him after barely escaping his BTR blowing up, the Captain said, “Take my vehicle and go to the nearest traffic-control point. Report this to brigade and advise them we need all possible assistance. Go!”


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted as Hoser pulled clear. “We have secondaries!”

“How many?”

“Several,” KT replied as Hoser banked the aircraft so that he could get a look.

“That's good enough for now.”


Guru and Kara had gone north, then turned back as Sweaty and Hoser made their runs. They saw the smoke and the fireballs coming up. “Those missiles won't be bothering anybody,” Guru noted.

“Lead, Sweaty. That got 'em.”

“I see it, Sweaty. Good work, you and Hoser,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's keep going.”

“For how long?” Kara asked.

“Forty minutes' fuel, then we head north. And somebody's going to be in a world of hurt before we go,” Guru replied. They didn't get paid for bringing ordnance back home. Though the CO did wonder how many flights were going to dump on Stephenville Airport if they couldn't find a missile-related target. The Flight turned north, still following U.S. 281 northbound, but as they did, RWRs began to light up. Stephenville's SA-4s were now up and active, and Guru led the flight in a left turn, away from town to the Southwest.

“Dublin in thirty seconds,” Goalie advised. “Turn in twenty-five.” She was checking her map, but still scanning outside. Dublin held more East Germans, and their divisional level air defense assets. In this case, SA-6.

“Roger that.”

“Turn on my mark, five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned right, doing a 180, and as the flight matched him, they went towards Harbin-more a collection of ruins than a town.

Just above in One-seven, Paul Jackson and Dave Gledhill were scanning intently. Not just for airborne company, but also for Scuds. They had flown Scud hunts a few times since coming to Texas, but hadn't found any. “Anything?” Jackson asked as he kept an eye out for any fixed-wing or helo company.

“Nothing yet..” Gledhill replied, scanning with binoculars. “Wait... Got something here.”

Jackson rolled left, then he saw it as well. “Bloody hell! Those are Scuds!” He noticed the three MAZ-543 TELs, with one of them having a missile fully elevated to launch position, and two more nearby. “Lead, this is Seven. Got some Scuds here at our Five.”

Flossy then called, “Lead, Six. Confirm Scuds. F.M. 847 and 243. South side.” Her RWR began to light up. “Got at least one Zoo-23.” That meant ZSU-23-4 and those things were very deadly.

“Roger that,” Guru said as he banked around. “Five, you and Flossy take some Rifle shots. Kill all the air-defense you find. That'll mark the target. Sweaty, you and Hoser stay clear. Seven and Eight, kill any party-crashers. Two, on me.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called, and the element leads did the same.

“Mustang One-five,” Dave Golen called, “Rifle!” He shot a Maverick, then did it again.

“Flossy has a Rifle!” She shot her Maverick, then repeated the shot. Four columns of smoke began to rise around the launch area.

In 512, Guru began to come down on the target area as the RWR cleared. The GUN warning light went off as did the strobe and the “AA” on the RWR display. Good. He saw at least one missile launcher elevated, and two more in the process of doing so. “Starbuck, drop all in one,” Guru said, calling his wingmate. As he did, Goalie worked the armament switches.

“All set back here. Everything in one pass.”

“Then let's do it.” The CO took 512 down on the bomb run.



At the missile battalion, the East German commander was pleased so far. The day's fire missions had gone off, and hopefully had caught the Amis off guard. The last thing they would expect was missile strikes either during, or on the heels of, a storm, Though the R-17s (Scud-B) were notoriously inaccurate with an HE or CBU warhead, the Captain was hoping that his missiles had made the Americans take notice.

Now, in their final launch position for the day, the Third Battalion, 5th Rocket Brigade was preparing to send a salvo against the Wichita Falls area. Though targeted on either Sheppard AFB or on the Downtown Airport, the Captain knew that the missiles would likely land in the general area of the two fields-and actually hitting the airfields would be a bonus. Once the fire mission was executed, the battalion would then move to a preselected hide site, where they would wait out the night and the next day, then tomorrow night? The battalion would give the Amis some more reminders that the war wasn't over.

Unfortunately, one of his MAZ-543 TELs had broken down en route to this launch point, and he had told the vehicle commander that, once repaired, to simply move to the hide site. That taken care of, the Captain got out of his BTR-70 command vehicle and saw that one of his TELs had its missile fully erected into launch position, and the two others were in the process of doing so. Suddenly, his two ZSU-23-4 AA vehicles, and two Strela-1 (SA-9) SAM vehicles took missile hits and exploded in fireballs. Looking around, he saw two F-4 Phantoms orbiting to the south, and four more orbiting just behind those. Then a sight chilled him: an F-4 coming in from the Southwest, right for his battalion. “ALARM! AIR ATTACK!” Then the Captain, disdaining his command vehicle, jumped into a ditch.

“Lead in hot!” Guru called as he came in on his bomb run. He saw the one missile fully raised to launch, and selected that one. You are mine, he thought. Seeing some tracers, and at least one SA-7-type missile come up at him, he saw the East Germans were on the ball-if that's who they were. Ignoring the flak and the missile, Guru concentrated on the bomb run, watching as the TEL and the fuel trucks grew larger in his pipper. “Steady... And...And...HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and his dozen Rockeyes came off the racks. He then pulled up and away, jinking as he did, before turning northeast. “Lead's off target.”

The East German Captain huddled in the ditch as he heard the F-4 come in. The WHOOSH of a missile pleased him, as his men were ready to respond, along with some machine-gun and ZU-23 AA fire, but then the aircraft rumbled overhead. Then he heard the explosions-hundreds of them, it seemed, and he knew what they were. Cluster Bombs, he realized. Then came a large explosion, followed by two more. Missile vehicle and fuel trucks, he realized, reaching for his gas mask. Those fumes could be deadly, he knew from experience in both prewar training and during his two years' plus in America. He glanced up from the ditch and saw that the ready missile vehicle and the fuel trucks had been blown apart, and were now just burning junk. He turned, and another F-4 was coming in. The Captain froze at first, then ducked back into the ditch.


“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “And we got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as he jinked left, then right, avoiding an SA-7 flying down his left side.

“Two or three, and they're big!”

“We'll take those.” Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask, then he headed northeast, towards Stephenville.


“Two's in hot!” Kara called as she took 520 in. She, too, saw the missile vehicles, and the flak, and centered the middle of the three TELs in her pipper. Then she watched as the CO pulled out of his run, and the TEL on the right-with the fully raised missile, exploded. The flak, though, kept coming, and so did the SA-7s,for two of the missiles flew past her as she came in. Kara centered the TEL, noting some support vehicles close to it. Say goodbye, Franz, she thought. “And...And... Steady....NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, sending her twelve Rockeyes down onto the Scud launcher below. She then pulled up, jinking to the left, then right, before picking up the CO's bird. “Two's off safe.”


“DAMMT!” the East German Captain yelled to no one in particular as he saw Kara's F-4 come in. He watched, fascinated, as the Ami Phantom came in, ignoring the AA fire and the shoulder-fired missiles, and then released its bombs. He saw the CBUs open up, and the bomblets showered his second launcher and supporting vehicles. Then he ducked again, expecting a number of explosions. The Captain was right, for three large ones followed, signaling the demise of the TEL and two fuel trucks. Then another one came, probably the missile warhead going off... The Captain stood up in the ditch, taking off his mask so that he could shout orders, then he paused. Two more F-4s were coming in....He ducked back into the ditch.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted from 520's back seat. “And there's secondaries!”

“What kind?” Kara asked as she dodged an SA-7 that flew past on her right, then she turned to pick up the CO.

“Big and good!”

“Their lucky day,” Kara smiled beneath her oxygen mask. Then she spotted the CO's bird.


“Lead, Sweaty,” Guru's radio crackled. “Got one more launcher and some additional support vehicles here.”

“Copy that, Sweaty,” Guru replied. “You take the missile, Hoser takes the support trucks. Five and Six, you pick off any stragglers with Rifle shots.Seven and Eight, cover, Then get your asses down and away, and follow me out.”

“Roger that!” Sweaty called. She then turned, did a 180, then rolled in. With Hoser right with her. “Three's in!” She lined up the surviving TEL in her pipper, and saw the tracers coming up. No matter what had just happened, the East Germans kept shooting. Like the CO and Kara, Sweaty ignored the flak and lined up the last TEL. “And.. Steady...Steady...And...HACK!” She hit her pickle button, sending her six remaining CBUs down onto the TEL and the support trucks parked nearby. Sweaty then pulled up and away, jinking to avoid the AAA and the MANPADS still coming her way. When clear, she called, “Three's off target.”


“Schisse!” the Captain said, watching as Sweaty's F-4 came in. He watched the bombs come off the aircraft, and saw they were CBUs again. The bomblets covered his last operational TEL, and not only did the MAZ-543 go up in a fireball, but two fuel trucks and at least one other support truck also disappeared in fiery blasts. Grimacing inside his gas mask, the Captain stood, only to see another F-4 coming in. He jumped back down to the bottom of the ditch, as the men kept shooting.

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher shouted. “There's secondaries!”

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she banked to avoid an SA-7, then turned to pick up both Kara and the CO.

“Righteous ones!” The ex-seminary student replied.

“Good enough,” Sweaty said. She then eyeballed the two F-4s ahead of her.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in. He and KT saw Sweaty's run, and the explosions left in her wake, He smiled, then picked up where some trucks were parked, just south of where the missile launchers had been. Your turn, Hoser said to himself, even as the flak came up. Those East Germans were still there, shooting back no matter how bad they had been hit. Like their grandfathers had been, forty-five years ago, he thought. No matter... Hoser lined up the trucks, and he saw a ZU-23 there also, shooting up at him. “And...And...NOW!” He hit the pickle button, and his half-dozen remaining Rockeyes came off the racks. Hoser then pulled up and away, jinking as he did, and dodging yet another SA-7 in the process. He got clear, then made his call. “Four's off target.”

The Captain grimaced as Hoser's F-4 went on its run, and he watched helplessly as the CBUs rained down on his battalion's support area. Not just a couple of trucks for the men, but even his kitchen truck and a fueler were parked there, and they all were showered with CBU bomblets. The fueler and at least one other truck, along with a ZU-23 whose crew kept shooting until the end, fireballed. The Captain shook his head, then saw two more F-4s come in. They shot missiles this time, and three of his remaining vehicles-including his command BTR-70, also disappeared in fireballs. This has gone from a fine day to a bitch of a one, the Captain thought. Taking off his gas mask, he waved to one of his officers who had escaped the carnage, and began issuing orders. Brigade had to know about this, and the wounded had to be tended to.

“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted. “And we have a few secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Hoser asked. He watched as an SA-7 flew past on his right, then another on his left.

“Really good,” KT replied. “Dave and Flossy going in,” she added.

“Hope we left something for them to kill,” Hoser said, picking up his element lead as he did.


“Four in and out,” Guru noted. “Five and Six, kill any stragglers,” he told Dave Golen and Flossy. “Seven and Eight, cover, then follow them out.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen replied. “RIFLE!” Another “Rifle” call followed, then the IDF Major said, “Five is Winchester and out.”

Flossy then added, “Double RIFLE!” Then, “Six is Winchester.”

“Seven and Eight coming out,” Paul Jackson called.

“Copy,” Guru said. “Follow me, and let's give the folks in Stephenville a little air show. Make their day a little brighter.”

“Even the East Germans?” Goalie asked.

“They're the exception,” Guru said as Stephenville appeared ahead of him. He thundered right over the city, bringing Kara, who was joining up on his right wing, with him. Guru waggled his wings to the citizenry below, as did Kara.

Sweaty, seeing that, did the same, as did Hoser. So did Dave Golen, Flossy, and the RAF. As it turned out, the East Germans in Stephenville were surprised to see eight F-4s come thundering over the city, low and fast. By the time flak gunners were able to shoot, or missile operators could aim SA-14s, the aircraft were gone, much to the frustration of the East Germans. However, the locals were very appreciative, clapping and cheering as the F-4s blew by overhead. As in past instances, the East German commander, General Metzler, told his Political Officer and the Stasi not to get involved.

“How far to the Fence?” Guru asked Goalie as he turned due north just after clearing the town.

“One minute ten,” she replied. “Going out the quick way instead of the scenic?”

“And it's the last thing they'd expect,” Guru said as the flight overflew the East German 11th Motor-Rifle Division's positions. Just as at Stephenville, the defenders were caught by surprise, and had little time to react. As they got to friendly lines, it was the 11th Airborne, and the paratroopers simply waved as the F-4s thundered overhead.

“EW's clear,” Goalie said. The Mainstay's radar signal had gone away, which meant they were out of range. “Crossing the Fence-now.” That meant I-20.

“Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out,” called the CO.

The flight climbed to altitude and found the tankers. They drank enough fuel to get back to Sheppard and have a reserve, but when they got back to the base, the pattern was clear. After landing, they taxied away, and those waiting saw canopies rise, but no fingers to show MiG kills. After taxiing clear of the runway, the flight taxied into their dispersals.

After taxiing into 512's revetment, and getting the “Shut Down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, Guru and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist, while the ground crew put the chocks in place and brought the crew ladder. “Over and done,” Guru said when finished. “And we found what we were looking for.” He took off his helmet.

“Some of them, anyway,” Goalie said, doing the same and then standing up in the rear seat. “Now, we've got what? An hour to an hour and a half of effective daylight by my reckeoning. Do we go back out?”

Guru stood up himself. “A very good question.” Both he and Goalie climbed down from the aircraft and Sergeant Crowley was waiting, with bottles of water as usual. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“How'd you guys do, Major?” Crowley asked.

Guru took the bottle offered him and downed half of it. “Found what we were looking for.” He looked around and after a quick post-flight walk-around, nodded. “Five-twelve's still truckin'.” The CO noticed a lack of ordnance people and their products waiting. “Get her ready, just in case they want us out there some more.”

The Crew Chief let out a grin. “You got it, Major! All right, people! Let's get the CO's bird prepped and ready.”

As the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, where Kara and Brainiac were already waiting. “Nice job, Kara. You and I both got Scuds.”

“They make nice booms when they are fueled,” Kara grinned. “Or when the fuel trucks go up next to 'em.”

Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT came up. “A missile convoy and a Scud launcher. Not a bad day's work,” Sweaty noted.

“Even on a stand-down day,” Hoser said. “What happened to the fourth missile? Don't they usually have four per battery?”

“Maybe somebody got to him before we could,” Dave Golen said as his element, followed by Dave Gledhill's people, came over.

“Good a reason as any, that,” Gledhill said. This wasn't the first Scud Hunt he had been on. Though the RAF had not expended any ordnance...

Guru nodded. “Maybe,” he said after a moment. “Okay, no ordnance guys here means we're not likely to go back out. We need to talk to Sin and debrief, and I'll talk to Colonel Brady and make sure we're not going back. Then we all need to check our desks. Make sure there's nothing in the IN box.”

Sweaty groaned. “Do we have to make the armchair warriors happy?”

“Unfortunately,” Guru nodded. “We're still on the clock for another forty minutes.” Then a Dodge Crew-cab pickup arrived, with Airman Kellogg in the driver's seat. “Come on and let's go.”

[jemhouston]

We did notice the launches, do you notice our reaction?

[Poohbah]

Though the R-17s (Scud-B) were notoriously inaccurate with an HE or CBU warhead, the Captain was hoping that his missiles had made the Americans take notice.

Congratulations, it worked, ya f***ing happy now?

[Wolfman]

And some East Germans get their well-deserved Darwin Awards…

[Matt Wiser]

After a longer than-intended delay caused by RL, other writing (TLW), and then writer's block, the next chapter:


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1650 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat behind his desk, going over some papers. These mainly dealt with squadron business, such as signing off on enlisted evaluations, or, in two cases, permission to get married. To his surprise, both were planning to go back home and marry their high-school sweethearts, even if said sweethearts were in the service. The CO had heard that marriages between local girls and servicemen were increasing in other units-mostly Army and Marine. Given how much the new bride could get in an allotment check every month, that would put them above many of their neighbors. Considering how the local economy was still trying to get out of the tank, the CO mused, well, all power to 'em. Applying his signature when necessary, he put the papers in his OUT box, and got up to have a look outside his office window. The Eastbound C-141 had made its stop, and was taxiing out for takeoff, while F-4s and F/A-18s were coming in. Another day of flying done. He stood there, watching, arms folded in front of his chest, when a knock on the door came. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The XO came in, clipboard in hand. “Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said. “Got a couple things for you.”

Nodding, the CO stepped back from the window. “Lay it out, Mark.”

“First, aircraft status report. We'll have twenty for the morning.”

The Major scanned the paper, then looked at his XO. “Two down for maintenance? Mark, today was a stand-down-or it was supposed to be.”

“Battle damage, Boss,” Ellis replied. “Small-arms fire. Should have both back by noon.” Often, small-arms damage was not that bad, but sometimes... And a grunt Ivan with a light machine gun could bring down a multimillion-dollar aircraft.

“That's good. Anything else?” Guru wanted to know.

The XO nodded. “That C-141, besides the newspapers, had some things for us. First, two new ejection seats, along with two new radar dishes.”

“Let me guess: the bottlenecks in Supply have mysteriously gone away, Tanner or Sundown kicked a few asses, or Ross did good.”

“As you're fond of saying, Boss,” grinned the XO. “Any of those answers can be graded as correct.”

Major Wiser nodded back. “You got that right, Mark. What else?”

“Two dozen LGB kits. Ross is still trying to snag another Pave Tack.”

“Good. We can play with some laser bombs a lot more, and go for some point targets. No more dumping two dozen Mark-82s on a “Liberation Radio” facility when four LGBs do the job. And that's just the start.”

Ellis looked at the CO. “I thought those chumps who thought that was a good idea got sent packing pre-BOLO II?” He was recalling Sundown Cunningham's visit, when the AF Vice-Chief of Staff had ordered Tenth AF's Ops Cell cleaned out.

“They were, and so far, the replacements have done pretty good,” Guru admitted. “Still, you never know if or when one of 'em will get hit by the Good Idea Fairy, and, well...”

“Point taken. Anyway, Ross also got some of the stuff he needs for horse-trading.”

“Also very good,” the CO noted. Then a knock at the door came. “Yeah?”

Goalie came in. “Ready to knock off?”

“Just about,” Guru said.

“Well, heard this from one of the RAF GIBs. One of their birds may not get scrapped when they return 'em to the Navy.”

“What?” The XO asked. “Thought they were all going to be carved up for parts.”

“That was my impression as well,” Guru said. “What do you mean, Goalie?”

“Ever hear the term 'Vandy One'?” Said Goalie.

“I don't get it,” Ellis said.

“I do,” the CO nodded. “Let me guess: a gloss black F-4, a '1' painted on both sides of the nose in front of the cockpit, and a Playboy Bunny painted on the tail.”

“You guess right,” Goalie grinned. “Anyway, Razor Wilkenson was in, and he said the bird he and Karen McKay usually fly has that in the log book. So..”

“So the Navy takes that one aside, takes what they can, and when this is over, it gets restored and put out as a gate guard or donated to a museum.”

“That's what I'd do,” Goalie said, and both the CO and XO nodded. Then everyone noticed Sin Licon coming to the office. A quick knock, then he came in.

“Sin?” Guru asked. “What's got you out of breath?”

The Intel paused to catch his breath, then said, “Boss, you're going to want to turn on CNN. Something big happened in Moscow.”

Guru reached for the remote, as Goalie asked, “What happened? Did Chebrikov suddenly keel over and go to hell?”

“Here's hoping,” Guru said as he turned on the office TV. It was always tuned to CNN.

“Not quite, but somebody tried to help him with that,” the Intel said.

“What?” Goalie asked, incredulous. “You are shitting us.”

“No joke,” Sin said as the TV came on, and CNN's Bernard Shaw was on. “Somebody tried to whack Chebrikov and maybe a couple other Politburo members. It broke about twenty minutes ago.”

The TV screen showed CNN's anchor, with the “Breaking News” title below. “For those of you just joining us, it's now Six P.M in Atlanta, Five P.M on the front lines in Texas, Four P.M in Phoenix, Denver, and the front lines in Canada, and Three P.M on the West Coast. There has been an attempt on the life of Soviet Premier Chebrikov in Moscow. This is coming from our friends at Swedish TV. They are reporting that as the Premier and several Politburo members were leaving the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, multiple gunshots rang out. Soviet State TV and Radio are saying that the General Secretary was unhurt, but that two of his security men were killed, that a member of the Politburo was grazed by a bullet, and that the would-be assassin was himself killed by Soviet security men. The area around the Bolshoi has been sealed off by Soviet Security Forces, and information is still sketchy at this time.”

Whoa, Guru thought. “Okay, before we head to the Club and see this on the big-screen, Sin, your thoughts? You're the intel guy here.”

“Okay, Major,” Sin said. He thought for a moment, then started. “First, a lone nut, just like here. Somebody who thought he'd be famous if he killed somebody important.”

“Even there?” Asked the XO.

“Even there,” Sin nodded. “Next: Somebody disaffected with the war and how it's going. Either they want peace talks, a cease-fire, all of it, or somebody who's pissed off that they're losing, and wants someone more aggressive in charge.”

“Not good in the last,” Guru noted.

The Intel agreed. “Not good, Boss. Then there's a case of Politburo infighting. Three or four members go to the KGB Boss and ask if he'd like a new General Secretary. If he says 'yes', then he gets somebody who's expendable. The guy succeeds? He gets a trial for Treason and Murder, and a bullet in the back of the head. And since he failed-he got greased by Chebrikov's security guys.”

“And they bide their time again until they can take another shot at him,” said Guru. “Literally.”

“That's about the size of it.”

The XO was still incredulous. “That sort of thing happens in the Middle East, Latin America, and shitholes in Africa. Not in Russia.”

“There's always a first time,” Goalie reminded everyone.

“There is,” Guru said. “Okay, let's hit the Club, get some food, and see it on the big screen.”


When they got to the Club, the place was already abuzz. As expected, the big-screen TV was showing news coverage, but this one was CBS, showing its “Special Report” banner, with Walter Cronkite anchoring. CBS, too, was getting a Swedish channel's news coverage from Moscow, and the “Most Trusted Man in America” spoke.

“Good evening from Los Angeles. For those of you just joining us, there has been an attempt on the life of the Soviet Premier, Vitkor Chebrikov. Details are still sketchy, but it has been confirmed by our friends at SVT in Sweden. Their Moscow Bureau is reporting that the assassination attempt took place outside the Bolshioi Theater in Moscow, where the Soviet leader had been attending a performance of the Bolshoi Ballet.” The anchor put his hand to an earpiece, then added, “Our former Moscow Bureau Chief, Tom Fenton, is with us from London with additional details. Tom?”

“Walter,” Fenton started. “This was a performance attended not just by the General Secretary, but also by several Politburo members and their wives.”

“Hell of a night on the town,” Guru noted as they bellied up to the bar. “The usual, Smitty.”

“You got it, Major,” the barkeep said. He produced a Sam Adams for the CO, and Bud for the others.

Guru paid him, then added, “Took a brave man who tried to pull that off.”

“There's more,” Smitty noted, gesturing to the TV.

“We're getting more information from our friends at SVT,” Fenton said. “They are now reporting that a single gunman attacked the Premier and at least four other Politburo members as they left the theater, and that at least three of the Soviet Security men who accompany the Premier were hit, before the gunman was himself killed in a hail of bullets.”

Colonel Brady came up.”Whoever did that had guts. He probably knew he wasn't coming back.”

“Either he gets wasted by the KGB security guys, or they try him for Treason, and then a bullet in the back of the head,” Mark Ellis said. “Either way, he was a dead man going in.”

“Has anybody ever tried this before?” Smitty asked.

“Once,” A voice said. Heads turned, and it was Lt. Col. Gene Dennis, the MAG-11 Intel Officer. “Back in '69, somebody took a shot at Brezhnev. Missed him, gave a couple of the Cosmonauts grazing wounds from stray bullets, and they wound up throwing the guy into one of those 'Mental Institutions' they use on dissidents.”

Guru nodded, then said, “He was probaby wishing he'd been shot.”

“Not arguing that, Major,” Dennis said. “So far, nothing yet from Soviet State TV or Radio. We've got CNN on in the Intel spaces, and they know just about as much as we do.”

“That''s going to change,” Colonel Brady observed as Erica came in, with a familiar figure walking alongside her, and the two were in conversation. “Looks like Ms. Mason's met her bodyguard for tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Goalie asked, and heads turned. They saw Erica chatting pleasantly with Ranger Cordell Walker. “She's in good hands, looks like.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “And anyone want to bet she'll be getting some additional security when she does go into town? After what just went down, some PSD slug might just try to avenge that.”

Brady nodded .”That's a bet I wouldn't take, and nor would Captain Thrace,” he said as Kara, Sweaty, and several other 335th crewers came in, followed by Ms. Wendt and her people.

Heads nodded, but before everyone went to grab a table, Mark Ellis asked, “How does this affect us?”

“Good question, Captain,” Dennis said. “A lot of folks in places like Langley, MI-6, and so on are going to be working just that. But Chebrikov's going to be pissed, and he'll want to lash out somehow. Try and get people to forget that somebody thought the world would be better off without him.”

Guru wanted to know, “When does the hammer drop on that?”

“Good question, Major,” Dennis said. “Could be as early as tonight, but more likely tomorrow. We'll just have to see.”

“And on that happy note, Major,” Brady said. “You all have a good evening. We'll be busy tomorrow, and be ready for whatever comes.”

“Yes, sir,” said Guru. Before he went over to where Kara and Sweaty had claimed a table for their flight, he went over to Jana Wendt, who was talking woth Cosmo. “Ms. Wendt?”

“Major,” Ms. Wendt replied. “Just had a nice talk with Cosmo. Almost finished with that story on the 'unmanned' Phantoms in your squadron.”

“Good to know,” the CO said. “Anyway, I was wondering: did you pick up anything before you came over here?”

Ms. Wendt knew full well what he was referring to. She shook her head. “Sorry, Major, but Sydney doesn't know any more than what CBS in L.A.'s saying.”

Guru nodded understanding. But it was worth a shot anyway. “Had to ask.”

“I don't blame you for asking, Major,” she replied.

“We'll be busy tomorrow, Major,” Cosmo said. And Guru saw by the tone of her voice it wasn't a question.

“You've got that right.”

The CO then went to a table that Goalie, Kara, Brainiac, and the rest of the flight had claimed.

“Well, Boss, hell of a day, for a stand-down,” Kara said. “And to cap things off, somebody's gone and taken a shot at ol' Comrade Chebrikov.”

“And that somebody got greased by his KGB detail,” Sweaty pointed out.

“I'm not arguing with either one of you,” Guru nodded.

“Just hope it's the exception and not the rule,” added Goalie.

The Ops Officer came by with the papers, and after passing them out, Van Loan asked, “Anything catch your eyes?”

Guru looked up from the L.A. Times. “Apart from today? Not much happening. Though Super Tuesday's not that far off.”

“That'll be a hell of a day,” Goalie said, looking up from the Orange County Register.

Kara nodded as she glanced through USA Today. “Says here there was another anti-war protest in Prague.”

“How many?” Sweaty asked as she skimmed Stars and Stripes. “Not that many, I'd bet.”

“If you'd said some dollar amount, I'd be paying you now,” said Kara. “About twenty or so, the article says. All parents of guys killed or missing over here. Their placards? All in Czech and English.”

“They all get run in?

“Yep,” Kara said, reading through the article. “The AFP reporter said they all went quietly.” She looked up. “No heads got busted.”

Then the restaurateurs who ran the Mess Operation came in. “Folks, got some Chicken-Fried Steaks-they're bison, but they're good, and some real Bar-B-Q Pork Chops, with all the Fixin's. Come and get it!”

After people got their food, they tried to pay attention to the TV while eating. Then someone yelled, “Turn it up!”

Smitty turned up the TV as Cronkite was saying “-Secretary Chebrikov is about to make a statement. It's now 1:40 AM in Moscow.” Then the screen showed the Swedish TV network's screen of a desk with a pair of microphones-in a Kremlin office it looked like, and General Secretary Chebrikov sat down at the desk and then began to speak.

“Citizens of the Soviet Union, Comrades of the Party, and the soldiers, airmen, and sailors of the Soviet Armed Forces!” Chebrikov said. “I am speaking to you at this late hour to show to you, our allies, and especially our enemies, that I am alive and uninjured. I, along with my wife, and members of the Politburo, were attacked earlier this evening in Moscow as we left the Bolshoi. The coward who committed this attack with gunfire killed three members of the security forces, before he was himself killed. Whoever is behind this, let me make this perfectly clear: they will be rooted out without mercy. They will pay, and pay dearly, for this outrage.

“This attack only reinforces our desire to continue to prosecute the war, no matter what setbacks have occurred in the past, whether in America, in Iceland, at sea, or anywhere else. As Lenin himself said, “As long as capitalism and socialism exist, we cannot live in peace: in the end one or the other will triumph. A funeral dirge will be sung over the Soviet Republic or over world capitalism.. And it will be OUR choir who will be singing!

Several people muttered, “In your dreams, Comrade,” or “Fat chance, chump.”

“I urge our workers, our farmers, and above all, the members of our armed forces, to continue their efforts to bring about our final victory. We will prevail, and we will triumph!” With that, Chebrikov got up from the desk and went off-camera.

Sin Licon said, “I'll say this for the bastard: he's persistent.”

Colonel Brady nodded. “That he is, and the SOB is totally ideological. He just proved that.”

Major Kathy Barzanian was at the same table with Erica, Ranger Walker, and Ryan Blanchard. They had been discussing security for Erica's rally in Downtown Wichita Falls the following afternoon. “Ranger, you thinking what I'm thinking?”

The Ranger, who some on base felt had more than a passing resemblance to the actor Chuck Norris, nodded. “I'll talk to some friends. There'll be extra Army MPs and Resistance people there tomorrow at the rally. And you're meeting Sergeant Sicso tomorrow morning, right?” He asked Erica.

“I am, and from what you two told me earlier, I'm in good hands,” the ex-Wolverine said.

“If Warrant Officer Henrix was here, things would be perfect,” Barzanian said. “Since she's on an assignment, there's some AF Special Reconnaissance operators here in between missions. I'll have some of them there also. You'll be fine.”

Erica understood. She had gotten used to security at these kinds of events, and someone had told her “You can never have enough.” That, though, was common to lots of things in the military... “I'm not afraid of Chebrikov, or some PSD slug. I may not have that AK tomorrow, but I'll have my .45 handy.”

“Good girl,” Walker said, and Barzanian's head nodded.


“So, Boss,” Kara said. “Tomorrow might be a hell of a day. Again.”

“Again,” Guru nodded. “So be prepared for Scuds, CAS, you name it.”

“Same drill up north,” Dave Gledhill said from the next table over.

The CO nodded as Kara went to the pool table. She easily defeated two Navy pilots from VA-135, a Marine NFO from VMFA-333, and two transiting C-130 drivers.

Doc Waters called “Twelve-Hour!” at 1900 sharp, and two hours later, came aircrew curfew. The next day promised to be a busy one, and everyone wanted to be ready. For aircrew wakeup at 0430 would come before they knew it.

[Poohbah]

Erica somehow managed to keep the good part of herself consistently in mind, even when she was risking her neck in PSD-infested territory.

Sophie, during the war, was sometimes extremely tone-deaf in how she presented herself. She could unnerve hardened combat vets and utterly terrify REMFs. More than one of her friends has told me about how her smile could sometimes be less of an expression of happiness and more of a wolf that's just spotted an afternoon snack.