Repost: Sundown Goes to Sheppard

[Matt Wiser]

Sundown Cunningham's Visit to Sheppard:



Sundown at Sheppard




Tinker AFB, Oklahoma; 9 December, 1987, 1100 Hours Central War Time:


General Larry “Sundown” Cunningham stood on the ramp at Tinker, and was very pleased with what he saw. The base had been recaptured during Operation PRAIRIE FIRE in May, and almost immediately, TAC squadrons had moved in. Prewar, the base had been the home of the 552nd AWAC Wing, but now, the AWACS were all dispersed to multiple operating locations, leaving Tinker to the F-111s and A-6s of the 48th TFW, along with the 122nd TFW from the Indiana ANG, and their F-4Es. Fortunately, the base had been taken by the Army in a coup de main, along with the rest of Oklahoma City, and had been largely intact, though wrecked MiGs and Sukhois on the ramp, and a few bomb craters in runways, had marred the scene. The AF's RED HORSE teams, working with Army Engineers, had worked overtime getting the field ready for operations, and now, the base was humming again. Not quite prewar standards, but well enough to suit the tastes of the Vice-Chief of Staff.

However, there was something bothering him. When talking with the base commander, the one-star had told him that the OSI was very concerned, along with the U.S. Marshals and the FBI. The concern was that the base-along with every other base in liberated territory, no matter how big or small-had hired civilian employees to not only get the base going again, but also to get money flowing to help rebuild the civilian economy. All well and good, the one-star had said, but that the state had been completely occupied, except for the guerilla stronghold in the Quachita Mountains and in the swamp country in the southeast, and the validity of many state-issued ID s was considered suspect. Not all of the known PSD people had been caught-and when they were, it was a question of who caught them, for if the Resistance people did, the subject was often disposed of on the spot, and if the Army or Federal Marshals did? After interrogations, the process from trial to execution was quick, usually two weeks. It was also a given that there were still Spetsnatz around, and both the Army and the Resistance were still on the alert. Naturally, Tinker-and Will Rogers World Airport to the west,which was a hub of MAC activity, were very lucrative targets, and not only was the AF's own Combat Security Police, but the Army and the local Resistance, watching out for any signs of the Soviets-or the Cuban counterparts, the TE.

Now, General Cunningham turned to his ADC, a Major who walked with a pronounced limp, and also regarded a beat-up C-130B that sat not far away. “That Herky-bird for us, Major?”

“Yes, sir,” Major Mike O'Connell replied. He had been an F-4 driver with the 31st TFW's 309th TFS, before taking flak over Cuba. He had managed to bail out over the Bahamas, and both he and his GIB had been picked up by local fishermen. It had been his bad luck to land on some rocky coral, and had broken his leg in two places. Now, after two surgeries and ongoing rehab when not busy as the General's aide, he was hoping to get back into the cockpit. “Both General Horner and General Tanner insist on staying anynomous.” He was referring to Lieutenant General Charles “Chuck” Horner, who commanded the Ninth Air Force in the Southeast and Midwest, and Major General Robert Tanner, who commanded the Tenth Air Force in the Southwest and Western Texas. Both generals had a policy of traveling by the most inconspicuous means, and in this case, that meant the dirtiest, trashiest, and patched-up C-130 one could find. “If Ivan sees your C-21 flying around...”

“No explanation necessary, Major,” Cunningham said. VIP transports on both sides were obvious targets, and he had found out via Intel that Marshal Kribov, the Soviet Theater Commander in the Lower 48, had nearly been killed in an air strike on a field where his Yak-40 VIP transport had been caught on the ground. Kribov had escaped, but the lesson was just as applicable to Cunningham, and many other senior officers: Travel inconspicuous, and you won't be an obvious target. Nor will the people you're visiting. Fair enough. “And our next stop's Sheppard?”

“Yes, sir. After that, Altus, then Clinton-Sherman. Then it's Amarillo and points west.”

“Then let's go, Major.” Cunningham went up the cargo ramp, where the C-130's crew-who were from the West Virginia ANG before the war, met him. A few minutes later, the C-130 was taxiing out. After waiting on a flight of F-4s and an inbound C-141, the Herky-bird taxied onto the runway, and was airborne a couple of minutes later. After climbing out to FL 100, the pilot set course to the southwest.


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 1245 Hours Central War Time:


The storm cellar beneath the 335th's Squadron Office was busy. Normally, no one was here, unless there was an air raid or a Scud alarm, but for the past week and a half, it was busy about this time of day. For strike planners from the 335th, as well as the Marine squadrons in Marine Air Group 11, to which the 335th was attached, had been going over maps, photos, and other intelligence information about three Soviet airfields in Central Texas. With the goal in mind of culling out as many of the Soviet 16th Air Army's Su-24 force as possible on their staging fields. The problem was that the planners didn't know which field would be the target, or when they would be flying the mission. And just like a prewar exercise, the table in the room was filled with said maps and photos, but also lunch cartons. For this was a working lunch, and had been since they had gotten started.

For Major Matt “Guru” Wiser, the CO of the 335th, the plan was his, but he and his squadron mates were all involved in the planning. The CO was modeling the strike on the famous Operation BOLO from 1967, right down to who was doing the planning. Namely, those who would fly the mission would be planning it as well. And the room was full. Not just the CO's flight, but also the XO's, the Ops Officer's, and two others. Half of the squadron's pilots and GIBs, plus a number of Marines, were busy.

He turned to Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace, his wingmate, and said, “Show me TSTC Airport again. You know, the old Connally AFB.” That target was just north of Waco.

“Right here,” Kara said, showing her flight lead and CO a photo from what was likely an SR-71 pass. “And there's a problem.”

“What?” Capt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, who was Guru's GIB, asked.

“Have a look.” Kara tapped to the north end of the field. “Ivan just moved a Triple-A site. It's just to the right of the egress route.”

“What kind of Triple-A?” Asked Capt. Mark Ellis, the Squadron Exec.

Kara shook her head. “Can't tell, but it's small.”

Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon, the Squadron Intelligence Officer, or SIO, said. “Looks like 23-mm or 37-mm.”

Lovely, Guru thought. He saw his second element lead, Capt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard, and she shook her head. “All right. Sin, call Tenth Air Force Intelligence and see if they can get us some low-level stuff. Recent imagery, if you please.”

“Will do, Boss,” Licon said.

“All three targets, Sin. Not just Waco.”

Colonel Allen Brady looked at the photo. The MAG-11 commander was invited in by Major Wiser to go over the planning, and see if his more experienced eyes caught anything the others missed. “What about this SA-3 site to the east, Major?”

“Sir, that's what the Weasels are for,” Guru replied. “Somebody-I don't care who right now-puts a HARM on that radar, then one of the Hornets follows up with CBUs. They'll be out of business before we make our run.”

Colonel Brady turned to Marine Capt. Cody Rousel, who would be leading one of the Hornet flights, his from VMFA-451. “Can do, sir.”

IDF Major Dave Golen, who would be leading the last flight in, nodded approval. The 335th's Israeli “Observer” did a lot more than “Observe”, for not only was he involved with mission planning, he was flying strikes on a daily basis, though in full USAF uniform. “And 4th Guards Tank Army's headquarters is here. We've got an Army-level air defense brigade to worry about.”

“Unless they've all suddenly reequipped with SA-11s, and the latest summary says not,” Sin Licon said. “SA-4 is what they're still equipped with.”

“Are they converting over?” RAF Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill, who led the detachment from 74 Squadron, asked. .

“Some of their divisions are.”

Guru nodded, then he said, “All right; let's assume that the Army-level brigade is doing the same.”

“Good thinking, Major,” Brady said. “Those SA-11s are bad news-” A knock on the door interrupted Brady's thoughts. He turned to one of the 335th crewers, 1st Lt. Sandi “Flossy” Jenkins, and said. “See who that is.”

Flossy went to the door, and found one of the Combat Security Policemen who was on duty outside. “What is it, Airman?”

“Ma'am, General Cunningham's here.”

“Did you mean General 'Sundown' Cunningham?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” the Airman, who had been in the Air Force all of nine months, said, and those in the room could tell he was visibly nervous.

Guru looked at Colonel Brady, and they both mouthed, Son of a bitch. Brady nodded at Guru, who said. “He just landed?”

“Past that, sir,” the Airman said. “He's upstairs.”

“Oh, shit,” Kara said.

“My thoughts exactly, Captain,” Brady said.

“All right, Airman, have Captain Blanchard bring him down.” Capt. Ryan Blanchard, an ex-Deputy Sheriff from Michigan, was the Officer-in-Charge of the 335th's attached Combat Security Police Detachment.

The Airman gulped, then said, “Yes, sir.”

A minute later, Cunningham and his aide came down the stairs and into the room. “Ten-shun!' Ryan Blanchard shouted, and everyone came to attention.

“As you were, people,” Cunningham said. He surveyed the room, and what they had told him upstairs was dead on. Not only was there a planning cell, but they looked to be deadly serious about it. “Looks like you people are deep in planning a mission,” he said. He turned to Colonel Brady. “Colonel,”

“General,” Brady said. “If they had told me you were coming...”

“Not at all, Colonel,” Cunningham said. “No sense in giving Ivan any advance notice, given the PSD threat.” He surveyed the material. “What have you got cooking?”

“I'll let Major Wiser explain, General. It's his idea. He sold it to me, then General Olds when he was here.”

Guru gulped, but then Cunningham put out his hand. “Sir,”

“Major, I've heard some about you. That pickup fight with General Yeager's people, for one.”

“General, I can explain-”

“No explanation necessary, Major,” Cunningham said. “You and General Olds wanted to teach those punks of his a lesson, but they wound up teaching you and your people as well. I've read the AAR.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Guru stammered. “We, uh, got humbled ourselves.”

“Three splashes for both,” Cunningham nodded. “We can talk about that later, Major. What's this mission you've got planning?”

After introducing everyone, Guru said, “Sir, what we have in mind is taking out some of Ivan's Su-24s in this part of Texas. That's 16th Air Army, and if we can cull out a regiment's worth of Fencers, they'll have a hard time replacing what we kill, and not just aircraft.”

Cunningham understood what the young Major meant. It wasn't just aircraft, but aircrews. Ivan was starting to feel the pinch that the Navy-both the USN and RN, were doing in the Atlantic, and if a regiment of Fencers got cut down to size or worse, the crated aircraft would be taking up room in a freighter's hold that might instead be holding tanks or ammo. And killing aircrew that even Ivan had trouble replacing quickly would only add to the Soviets' woes. Which were starting to pile up, even if the Russians and their leadership weren't willing to admit it. “You want to catch them at a staging field, then,” Cunningham noted. “I know they're mainly based around San Antonio.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. Nodding at Dave Golen, he added. “Sir, what I have in mind is catching them like the Israelis did to the Egyptians on 5 June '67, or what the Navy did to Nagumo's carriers at Midway. Or...”

“Or, Major?”

“Or what the Japanese did to us-not at Pearl Harbor, but eight hours later, in the Philippines.” Guru was referring to the devastating Japanese strikes on Clark and Iba Fields in the Philippines on Day One of that war, where half of MacArthur's air arm had been destroyed, mostly on the ground. Even after having warning of the attack in Hawaii. And no heads had rolled for that, Guru knew, and so did Cunningham.

“I like the way you talk, Major, and giving Ivan a bloody nose similar to those is a very good thing,” said the General. “Major, I'd like a briefing on this, when you have some time.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “If-” He was interrupted by another knock on the door, then Capt. Don Van Loan, his Ops Officer, came in.

“Boss-Oops-Sorry, sir,” Van Loan said when he saw General Cunningham. “I didn't see you, sir.”

“What's up, Ops?” Guru asked.

“Mission briefs are ready and waiting. We're all back in the game.”

“General, it's game time.” Guru said.

“All right,” Cunningham nodded. “I'll try and stay out of your way, Major. Secure your materials, then get with it. Go out there and take care of some Russians.”

“Yes, sir!” Guru said.

“You heard him,” Brady said. After securing the material in a safe that the 335th's “scroungers” had found, the crews filed out.

“Major?” Cunningham said. “A moment.”

Guru came over to the General. “Sir?”

“Major, Bob Tanner's told me a lot about you and your squadron. Not just what you've done since you took over, but what your predecessor accomplished. You've got a fine outfit here.”

Guru was beaming. “Thank you, sir. I have a good bunch of people. Both aircrew and ground crew.”

“Good to know,” Cunningham said. “I'll be on base the rest of the day and most of tomorrow. I'd like to sit in on a mission brief or two.”

Nodding, Guru said, “Yes, sir.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “General, I'd best get busy.”

“You do that, Major, and one other thing.”

“Sir?”

“Do it to them, before they can do it to you.”

“Will do, sir,” Guru said. Then he headed upstairs to brief his flight. While Cunningham and his aide followed a minute later.

“Well, Major?” Cunningham turned to his aide. “What do you think?”

“General,” Major O'Connell said. “They're some of the most informal people I've ever seen wearing the uniform, and yet, they get results. What's the deal?”

“General Tanner said it best: there's a time and place for snappy salutes, polished boots, and dress uniform. This ain't either one.” He paused, then continued, “Both Tanner and General Olds think highly of this squadron, and we'd better as well.”

“If you say so, sir,” O'Connell said. He was Academy, and had been the senior cadet in his class.

“I do. Now, let's go upstairs. Won't be long until they're taxiing out.”

“Sir?”

Cunningham grinned. “I want to see them off.”


335th TFS, 1255 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser left the planning room and went to the Ops Office, where he found Capt. Don Van Loan waiting. “Ops,” Guru said. “What's on for my flight?”

The Ops Officer handed him a briefing packet. “You're going back to Brownwood.”

“The airport again? Don, we've hit it several times already.”

“Boss, it's not the airport,” Van Loan said. “You're going to a supply dump east of Brownwood.”

Guru looked at the map, and the expected threat level. “Regimental air defense and up. And this is 3rd Shock Army's HQ, and that means Army-level air defense. This one's full of good news.” The CO looked up from the map. “Any chance of Weasels?”

“Ask and ye shall receive, Boss.”

Guru scanned the brief. “Coors One-five and One-six will join at the tanker track. Thanks, Don. You have a good one yourself.”

“Likewise, and be careful out there, Boss. Don't want to be XO just yet,” Van Loan reminded the CO.

“And we all don't want Kara to be Ops Officer yet,” Guru grinned. “Will do,” he said.

Guru left the Ops Office and went to the briefing room his flight usually used. Prewar, it had been a classroom for a T-38 squadron, and the Soviets had also used it as a briefing room. When the CO got there, he found the squadron's Golden Lab mascot, Buddy, waiting outside. He opened the door and found the rest of his flight, including four RAF crewers, already there. “Okay, people, we've got our mission.”

“Where to?” Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace asked. She was his wingmate, and led the squadron in terms of kills by active pilots with nine.

“Early, just east of Brownwood,” Guru replied. “A regiment of tanks is based there, and just southeast of the town, at the U.S. 84/183 and F.M. 2126 intersection, there's a supply dump. Ammo, fuel, the usual. We get to take it out.”

“The place crawls, Boss,” Capt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard, his second element lead, replied. “That still 3rd Shock Army?”

“It is, and they're listed as reequipping with SA-11 at division level,” the intel sheet says. Still SA-4 at Army, though.”

“So, we get regimental level air defense on up,” Goalie said. “We getting Weasels?”

“Right you are on the threat, and we will be. Two Weasels will join up at the tankers. And don't forget Brownwood Regional. The two MiG regiments there? They're still active, both East Germans with MiG-21s, and Ivan with MiG-23s.”

RAF Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill, who led the detachment from 74 Squadron that was flying with the 335th, asked, “Are there MiG-29s still at Goodfellow?” He and his wingmate had each splashed a Fulcrum on their first mission in Texas-to this very area, in fact.

“That's affirmative, Dave,” Guru replied. “You guys want another crack at Fulcrums?”

“There is that,” Gledhill grinned, and the other RAF aircrew had smiles.

“Figures,” Guru said. “Okay, as for ingress. We meet the tankers at Tanker Track CHEVRON, which is over Hubbard Creek Reservoir, west of Breckenridge. Then we get down low, pick up I-20, then Lake Leon and the Leon River. Follow the river to Proctor Lake and then U.S. 67-377. Give the dam a wide berth, by the way, then head south for State Route 36. Keep going due south to Center City, on U.S. 84. We then head on a Two-four-zero heading for the Colorado River. Go right, and follow the river, and watch for flak at the State Route 16 bridge. Keep following the river until you get to where the F.M. 45 bridge stood-it's been down since the invasion, and Ivan hasn't rebuilt it for whatever reason. Turn north, and it's one minute to the target. Pop up, ID the target, and make your run. Get your asses down low and away, and head north for the Fence and the I-20.”

“What's the ordnance?” 1st Lieutenant Nathan “Hoser” West asked.

“Good question. We've all got dumb bombs. The usual mix of Mark-82s and M-117s. No CBUs this close to a town,and for good reason.”

Lieutenant Kathy “KT” Thornton nodded. “No risk of civilian casualties with those-either now or later.” It wasn't a question.

“Right on that. This is farming and ranching country, and nobody wants CBU bomblets getting in the way of some farmer's tractor a few years from now.”

“Usual air-to-air?” 1st Lieutenant Bryan “Preacher” Simmonds, who was Sweaty's GIB, asked.

“It is,” Guru replied. That meant four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, a full load of 20-mm, two wing tanks, and ECM pods. “Thanks to Generals Tanner and Olds, we've now got enough ALQ-119 pods for everybody, and it's about time,” the CO nodded. “Dave?”

Dave Gledhill nodded. “For us, that's four AIM-9Ls, four Sky Flash, a SUU-23 gun pod, and two wing tanks.”

“Sounds good. Now, the MiG threat.”

“And that is?” Kara asked. She was hoping to get her tenth kill and become the first USAF female double ace in F-4s, if not the whole Air Force.

“Other than Brownwood Regional with -21s and -23s, there are MiG-23s and -29s at Gray AAF, and more Fulcrums at Goodfellow. MiG-23s are also at San Angelo Municipal,” Guru said.

Goalie asked, “East Germans still driving the MiG-21s?”

“They are,” Guru said after checking the intel sheet.

“Lovely,” Kara spat. “Those guys are tough.”

“They are,” Dave Gledhill said. The RAF had had a few encounters with the East Germans during their tour. “Tough bastards all around.”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “All right, no specific aimpoints on this one, just drop where there's no smoke and flame,” he noted. “If you can't ID the target? There's a truck park north of the town on U.S. 67/377. That's your alternate.”

“Got you,” Sweaty nodded.

“Anything else?” Guru wanted to know. “All right, that's it,” he said as an Ops NCO came to collect the briefing material. “Let's gear up, and I'll see you at 512's revetment. We're back in the game.”

As the crews got up to leave, Kara noticed the dog, still fast asleep. “Buddy's still asleep.”

“Let him,” Guru said firmly. “As long as he's asleep, it's a good omen.” He was referring to the dog's knack for predicting bad missions. If the dog slept through a mission brief, it was going to be an easy mission. If he was awake and alert, things would be a lot hairy, and the chance somebody wasn't coming back was very good indeed.

The crews went to their locker rooms to gear up, and when Guru came out of the Men's, with survival vest, G-suit and harness on, and helmet in hand, Goalie was there, waiting. She was similarly dressed, and said, “Ready?”

“To earn my flight pay? Let's get it done.”

“And we give forty-five cents of every dollar back to Uncle Sam on April 15,” she quipped.

Guru laughed. “And that's a reminder that wars are expensive.”

They went outside, and found Dave Golen with his GIB 1st Lt. Terry McAuliffe, and one of the two “Unmanned” F-4 crews in the squadron, First Lieutenants Sandi “Flossy” Jenkins and Chloe “Jang” Winters. “Guru,” the IDF Major nodded.

“Dave,” Guru replied. “Getting set to go?”

“That's right, but we've got a problem. We're headed to Brownwood.”

“So are we,” Guru said. “When's your time-over-target?”

The IDF Major looked at the CO. “1345.”

“Same as us,” said Guru, looking at Goalie, who had a frown on her face. “Where's your target, exactly?”

“Here,” Golen said, looking at a JOG map. “Early, just east of Brownwood. There's a truck park-”

“Which is our alternate target,” Guru said, his voice tinged with fury. “Somebody at Nellis has fucked up again.” He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Screw the ATO. You're coming with us. Take off right behind me, and meet up at the tankers.”

Golen nodded. “Understood,” he said. “I thought the Ops Cell was supposed to be cleaned out?”

“If they haven't yet, they ought to be,” Goalie spat. “You going to talk with General Tanner?” She asked Guru.

“When we get back,” said the CO. He was furious already with the Ops people at Nellis, and this was yet one more reason his loathing of this particular bunch was deep.

“Won't Sundown have something to say?”

“When we get back,” Guru said. “We'll see you at the tankers.”

“We'll be there,” Golen said.

Guru and Goalie went to their squadron's dispersal, and the revetment where his bird, 512, was parked. The rest of the flight was already there, waiting. “All right,” he said, ready to give his final instructions. “Usual on the radio.” That meant mission code to AWACS and other parties, but call signs between them. “And the usual bailout areas as well.” Which was anyplace rural and away from roads. “And there's something else.”

“And that is?” Dave Gledhill asked.

“Dave and Flossy are coming with us. They got tasked to hit the truck park that's our secondary,” the CO growled. “Somebody's fucked up at Nellis again, and I'll be on the phone to General Tanner when we get back, and see about having somebody's balls crunched.”

“After which,” Sweaty grinned. “General Cunningham orders that somebody be kicked off Nellis by Sundown.”

“One can hope,” Goalie said.

“Yeah,” Guru nodded. “Okay, we're still Firebird Flight. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right!” The CO clapped his hands. “Let's hit it. Meet up at ten grand overhead.”

The crews headed to their revetments, as Guru and Goalie went into 512's and found Staff Sergeant Michael Crowley, the Crew Chief, waiting. He snapped a salute, as usual, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. “Major, Captain,” Crowley said. “Five-twelve's ready to go back out and kick some more Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did a walk-around, before climbing the Crew Ladder and mounting the aircraft. They strapped in, put on their helmets and plugged in their oxygen masks, before beginning the cockpit checks.

“You going to get in touch with General Tanner?” Goalie asked as they went through the checklist.

“Yeah,” Guru replied. “If those guys are on as thin ice as I think, they're gone,” he said. “Arnie?”

“Sooner the better,” Goalie replied. “Those guys seem like Whiz Kids in uniform. Arnie's up and running,” she said, referring to the ARN-101 DMAS system. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom; check yours.”

“Armed and ready. Preflight complete and ready for engine start,” Goalie said, stowing the checklist.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running, When the warm-up was complete, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Firebird Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Firebird Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Firebird Lead rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who signaled to the ground crew to clear the chocks, then Crowley gave the “taxi” signal. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and once clear, he and Goalie saw Crowley snap a salute, which they both returned.

Guru then taxied to the runway, and right ahead of him was a flight of Marine F-4s, and behind his flight was Dave Golen and Flossy. The Marines taxied to takeoff-then Guru taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then he noticed a Dodge Crew-cab pickup off to the left, near the edge of the runway, and both General Cunningham and his aide were standing next to the truck, watching. He snapped a salute, as did Goalie, and the General returned it. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Firebird lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

The Tower Controller got back to him. “Firebird Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-six at ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto Runway 35L, and then Kara in 520 taxied into his Five O'clock position. A final check, and all was ready. He glanced over at 520, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. They were returned, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Firebird Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The controller didn't reply, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

Guru nodded, then said, “Canopy coming down.” He closed and locked his canopy, and Goalie did the same. A quick look at 520 showed Kara and Brainiac had done the same. Everything was ready. “Ready to go?”

“Let's fly,” Goalie said.

“Let's.” Guru firewalled the throttles to full power, and released the brakes. 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, with the RAF following them. After the RAF F-4Js came Dave Golen's element. Guru waited at FL 100 for his four F-4Es and the two RAF F-4Js to form up, then he set course for the tanker track, with Dave Golen and Flossy following behind.

[Matt Wiser]

Part II, General Starukhin gets a visit, and Tenth AF's Ops Cell gets cleaned out....


Over Central Texas: 1335 Hours Central War Time:


Firebird Flight was headed south, into enemy territory. They had met their tankers, where Dave Golen and Flossy had joined them as impromptu Five and Six, along with the two Weasels, then they had crossed the I-20, which signaled the FLOT, and that meant bad-guy land. Though the actual front line was just south of the freeway, the Interstate signaled the front line for all intents and purposes. The strike flight got down low, dropping down to 500 Feet AGL and doing over 500 KIAS. They picked up Lake Leon, then the Leon River and State Route 16. Not only was the highway a MSR, it also signaled the boundary between the Soviet 32nd Army to the west, and the East German “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg” to the east. One good thing about this route was that the East Germans and the Soviets didn't coordinate much about air defense, and that gave strike flights an easy penetration. Usually.

Guru was watching his instruments in 512, and then, his head on a swivel, he was keeping an eye out for threats. That habit had been drummed into his head at Homestead, and he'd never forgotten it. In the back seat, Goalie, like the other GIBs, was handling the navigation, while also keeping an eye out for threats. “How far to Proctor Lake?” Guru asked.

“Ten miles,” Goalie replied. “Forty seconds.”

“Roger that.” Guru then checked his EW display. So far, so good. No sign of the Mainstay radar that was a royal pain in the ass to just about everyone flying strikes in Texas, and that was a good thing. Though he hadn't heard if any had been killed-either in the air or on the ground, no Mainstays meant an easier penetration, or so he hoped.

“Where's the Mainstay?”

“Good question, but if he's grounded with a mechanical, I'm not complaining,” Guru replied.

“Neither am I,” replied Goalie. “Proctor Lake north shore coming up.”

Guru had visual as the lake appeared. “Got it,” he called. The strike birds thundered over the lake, and as the dam got close, Guru turned a couple degrees left, to clear the dam. The flak gunners there were alert, though, and began spraying 23-mm and 37-mm fire at the F-4s. The gunners didn't lead their targets, and the 37-mm gunners shot too high, for puffs of smoke appeared above the strikers, while 23-mm tracers fell behind the aircraft. Then U.S. 67-377 appeared, and that signaled a turn.

Guru turned due south, but as he did, two strobes appeared on his EW display, with a “S” in a square next to one, and an “M” next to one that was to the southeast. “Got two radars.”

“On it,” Goalie said. “Looks like a search radar and a Mainstay.” Of all the.... “Guess he's not grounded.

“Guess not,” Guru replied. But that meant Ivan was keeping the Mainstays further south than they had been. “How far to Center City?” That was their next turn point.

“One minute thirty.”

“Roger that.” Guru then called the AWACS. “Warlock, Firebird One-one, say threats.”

“Firebird One-one, Warlock,” a controller replied. “First threat bearing Zero-nine-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-three-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-zero for eighty. Medium, going away.” He paused, then added, “Fourth threat bearing Two-five-five for eighty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Say bogey dope?”

“Firebird, First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers. Fulcrums are the fourth.”

“Copy, Warlock,” Guru said. Fulcrums? That'll make Kara's and the RAF's day.

“MiG-29s?” Goalie asked.

“You got it.”

“State Route 36 coming up,” she advised.

“Copy,” Guru said. The two-lane highway appeared, and it had a convoy, with trucks and APCs rolling west. “Not their turn today.”

“Saving bombs...” Goalie said wistfully.


Below, a Soviet Army Captain of Transport Troops was in his BTR-60P, the open-topped version of the APC, and he was in a good mood. His convoy, from Front Headquarters in Temple, had suffered little from air attack or from the counterrevolutionary bandits who called themselves the American Resistance. He had seen the effects of such attacks on those who had been less fortunate, usually hit by air attack, and counted himself-along with his men, to be very lucky. But the convoy didn't have much in the way of air defense. Other than a couple of gun trucks mounting ZPU-4 14.5-mm machine guns, and two more with ZU-23-2 23-mm AA guns, and soldiers with Strela-2 (SA-7) shoulder-fired SAMs, as well as small arms and the machine guns on his and one other BTR, that was it.

The Captain was checking a map, a prewar map that he had been told that anyone could purchase in a filling station, and he had been shocked to hear that. A map this detailed, in the Soviet Army, would have been a classified document. Shaking his head at that, he was checking the distance to 32nd Army Headquarters in Comanche when shouts drew his attention. He looked around, then up, and saw several American fighters coming for his convoy. The Captain said a prayer to the nonexistent God that his parents still believed in, but the American aircraft simply overflew the convoy, headed south. Thanking the same nonexistent God, the Captain ordered the convoy to keep going. That concerned him the most. Where the American aircraft were headed, and what they were going to attack, didn't.


“That's Route 36,” Guru said. “How long to Center City?”

“Ninety seconds,” was Goalie's reply. “Twenty-four miles.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He glanced at the EW display. “Still got the Mainstay.”

“He'll be there for a while,” Goalie called. She kept up her visual scanning. “Still clear.”

Guru nodded, then maintained his own scanning. There had been plenty of times when having two sets of eyes in the cockpit had saved their asses, and that was one reason that Guru was hoping the F-15E program was running ahead of schedule. The sooner the squadron transitioned to the Strike Eagle, the better, he felt.

The Hill Country of Texas flew by below them, as the strike flight pressed south. So far, only the Mainstay radar was on the EW displays, but that could change at any moment, the crews knew from experience. “Center City in when?” Guru asked.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. “Still clear on the EW.”

“So far,” Guru reminded her. The small town on U.S. 84 appeared, more a collection of houses than a town, but it did signal a turn point. “Call it.”

“Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK! Two-four-zero.”

“Roger that!” Guru put the F-4 into a right turn, and picked up the new heading, which would take them to the Colorado River. “One minute to the river?”

“One minute,” replied Goalie.

Guru took a look around, and found the rest of the flight, and that included both Dave Golen's element and the Weasels, right with him. Country roads, the occasional pond or small lake, and hills, all passed below as the strike flight headed for the river and the next turn point. The crews couldn't see them, but a number of farmers and ranchers, out on their rounds, waved to the F-4s as they flew by. To them, that was another sign that things were not only looking up, but that the good guys would be coming-soon, they all hoped.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie advised.

“Copy that,” said Guru. He saw the Mainstay's radar strobe get brighter on the display. “Flight, Lead. Music on, and let's jam the shit out of that Mainstay.” He switched on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and the others did as well.

Goalie called it next. “Fifteen seconds.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. “And there's the bridge.” He meant the State Route 16 Bridge over the Colorado. As the bridge appeared, so did the flak from the 23-mm and 37-mm gunners on both sides of the river. “Turning...now.” Guru put the F-4 into another right turn, and followed the river, while the flak gunners, caught nearly by surprise, failed to track the fast-movers, and their fire fell well away.

“Forty-five seconds to next turn,” said Goalie.

Guru nodded in the front seat. “Got it.” Then he called the AWACS. “Warlock, Firebird Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller came back to him. “Firebird, Warlock. First threat bearing Zero-nine-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing Two-six-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing Three-zero-zero for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Say bogey dope?”

“Firebird, First threats are Floggers. Second and third are Fulcrums.”

“Firebird Lead copies,” replied Guru. Two groups of MiG-29s? Oh, boy.... “Ready for some Fulcrums?”

“If they get past the RAF,” Goalie reminded him. “Twenty seconds to turn.” The turn point soon appeared, as the ruins of the F.M. 45 Bridge appeared. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned north, hard, and settled on a heading of Zero-zero-four. “Time to pop-up?”

“One minute.”

Guru thought for a moment, then nodded. “Set 'em up.”

“Roger that!” Goalie worked the armament control panel, though Guru had the primary, there was one for the backseater. She worked the switches, then called. “All set. Everything in one pass.”

Guru nodded. “Good girl,” he said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called, and the others followed.

Goalie called it next. “Pull in fifteen.”

“Weasels, go to work,” Guru called the Weasels.

“Roger, Firebird,” Coors One-five called back. The two F-4Gs climbed up, and then everyone's EW displays lit up as SA-4, SA-11, and gun radars came up, and “Magnum” calls on the radio signaled HARM or Standard-ARM missile shots.

“Stand by....And...PULL!” Goalie said.

Guru pulled back on the stick, and as he did, the two RAF F-4Js shot ahead to establish their TARCAP. Glancing to the right, he rolled, and spotted the target. “Visual on target.”

“All set,” said Goalie.

He rolled in. “Ready?”

“Do it!”

“Let's go,” Guru said as he took 512 in on the bomb run.


At the Brownwood City Hall, General Starukhin was talking with Major General Dimitri Nazonov, the new Commander of the 10th Guards Tank Division. The new commander had just flown in from Cuba, where he had been commanding the 26th Guards Tank Division, which had arrived from the Moscow MD, and had been converted from a Training Unit to a combat division. Nazonov had impressed Marshal Kribov with the way he had turned the training unit to a front-line one, and gave him to Starukhin. Though Nazonov had no combat experience, he was well known as a tough trainer of troops, and was tougher on the officers than the men, not hesitating to cull out the deadwood, and get capable officers in command slots. “General,” Starukhin told him. “You've come from a training environment to a combat one, and I'll tell you this straight off: the Americans are tough bastards. We ought to be in Chicago and Indianapolis now, but we're not, and that's the way things are. If those bastards in blue can get us what we need, we can get moving again. If not...”

Nazonov, whose father had fought in the Great Patriotic War in 1944-45 as a junior tank officer, nodded grimly. “The naval situation is not going the way those fools in the Defense Ministry said it would.”

Starukhin nodded agreement. Though he'd had his own security men clean out several officers he suspected of being informers, it was likely he didn't get them all. The suspects had all been transferred-to the nearby 32nd Army, and given-at his suggestion-front line positions. Good for them, the stukachi.... “We've got to do better, Nazonov. Otherwise, we'll be fighting for a peace that we can live with. If we're lucky.”

General Nazonov knew what his superior meant. Though Starukhin had a repuation as a brutal, unimaginative, thug, he was an aggressive and capable commander-his record in the first two years of war had proven that. With a long supply line stretched to the limit, and attrition getting more and more difficult to replace, every Front Commander-and Army Commanders as well, had to pick their battles more and more carefully. Marshal Kribov had told him, and several other new divisional commanders, just that. “My division, Comrade General?”

“It's still refitting, and we're about halfway through. Your predecessor laid a good foundation, before he got himself caught in an air strike,” Starukhin grumbled. “Bocharov was a good man, and he'll be on the shelf, as they say, for weeks. His deputy was killed, and so, 10th Guards is now yours.”

“Thank you, Comrade General-” Nazonov's words were interrupted by shouting, and sirens howling. “What in the hell?”

Starukhin's chief of staff came into the office. “Air Raid Alarm, Comrade General!”

“Bring your binoculars, both of you, and follow me to the roof.” Starukhin grabbed his glasses, then headed for the roof of City Hall, and the other two generals-and several staff officers, followed.


Guru called, “Lead's in hot!” He rolled 512 in on the bomb run, and as he did, the defenses began to react. Both guns and missiles began coming up, as 23-mm and 37-mm flak appeared, and even some SA-7 type missiles. Fortunately, the missiles didn't track, as they had no all-aspect capability, and Guru ignored them as he concentrated on the bomb run. He spotted the supply dump, and picked out several trucks parked near the front gate. Either they were about to leave, or had just arrived. No matter....Guru lined them up in his pipper and got ready. “Steady....Steady.....And..And..HACK!” He hit the pickle button, sending his six Mark-82s and six M-117s down on the Russians below. Then the CO pulled up and away, jinking as he did so to give the flak gunners and the missile operators a harder target. “Lead's off safe.”


“God in heaven!” General Nazonov said as he watched Guru's F-4 make its run. He had never been in an air raid before, his prior combat experience having been as a regimental commander in Afghanistan, and this was new to him. Nazonov-and General Starukhin-watched as the F-4 pulled away, leaving a dozen bomb blasts-and several secondary explosions, in its wake. He turned to Starukhin, who nodded grimly.

“Your first, I believe?” Starukhin asked.

“Yes, Comrade General.”

“You'll get used to it,” replied Starukhin, then they saw the AA guns turn back south and resume firing. Starukhin and the staff knew what that meant. More Americans coming in.


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

“How many?” Guru asked as he dodged first some tracers, then a missile-either an SA-9 or SA-13, he didn't know which, then another group of tracers as the guns at Brownwood Regional Airport opened up.

“Several, and they're big!”

“Works for me,” the CO replied as he got down low to 400 Feet AGL and applied more power.


“Two in hot!” Kara called as she took 520 in on its run. She saw the CO make his run, and the bombs going off, tossing several trucks and igniting either fuel or other stores, for several secondary explosions followed in 512's wake. Kara, too, had flak and SA-7s coming up and she ignored them as she picked out several more trucks in the western part of the dump, which was unscathed at the moment. “They'll do,” she muttered as they lined up in her pipper. “And.....And....NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, releasing her bombs down onto the dump, then she pulled up and away. She began jinking and applied power to clear the area, before she radioed, “Two's off.”


“Bastards,” Starukhin muttered just loud enough for General Nazonov to hear. The Commander of 3rd Shock Army shook his head as he watched Kara's F-4 come down on its target, one of 10th Guards' supply dumps, and as the Phantom pulled away, more bomb blasts and sympathetic explosions followed in its wake. The AA gunners tried to track the target, but the F-4 was too fast, and with at least two more F-4s orbiting overhead, and firing what his air force liaison had told him were antiradar missiles, his Krug (SA-4) batteries were holding their fire. Starukhin looked to the north, where AA fire from Brownwood Airport was still engaging the Americans, then back south. Another F-4 was coming in....

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted. “We got secondaries!”

“What kind?” Kara asked as she dodged a missile that was larger than an SA-7, then some 23-mm tracers.

“Big and good,” her GIB replied.

“Good enough,” Kara said as she dodged flak from Brownwood Regional, then picked up the CO's bird as they headed north.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. She, too, picked out the dump, and found what looked like some fuel storage-both bladders and drums, and selected those. Your turn, Ivan, Sweaty thought as she came in, ignoring the flak and the missiles-two of which were bigger than SA-7s, but they didn't guide. “Steady....And...Steady...And.....HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, sending her Mark-82s and M-117s down on the Russians. She then pulled up, applying power and jinking as she cleared the target area. When she cleared Early, Sweaty made the call. “Three's off target.”

“Sookin sin!” General Nazonov said. Son of a bitch. He shook his head as he realized for the first time what the target was. The 63rd Guards Tank Regiment was in that town to the east-Early, and their regimental supply depot was the target. At least they're shooting back, was his thought. He focused his binoculars as Sweaty's F-4 came in and released its bombs, and he saw the fireballs erupt as the bombs found fuel storage. He shook his head, then saw the antiaircraft gunners trying to track the aircraft, before turning their guns back south. This wasn't over just yet....


“BULLSEYE!” Preacher was shouting from the back seat. “Big secondaries back there!”

Up front, Sweaty was dodging some tracers, while a missile, what kind she didn't know, flew right over the aircraft. “How many?”

“Enough!”

“I'll take those,” Sweaty replied as she picked up Kara's trail, then the CO's.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He noticed where Sweaty had laid her bombs, and saw the southeast corner of the dump still unhit. As Hoser came down, he saw additional secondaries, and those orange and black fireballs meant fuel. Despite the smoke, Hoser was still able to pick out the target, and lined up that part of the dump in his pipper, all the while ignoring the flak coming up. Then it was time. “And...Steady...And..And...THEY'RE OFF!” The pickle button was pressed, and six 500-lb and 750-lb bombs came off the racks. Hoser then pulled up and away, and as he climbed, he began jinking and applied full power to clear the area. “Four's off safe,” he called.


General Starukhin shook his head. The damned Americans were nothing but persistent. Then again, that had been proven time and again, especially at Wichita. Where he had been Model and that one the Americans called “The Bear”, Schwartzkopf, had been waiting for him, Suraykin, and others. The same thing had happened in the air, and now, his army was back in Texas. Shaking his head again, he saw Hoser's plane go in on its run, and as the bombs went off, he let out a grunt as secondary explosions followed-and these signaled ammunition going off. He looked at Narzanov, who had a pained expression on his face. No sense in tearing him a new asshole-Narzanov had only just reported to Army Headquarters, and hadn't even formally taken over the division. Starukhin watched as the F-4 cleared the area, then the AA guns swung back south. These Americans were nothing but persistent....

“SHACK!” KT shouted from the back seat. “We got the ammo part!”

“Big secondaries?” Hoser asked as he dodged some 23-mm tracers, then a missile, followed by another missile. Were those SA-13s?

“Big and many!”

“Good for us, bad for Ivan,” Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask as he picked up Sweaty's bird.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called as he came in on his run. He saw the Weasels still at work, and one of them shot a HARM at an SA-11 radar that had come up, and just as quickly shut down. Picking out the truck park north of Early, he decided to take the eastern side, and spotted a number of trucks sitting there, and centered that portion of the truck park in his pipper. Dave, too, ignored the flak coming up, and a couple of missiles that appeared to be SA-7s, and concentrated on his bomb run. “And...Steady...Steady....And.....NOW!” He his pickle button, sending his dozen bombs (all fitted with the Daisy Cutter fuze extension) onto the trucks below. Applying power, Dave pulled up and away, jinking as he did to give the gunners below more of a challenge. Then he made his call. “Five off target.”


On the City Hall roof, General Narzanov shook his head. This just can't be happening. “Comrade General, does this happen often?”

“It does,” Starukhin replied. “No matter how hard we use camouflage and concealment, those bastards have a habit of finding their targets. Just as the Fascisti found out in the Great Patriotic War-both on our front and in the West.”

“The counterrevolutionary bandits, then,” Narzanov spat. Of course....the Americans had eyes and ears on the ground.

“We'll talk about that,” said Starukhin. “One more, I think,” he said, raising his field glasses.


“BULLSEYE!” 1st Lt. Terry McAuliffe, Golen's GIB, called. “Got some secondaries!”

Dodging some 23-mm and 57-mm, Golen asked, “How many?”

“Enough!”

“I can take that,” Golen replied as he headed north.


“Six in hot!” Flossy called as she brought 1569 down on its bomb run. She saw the continuing secondaries going off in the CO's target, and more in their element's. Dave laid some in pretty good, she thought. Flossy, too, had flak coming up, both light 23-mm and what looked like 57-mm, and even a couple of missiles, SA-7s from the look of them. Picking out the western side of the target, several trucks appeared, and she centered those in her pipper. “Time to go, Ivan,” she muttered as the altimeter dropped. “Steady....Steady.....HACK!” Flossy hit the pickle button, sending her dozen Mark-82s (also fitted with Daisy Cutters) onto the target. She then applied power, and pulled up and away, jinking as she did to confuse the gunners. Once clear, it was Flossy's turn to call. “Six off safe.”


“Sookin sin,” General Narzanov muttered. “This has been a bitch of an afternoon.”

“Not my first,” Starukhin commented. “Had my share at Wichita and points south,” the Army Commander said. “And some here.”

Narzanov nodded, then said as two F-4s, then two more, thundered past, following the six attack aircraft north. Fighter cover? “And what do our comrades in the Air Force have to say, with all due respect?”

Starukhin nodded in the direction of his Air Force Liaison Officer. “They say they're doing the best they can,” he said with barely concealed contempt. “Which isn't enough.” He turned back to Narzanov. “Get to your division. You're going to be pretty busy cleaning this up, and in the coming days and weeks as well.”

“Comrade General,” Narzanov nodded.


“GOOD HITS!” 1st Lt. Chloe “Jang” Winters called from the back seat.

“How good?” Flossy asked as she dodge some more 23-mm and 57-mm.

“Multiple secondary good!”

“Sounds right to me,” Flossy said as she headed north.


“That's that,” Goalie called in 512's back seat. “Six in and out.”

“Not quite,” Guru replied. “One-seven, One-eight, get your asses down and away,”

“Roger, Lead,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson, who was Dave Gledhill's pilot, replied.

“Copy that, Coors, we're clear.”

“Roger, Firebird,” Coors One-five replied. “MAGNUM!” The Weasels were still at work, living up to their “First in, last out,” motto. The Weasel lead banked to follow Firebird out, then something at Brownwood Regional caught his attention. “Two MiGs on the roll! Two Fishbeds at Brownwood Regional. Floggers behind them,” He added.

“Hello,” Guru grinned. He glanced to his right, and found Kara right with him in Combat Spread. “Two, on me, and drop tanks.” Guru jettisoned his wing tanks, which fell onto some ranchland below.

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied. She was looking for that tenth kill, which would make her a double ace-the first female one in the Air Force, for all she knew. Kara, too, dropped her wing tanks.

Without a word, both Sweaty and Hoser did the same, dropping their tanks and joining up with the CO. “Fight on?” Sweaty asked.

“Fight's on,” said Guru. He wanted to catch up to Kara and get number nine.


However, it was Dave Golen, Flossy, and the RAF who made the CO's flight not a factor. As she cleared the target, first two MiG-21s, then two MiG-23s appeared to her left. “Four MiGs outbound Brownwood. I'm engaged.” She dropped her tanks and armed her Sidewinders.

“Copy, Six,” Golen said. “Press to engage, I'll cover.” He, too, dropped his tanks, did a 180, and headed back south. He then came around, coming in on Flossy's six to cover her.

The two Soviet MiG-23MLs from 3rd Squadron, 92nd IAP, were hot after the Americans, and the element leader, a Senior Lieutenant and Pilot 2nd Class, was eager to show himself to his squadron commander. He was looking around, and cursed the horrid rear visibility in the MiG-23, and after signaling to his wingman, off to his left, began a hard right turn.

“Come on....” Flossy muttered, uncaging a Sidewinder. The missile's seeker growled in her headset, while Jang kept her head on a swivel, watching out for more MiGs. Then the seeker growled loud in her headset. Missile lock! “FOX TWO!” Flossy squeezed the trigger, sending an AIM-9P4 after the lead MiG-23. The Flogger turned right, not a hard turn, and the Sidewinder caught up with the MiG, which pitched up just before the missile flew up its tailpipe and exploded. A fireball enveloped the tail of the Flogger, which rolled right, then inverted, before plunging into the ground in another fireball. There was no chute. “SPLASH!”

“Good kill, Flossy!” Golen called. He then picked out the MiG wingman, who had initially turned to keep with his leader, then he saw his leader's demise, then reversed his turn. “Thank you, Ivan,” he said as he centered his pipper on the MiG-23's tail. His Sidewinder growled loud in his headset, and Golen squeezed the trigger. “FOX TWO,” he called, sending a Sidewinder after the MiG.

The Flogger wingman, a Lieutenant and Pilot 3rd Class, had turned to stay with his leader, before he saw the Senior Lieutenant's plane take a missile hit and smash into the ground. Only then did he see the F-4 that had killed his leader, and he knew that Phantoms didn't hunt alone. So he broke left, hoping to draw any other Americans into the airfield's defenses. He had just reversed his turn, then felt a BANG to his rear, then his plane went out of control. He pulled the handle on his ejection seat and gave it a pull....Before he knew it, he was hanging in his parachute. The wingman looked around, saw his plane crash into a hill, and an American F-4 thunder past, joining up with another. And two more F-4s were coming after the East German MiG-21s. What a day, he thought as he landed in an oak tree. The wingman's troubles weren't over, for he landed in an oak tree, and broke his leg in the process, before soldiers found him and cut him down.

“Two Fishbeds climbing,” Paul Jackson called from the lead F-4J. “I'm on the leader.” Just then, the two MiGs split. “Lead's going right.”

“I'm on the wingman,” Flight Lt. Karen McKay called. “He's going left.” She turned to follow, while Jackson stayed with the leader.

“Go boresight,” Jackson told Dave Gledhill. Though Gledhill was senior, Jackson was the aircraft commander.

“You're set,” Gledhill replied. That set the radar missiles to the gunsight, giving a full system lock.

Jackson smiled beneath his oxygen mask as he got the pipper onto the MiG-21. This guy didn't know or care that an F-4 can beat a MiG-21 down low, just as General Olds had said.... “Got him.. and FOX ONE!” Jackson squeezed the trigger, then again, sending a pair of Sky Flash missiles after the MiG. The first one missed, but the pilot,seeing that first one fly past, reversed his turn, and that solved the problem for the second missile, which smashed into the MiG-21's center and fireballed. There was no chute. “SPLASH!”

“Good kill!” Gledhill yelled from the back seat. “Now where's Karen?”

“On the wingman.”

In her Juliet model, Karen McKay easily got lock on the Fishbed wingman. “Where'd this guy learn to fly combat?” She asked, since the MiG was all over the sky, turning, and then reversing his turns. That had enabled her to close the distance for a Sidewinder shot.

“Maybe they cut some corners in training back in East Berlin,” Razor Wilkinson, her GIB, replied. “Six is clear, so take him.”

“He's taken,” McKay replied as she got Sidewinder lock. “FOX TWO!” She squeezed the trigger, and an AIM-9L shot off the rail, which tracked down the MiG and fireballed it. This time, as the MiG pitched up after being hit, there was a chute. “SPLASH!”

“Good kill, two,” Gledhill called. “Form on us.”

“With you, Lead.”

The two RAF F-4Js formed up with each other, just as four SEA-camouflaged F-4Es, came in from the north. That would be Lead and the first two elements.

“No joy,” Guru muttered as he saw the two East German MiGs fall in flames. “Maybe next time,” he said.

“Always,” Goalie replied wistfully. Can't kill 'em all, she knew.

“Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's get the hell out of here,” Guru called. He put 512 into a hard left turn, and the rest of the flight joined up on him. “Coors, Firebird. You guys Winchester?” That meant “Out of ordnance.”

“Roger that, Firebird,” Coors One-five called. “We're coming out.” The two Weasels gave a couple of “MAGNUM” calls, to confuse the SAM shooters, then joined up on the strike birds.

“How far to the fence?” Guru asked as the flight formed up. He got down low, to 400 Feet AGL and accelerated to 525 KIAS.

“One minute thirty,” Goalie advised. “Twenty-five miles.”

“Copy.”

Then the AWACS called. “Firebird Lead, Warlock. Bandits bearing Two-four-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Bandits are Fulcrums.”

“Roger, Warlock.” Guru replied. “Can you get some Eagles as a reception committee?”

“Roger, Firebird,” the controller replied. “Rustler Lead, Warlock. Bandits bearing One-niner-zero for fifty, medium. Clear to arm, clear to fire. KILL. Repeat: KILL.”

In an F-15C from the 49th TFW's 8th TFS, a Captain replied, “Roger, Warlock. One-niner zero for fifty.” She then signaled her flight with hand signals, then turned south, going gate (afterburner), with fangs out.

“Forty-five seconds,” Goalie called in 512.

“Roger,” Guru said. He took a look at his EW display. The Mainstay's radar was still there, and there were two other radars at Seven O'clock. Those would be the Fulcrums, he knew, before the “29” came up on the display. “Fulcrums at seven.”

“Too late,” Goalie replied. “Eagles coming in.”

The F-15s engaged not two, but four MiG-29s, that were only expecting to jump the outbound F-4s. Two of the MiGs went down to Sparrows, and a third was killed by a Sidewinder, while an F-15 and his wingman had to divert to Dyess, the leader having taken a pair of 30-mm shells in his right engine. The two other F-15s and the surviving MiG-29 all turned for home.


“Fence in sight,” Guru said as I-20 appeared. Just as the interstate came into view, the Mainstay radar dropped off. “And no more Mainstay.” Then he got on the radio. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.”

The flight climbed to altitude and joined up on the tankers for their post-strike refueling. Then they split, with the Weasels headed back to Reese AFB, while the 335th birds and the RAF headed to Sheppard.

When the flight got to Sheppard, they had to wait, as there were two Marine flights, a 335th one, and the Eastbound C-141 ahead of them. When it was their turn, the CO's flight came in and landed, and as they taxied away, Dave Golen and Flossy came in and did victory rolls, followed by the two RAF birds, much to the delight of those watching from the ground. Then the other two elements came in and landed.

As Guru taxied in and popped his canopy, he saw General Cunningham among those watching. “I'd say we made the General pretty happy.”

“I think we did,” Goalie agreed. “You still going to call General Tanner?”

“Yeah. I think I'd be writing a letter or two if Dave and Flossy had stuck to the original ATO tasking,” Guru replied. His loathing of the Ops people at Nellis was getting too much, and he felt that General Tanner had to know that the Ops Cell had fucked up again. “I'll call after the debrief.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Guru's flight taxied to the squadron's dispersal, then they taxied into their individual revetments. After taxiing into 512's and shutting down, Guru and Goalie went though the post-flight check, while the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Pilot and GIB then climbed down, and Sergeant Crowley was waiting with a bottle of water for both of them, as usual. “Shit hot, sir! You guys kicked some ass on this one.”

“We sure did, Sarge,” Guru replied after downing half the bottle. “Didn't get anyone in the air, but torched a supply dump.”

“And we came late to the party in the air,” Goalie added. “Dave Golen and the RAF made sure of that.”

“They did,” Guru agreed. “All right, Sarge. Get her turned around. We've got time for one more strike.”

Crowley nodded. “You got it, Major! All right, people! Let's get the CO's bird ready for one more.”

Leaving the ground crew to their work, Guru and Goalie then walked to the entrance to the revetment, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. “Well?”

“Why is it that the MiGs didn't scramble when we got there?” Kara asked. “That's what, three times now we've been there, I think, and somebody else besides us gets the MiG kill.”

Guru laughed, then said, “We can't get them all, and we both know it.”

“Our time's coming,” Brainiac said, putting his hand on Kara's shoulder. “Before you know it, you'll be painting that tenth red star on 520.”

Sweaty and Hoser, with Preacher and KT, came up. “That was a good one, even if we missed out on the MiG fun,” Sweaty nodded.

“Even though Brownwood still crawls,” Hoser said. “Glad we had the Weasels.”

“You're not the only one,” Guru said as Dave Golen and Flossy, with Terry and Jang, came over. “Well done, all of you. Nice job on the Floggers.”

“Thanks, Guru,” Golen said. “Russians on these.”

“That's what, eight for Flossy now?”

“It is,” Flossy beamed. “Six for Jang, though.”

“And the RAF got to entertain the East Germans,” Guru said.

Dave Gledhill up, with his people right with him. “That we did. Seven now for Karen, and the same goes for Paul and me.”

The hand-waving began, as the MiG-killers showed with their hands how it was done, as a Dodge Crew-cab Pickup pulled up to the group, and General Cunningham came out, with his aide. “Major, good job out there.”

“General,” Guru sketched a salute. Out here, in the dispersal area, was no place for spit and polish. And the General knew it. “Got to the MiG party a little late-again.”

General Cunningham heard the disappointment in the CO's voice. “There's always the next one, Major. Keep that in mind.”

“Yes, sir.” Guru thought for a moment, then said, “But every one we kill is one more they have a hard time replacing.”

Cunningham knew that, and nodded. “Let's see what the MiG-killers have to say.”

The hand-waving continued, and the General paid close attention. They were almost through when another pickup arrived, and out spilled the SIO. “General,” Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon said. “I need to debrief the Major's strike.”

“Always listen to your SIO, Major,” Cunningham said. “If you don't mind my advice.”

“Something Colonel Rivers told me as Exec,” Guru replied. “Uh, sir. All right, people. Let's get the debrief out of the way. Then check your desks, and see if you can't squeeze in a workout if you haven't already today.”

“Do we have to?” Sweaty said. “Sometimes the Reds have a say in that.”

“Got to keep Doc happy,” Guru replied. “General, would you like to sit in on the debrief?”

“Be glad to, Major,” Cunningham replied. “Let's go, then.”

“You heard him,” Guru said, and the crews piled into the pickups, which took them back to the squadron office. They knew there was one more coming up before they could call it a day. And, everyone knew, Ivan and his lackeys knew it as well.



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1450 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser and his flight were in the briefing room his flight used, and they were going over the mission just landed with not only the SIO, but General Cunningham as well. Not only had they gone over the strike portion of the mission, but the MiG engagement had been rehashed as well, with much hand-waving and diagrams on the chalkboard.

“Based on everything so far,” Sin Licon said, all four MiG kills are valid. Of course, they have to go to Tenth Air Force for final review, but as far as I'm concerned? You guys go ahead and paint those red stars on your aircraft.”

“Always good to do,” General Cunningham observed. “Did that once myself, in an F-105 in 1967. MiG-17, that one. And they told me later it had a North Korean driver.”

Major Wiser looked at the General. “North Koreans? They said there were rumors of NK pilots, and not to mention Russians and Chinese, but nothing definite. Uh, sir.”

“That's what they said at the Academy, General,” Goalie “Rumors, but that was it.”

Dave Gledhill nodded as well. “Sir, they told us the same thing in the RAF.”

“I'm not surprised,” Dave Golen said. “North Koreans flew with the Egyptians and Syrians in '73, and with the Syrians in '82. They probably got their feet wet over North Vietnam.”

Cunningham nodded. “That they did. Only thing was, the Intel weenies told me I couldn't say who was driving the MiG. Got credit for the kill, but couldn't say who was driving it. Probably because it was Com intercepts.” The General turned to Guru. “Now, what's this about Major Golen's element coming with you? They were fragged to go in a few minutes later.”

“General, the ATO shop at Tenth Air Force has done this quite a bit since the end of PRAIRIE FIRE. The people who planned Tenth Air Force's part of that, and won it, all got banged up in a helo crash, and they're still on the shelf. General Tanner found some folks who looked good on paper, being all SASS graduates, but...”

“But.., Major?”

“But, sir, they've got some weird theories. You hit target X with ordnance Y, and get result Z, which is out of proportion to what you'd normally expect. Case in point: they fragged us to go after a 'Liberation Radio' transmitter facility. The ATO called for us to hit it with forty-eight Mark-82s. I said, 'To hell with that,' and had the Mark-82s pulled from my bird and Captain Thrace's.” Guru nodded at Kara, and went on. “Had the ordnance people load a Pave Tack and two GBU-10s in place of the Mark-82s, and had my second element hit a nearby truck park.”

The General looked at Kara, who nodded. “Four drops, three hits, General,” Kara said. “One of mine went dumb, but the other three were dead on.”

“And four bombs did the work of forty-eight,” Guru added. “Uh, sir.”

“No explanation on that necessary, Major,” Cunningham replied. “I take it you're planning to take this up with General Tanner?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “Once we're finished here.”

“I'll be with you, Major,” said the General. “If necessary, I'll order people fired. Bob Tanner's a good man, and he's due for his third star shortly-you all didn't hear that from me.”

“Hear what, sir?” Guru asked, and everyone laughed.

“Good, Major. Now, what's the deal? I know you were there not long ago to go over a mission.”

“General,” Guru said. “It's not just the Ops people treating line squadrons as lab experiments-they're living up to the Whiz Kids' infamy, if not worse.”

“Go on,”

“Sir,” Goalie said. “I was there, and they're taking other people's mission concepts, playing with them, and presenting them as if the mission's their own concept. We had a mission to go after a flak trap, and General Tanner approved it. We were in the air, flying it, and these people were playing with the concept, making it bigger, and adding things to go the way they'd do it. Same drill with the mission we've got planning.” Cunningham nodded, then motioned for her to go on. “Sir, by the time these clowns were finished playing with the concept, we were back here, getting turned around for the next strike.”

Cunningham developed a frown on his face, and he was thinking. “Major, are we just about wrapped up here?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru replied. “I take it you'd like me to call General Tanner?”

“As soon as possible.”

The CO nodded, then turned to the intel officer. “Sin, we finished?”

The Intel nodded. “That we are, Major.” Ordinarily, he would've said, “Boss,” but not with the General around.

“All right, then. People, check your paperwork, and try and get in a workout, because we've got time for one more strike.”

“Do we have to make Doc happy?” Sweaty asked.

“Always listen to your flight surgeon, Captain,” Cunningham reminded her. “Like it or not, they do outrank us in anything medical.”

Sweaty nodded, but tried not to show her disappointment. “Yes, sir.”

Cunningham nodded back, then turned to Guru. “Major, let's go.”

The CO said, “Yes, sir.”


The General and the CO left the room, and went to the CO's office. The admin people in the squadron office started to rise, but he gave a curt “stand easy” signal, and people went on with their duties. When they got to the CO's office, the Major's secretary was there. “General, Major,” Staff Sergeant Tricia Lord said as she stood up.

“Sergeant,” Cunningham said. “No calls for either one of us, and we're not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir!” Lord replied as the CO opened the door, and the General went in.

Guru followed, and showed the General the office. “It's not much, General, but...”

Cunningham nodded as he surveyed the CO's office. A map of the Lower 48, with the battle lines marked, was on one wall, along with another map showing the battle lines in the Northern Theater. The current line in Texas was highlighted, though the line at the start of PRAIRIE FIRE was still there, showing how far they had come in a few months. There was still a long way to go, Cunningham knew, and a lot more good people were going to die before it was all over-preferably with the Stars and Stripes flying over both Havana and Mexico City, he felt. The General then saw photos of F-4s and classic warbirds on other walls, and a photo-now signed, of then-Colonel Robin Olds, as well. “General Olds sign that while he was here?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru beamed with pride. “Colonel Rivers laid the foundation, basing his style on General Olds', and I'm just continuing what he started.”

“And if that means you have to fold, spindle, bend, mutilate, or flat out ignore regs in order to get results, then that's what it takes to win the war. Everything else is secondary,” said Cunningham. He knew it was a frequent complaint about Tenth Air Force, and Ninth AF also had its share of people doing the same thing, starting with General Horner, much to the disdain of more traditional and hide-bound officers. “You're not the only squadron-level CO doing this, so you're not alone, Major.”

“Good to know, sir,” Guru replied. “I know I've pissed off one stick-in-the-mud...”

“Major, you're not the only one who's had to deal with that kind of officer,” Cunningham told him. “Still hard to believe two years into a war for our national survival, and we're still dealing with those types. So....shall we?”

Guru nodded as he picked up his office phone, and called a number that only COs at Wing, or squadron level if independent, had. “I have a direct line, sir, and it's secure. It bypasses the Chief of Staff, other staff flunkies-no offense, sir-and goes right to his secretary. Then to the General.”

“None taken, Major.”

The phone picked up on the second ring, and General Tanner's secretary came on the line. “General Tanner's office,” she said. “Who may I ask is calling?”

Since it was a secure line, Guru said, “Major Wiser at the 335th TFS.”

“One moment,” the secretary said. A minute passed, then she came back. “The General will be on the line.”

“Major!” Tanner's voice came over the line. “How's things with the squadron?”

“Going well, sir,” Guru replied. “We're polishing up that...project, and should have material for you in a few days.”

“That's good, Major. And I do know who's on base right now. Got a heads-up that Sundown was coming that way. Is he there?”

“He is, sir, and is in my office,” Guru said. He saw Cunningham nod, then added, “Sir, I think the General wants this on speaker.” He then hit the button on his phone, and they were on a speaker.

“Bob, this is Sundown,” General Cunningham said. “I wish I didn't have to make this call.”

“General, if this is about the Ops Section, the Major isn't alone in complaining. I've had four calls this afternoon from Wing COs who were, shall we say, less than pleased with what they got in the ATO.”

“Who are these people?” Cunningham asked.

“They're all SASS graduates, and they were brought in after the guys who planned Tenth Air Force's part in PRAIRIE FIRE were in a C-130 crash. Most of those people wound up in the hospital, and we had to find qualified replacements-and they did look good on paper,” said Tanner. “Rich Hunley, my deputy, who was Chief of Staff at the time, recommended them. They're all guys who are never going to sit in a cockpit again, but needed to be useful.”

“And you pretty much had no choice in those people,” Cunningham said, knowing what he'd get in response. “Any of the people who were in the crash coming back?”

“A few of them have,” Tanner replied. “Some are still on the shelf, and we'd have to dig up a couple, if you know what I mean.”

Both Cunningham and Guru knew full well what that meant; two of those in the crash had been killed. “All right, Bob,” Cunningham said. “Find some more useful work for those guys to do, for they're relieved. Put their assistants in their slots until we can find more qualified people to fill them.”

“That's going to screw up the ATO, General,” Tanner reminded him. “Tomorrow's is just about ready to go out to the units, and...”

“Right now, Bob, I don't care,” Cunningham interrupted him. “I don't like doing this to you, especially since you've earned another star for leading Tenth Air Force the last two years. But there's no real choice. Sometimes the 'best and brightest' aren't either, no matter what their paper qualifications.”

On the other end, General Tanner looked at his Chief of Staff, Brig. Gen. Buster Glosson, who had also been in his office. “Understood, sir,” replied Tanner, who was writing on a notepad. He tore off a sheet and handed it to Glosson. It read: “Clean out Ops Cell. NOW.”

“You do have people who can fill those slots? If not, we can get some from TAC HQ.”

“For most of them, General? Yes, sir, we do have people. If there's anyone at Langley who wants to get closer to the action, though...”

Cunningham nodded at Guru. “We'll get you some out there ASAP. Consider this a brief hiccup, Bob. You've done a hell of a job, it's just that front-line squadrons are not someone's lab experiment. These wannabe Whiz Kids need to realize that, no matter what it takes.”

Tanner knew it. The deadwood needed to be cut out. And the sooner the better. “I'll swing the ax, General.”

“Do that, Bob. I want those people off base and headed for new assignments by sundown.”

“Yes, sir,” Tanner replied.

“And Bob? This isn't a negative reflection on you. You made a call, and it didn't turn out the way you, or the people flying, wanted. Just pick yourselves up, clean up the mess, and move on.”

“Will do, General,” said Tanner. “If you'll excuse me, I've got some work to do.”

“Just do what needs to be done, and I'll see you at Nellis. With that third star for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Cunningham killed the connection, and looked at Guru, who was surprised. “Major, you look like you've just seen a ghost.”

“General, with all due respect to your reputation, I honestly expected you to be going full volcanic.”

The General laughed, and said, “Major, there's a time and place for that, especially when you're dealing with fellow flag officers. But the message is still the same. There is someone I would've gone full volcanic on, but I understand that snotty Major you and your predecessor had to deal with is no longer on base?”

“No, sir,” Guru said. He related the story of the unlamented Major Frank Carson, and the friendly-fire incident that had sent the Frank Burns wannabe packing. “A lot of people here were hoping you'd show up sometime, and kick his ass off base. Uh, sir.”

Again, Cunningham let out a laugh. “Disappointed, Major?”

“A lot of people were, General, and I was one of them.”

“There are people who deserve a kick in the ass, and he sounds like one. Now, I need to make a couple of phone calls.”

“My office is at your disposal, sir,” Guru said. “If you need anything, my secretary, and the SDO, are available.”

“Good, Major. You need to make your sawbones happy, and get that workout in. When you're finished, I want to sit in on your final briefing.”

“Yes, sir. I'll have someone from my flight come and escort you to the briefing room.”

“Sounds good to me, Major. I'll see you then,” Cunningham said.

Guru understood this form of dismissal. “Yes, sir.” He saluted and headed out of the building. Then Guru went to his tent to change into workout attire, then went to the Fitness Tent. Sure enough, Doc Waters was sitting in a chair outside, clipboard in hand. “Doc, checking off names again?”

“Have to,” the flight surgeon replied cheerfully. “Have to stay busy somehow.”

“Figures,” Guru said. He went in and got himself a treadmill, and a few minutes later, Goalie, Kara, Hoser, Preacher, and KT came as well. They were logging the miles when Don Van Loan came in. He was looking for the CO. “Don, when you come in here, it's usually to tell me I've got a mission.”

“It is, Boss,” the Ops Officer said. “And you won't like it.”

“Back to Brownwood again?”

“Worse,” Van Loan replied. “Scud hunt. They shot some up from both the East German and Libyan sectors. None landed near here, though.”

“If they were coming this way, the sirens would've sounded,” Guru said. “Where'd they go?”

“Decatur, Graham, Jacksboro, and Mineral Wells,” Van Loan said. “First time they've done it in daylight for a while, though. The Frag Order has you down in the East German sector, south of Stephenville.”

Guru nodded as he got off the treadmill. Three miles this time. Oh, well. Sweaty was right; sometimes the Reds did have a say in these things. And today wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last. “All right. Kara? Get the rest of our flight-and we do have Dave and Flossy?”

“You do, Boss. They're loading with Mavericks.”

“Good, Don.” Guru turned to Kara again. “Get everybody, and that includes Dave Gledhill's people, to Five-Twelve's revetment in fifteen.”

Kara got off her treadmill and grabbed her towel. “I'm gone.”

“Preacher? General Cunningham's in my office, and he wanted to sit in on a brief. Escort him over to Five-Twelve.”

“On my way,” the ex-seminary student turned WSO replied.

“Get cleaned up and in your flight gear. We're back in the game, people,” Guru told his flight.

After a quick shower, Guru got back into his flight suit, then went to the Men's locker room to gear up. When he came back out, in survival vest, harness, and G-suit, with helmet in hand, Goalie was waiting, similarly attired.

“Ready?” She asked.

“To kill some Scuds, yeah, but going on a wild-goose chase? NO,” Guru replied. “Let's go.”

Guru and Goalie then left the squadron building, and headed to the dispersal area. Other flights, the XO's and the Ops Officer's, were also getting ready to go out. That meant half the squadron was committed to the Scud Hunt until sunset. “Missed the last one,” Goalie said, recalling the last Scud alarm, when the two of them had been at Nellis AFB and a meeting with Tenth AF brass.

“Making up for it,” Guru spat.

They came to 512's revetment, and found not just their flight, and the RAF element, but General Cunningham and his aide. “Major,” Cunningham said. “Not quite the brief I expected.”

“No, sir,” said Guru. “These kinds never are, and the same goes for CAS.” He pulled out a TPC chart from a flight suit pocket. “Okay, we're headed south of Stephenville. Some of the missiles came from there, and we'll have about forty-five minutes' time before we have to break off due to it getting dark.”

“Opportunity targets in case we come up empty on Scuds?” Kara asked.

“Good question, Captain,” Cunningham said.

Guru nodded. “There's several listed, and if we come up empty on one or two? We go to Stephenville Airport and pay them a visit.”

“We don't get paid for bringing stuff home,” Sweaty commented.

“No, and let's not get in that habit,” the CO replied. “Dave?” He nodded at Dave Golen and Flossy. “You've got Mavericks. Kill any air-defense assets, and if we find a convoy on the move? Kill as many vehicles as you can. We'll finish up.”

“Got you,” Golen said, and Flossy nodded.

“Okay, the rest of us have a dozen Mark-82s. Half of them with the Daisy Cutters.”

“No CBUs?” Preacher asked.

“Not on this short notice,” said the CO. “For our RAF friends?” Guru nodded at Dave Gledhill and his people. “If we find a target, assume a TARCAP, and kill any party-crashers.”

“Understood,” Dave Gledhill replied. “And the MiGs?”

“Same as earlier today: TSTC/Connally AFB at Waco, Gray AAF, Bergstrom, and Brownwood Regional. MiG-21s, -23s, and watch for possible Flankers from Bergstrom.”

“Any -29s?” Kara asked.

“Goodfellow and Bergstrom,” said the CO. “But we know what to do if the Flankers show.”

Cunningham knew what that meant. The F-4 had no business tangling with an Su-27, and the Phantom drivers would simply get down low, do a Doppler Break, and holler for help from AWACS, hoping a “Teenage” fighter was around. They had no choice. Now, if they had the F-15E.....different story, but that would have to be written in time, and that was at least a year and a half away. “Noted, Major. You're all MiG-killers, so I'm not going to comment on what the Flanker means. Hopefully, someone's working on those.”

“So we hope, sir,” Guru said. “All right, people! Usual on the radio, and for the General's benefit, that's call signs between us. Mission code to AWACS and any other interested parties. We're still Firebird flight, by the way. Get up, and we meet at Ten Grand overhead. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right, let's hit it.” The CO clapped his hands for emphasis, and the crews headed for their aircraft.

As Guru went into 512's revetment, Cunningham stopped him for a moment. “Major, you bring everyone back, you hear?”

“Do my best, sir, but no guarantees in this line of work,” Guru replied.

Cunningham nodded. Nothing new in that, and he'd seen it before, in Vietnam and the first two years of this war. “I know, Major. Just do the best you can.”

“All anybody can do, General,” Guru said. He then went into the revetment and found Goalie chatting with their Crew Chief. “Sarge,” Guru nodded at Sergeant Crowley. “I see she's ready.”

“Ready to kick some more Commie ass, sir,” Crowley beamed. “She's all set for you.” 512 had a dozen Mark-82s, half with the Daisy Cutter fuze extenders, four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, an ALQ-119 ECM pod, and two 370-gallon wing tanks. The other three regulars in his flight had the same load, while Dave Golen's element had four AGM-65 Mavericks, no centerline stores, plus the wing tanks, ECM pod, and two Sparrows. All had the full 20-mm load for their guns.

Guru nodded, and both he and Goalie did their preflight walk-around. Then they mounted the aircraft, got strapped in, then put on their helmets and plugged in. Then came the cockpit check. As they went through the checklist, the two noticed the General and his aide watching. “Wonder if he's envious?” Guru asked.

“Envious?” Goalie replied.

“Yeah, he's got the rank that means no more flying, not even a C-141 or his C-21. He's probably wishing he could strap in and go on a mission.”

“Even the Chief of Staff would balk at that,” Goalie laughed. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom; check yours. Yeah, even that. At least he didn't tear into me about Yeager's scrap,” Guru said, referring to a flight when Brig. Gen. Chuck Yeager had demo'd the F-20 for real, and had killed a Yak-28 recon bird in the process. “Arnie?”

“Arnie's set,” Goalie replied. She meant the ARN-101 DMAS system. “Backup INS all set. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“We are,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley responded with the “Start Engines” signal. One, then both, J-79 engines came to life, and during the warm-up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Firebird Lead with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Firebird Lead, Tower,” a controller replied. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Charlie. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Firebird Lead rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up, and Sergeant Crowley waved for the ground crew to pull the chocks away. Then the CC gave the “Taxi” signal, and Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment. As he cleared the revetment, Crowley snapped a salute, which was returned by both the pilot and GIB.

As he taxied to the runway, Guru wondered where General Cunningham had gone to, but dismissed that as he came up behind a departing C-141B. That had to be the eastbound shuttle from the West Coast, he knew. The big Starlifter taxied onto the runway, and after it did, he taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. The ordnance was now “Live.” As the armorers worked, the big transport rumbled down the runway and into the air.

Once the C-141 was clear, Guru called the Tower again. “Tower, Firebird Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Firebird Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-five-five for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. Then he noticed General Cunningham and the aide on a Crew-Cab pickup near the runway, watching. A final check, then Guru glanced over at 520, tucked in at their Five O'clock. Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups, and Guru and Goalie returned them. Then it was time. “Tower, Firebird Flight requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said. He pulled his canopy down, closing and locking it, and Goalie did the same. A quick look at 520 showed that Kara and Brainiac had as well, and all was ready. “All set?”

“Ready,” Goalie said.

“Then let's do it,” Guru said. He firewalled his throttles, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, followed by Dave Golen and Flossy, then the RAF element. They formed up at FL 100, then headed south for their tankers.

[Matt Wiser]

Part III: Scud Hunt....



Over Central Texas, 1610 Hours Central War Time:


Firebird Flight was headed south, into hostile territory. They had met up with their tankers, and after taking care of the pre-strike refueling, had penetrated at the seam of the East Germans “Kampfgruuppe Rosa Luxembourg” and the Nicaraguan II Corps, which was also the Brazos River. Their penetration had been trouble-free, even though the East German flak gunners on the west side of the Brazos had opened fire as the flight came near the bridges at Granbury, Glen Rose, and on the north side of Lake Whitney. Only when the flight was halfway down the lake did they turn right, and into the Scud Box that the Frag Order outlined.

Unlike Scud hunts down in the Libyan sector, or those they had flown up in the Panhandle during the Summer, the air-defense threat here dictated flying low. However, with two F-4s in the flight having AGM-65 Mavericks, they could hunt for targets, even shoot one, and call the flight's attention to the target.

In 512, Guru was checking his instruments, then outside. Having his head on a swivel had been drummed into his head from Day One of fighter training, and that lesson had never been forgotten. He had taken the flight down Lake Whitney, then turned right at a point that would take them halfway between Meridian and Morgan, both towns that Intel said had a regiment of Soviets each, licking their wounds from drubbings they had received over the past several weeks. No matter, for he gave them a wide berth, and now, the quarry was either Scuds, or their supporting elements, such as convoys delivering missile reloads. “Anything?” He asked Goalie in the back seat.

“Nada,” she replied. Goalie, too, was looking outside, with a pair of binoculars in her case, while also watching the EW display. “Unless you're referring to the Mainstay.” As usual, a Red AWACS radar was up, and it was on their respective EW displays as a strobe whose intensity fluctuated.

“Not this time,” Guru replied. Maybe somebody's working on taking those guys out of the equation, he thought. It would make his job-and that of every other fighter driver, a whole lot easier.

“F.M. 927 coming up,” Goalie said, checking her JOG map.

“Got it.” Guru had his eyes out, then ahead, as Dave Golen and Flossy were out, just a little higher than his 500 Feet AGL, so the GIBs could use the Mavericks as a poor man's FLIR to search for targets. “Five, Lead. Anything?”

“Negative, Lead,” Golen replied.

“Figures,” Goalie muttered. “Nobody said the East Germans were dumb.”

“They're not,” Guru said. “Warlock, Firebird Lead.” He called the AWACS. “Say threats.”

A controller got back to him right away. “Firebird Lead, Warlock. First threat bearing Zero-nine-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-three-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Fourth threat bearing Two-three-zero for seventy-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy all, Warlock. Say bogey dope?”

“Firebird, first threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers. Fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that.”

Hearing that, several sets of ears in the flight perked up. MiG-29s? That's worth coming down here.

“Hill to the north,” Goalie advised. “Looks like there's a radar on it.”

Guru checked his EW display. The only radar showing at the moment was the Mainstay's. “He must be offline.” Then several sets of tracers-which looked to be 23-mm-came up from the hill. “Whoa!”

“Their gunners aren't offline.”

“Yeah.” Guru checked his watch. They had been in the Scud Box for only a few minutes. They had forty to go before it would be too dark for visual searches. Screw that, Guru thought. Thirty's enough, then if we don't find anything, it's an opportunity target, and we drop on the first one we find. “Flight, Lead. Highway 220 coming up. Follow me.” Guru turned northeast to follow the road, and the rest of the flight followed. “U.S. 67's next.”

“Just like old times,” Goalie replied. “We've hit a few targets around here.”

“That we have.”

As the flight flew up State Route 220, and met U.S. 67, a convoy appeared on U.S. 67, headed east. Guru saw the vehicles as the flight buzzed the convoy, and to his dismay, there were no missile vehicles, reloads on trailers, or fuel tankers. Just plain trucks and a few APCs for escort.

“Not their time,” Goalie mused.

“Not today,” Guru said. He banked 512 to the left, and followed Highway 67, and the rest of the flight followed. “How far to Stephenville?”

“One minute.”

“Call it at thirty seconds.” Guru was scanning left and right. So far, nothing. “Hope this doesn't turn out to be a wild-goose chase.”

“You're not the only one,” replied Goalie. She, too, was scanning, then checked the map. “Forty seconds to Stephenville. Turn in ten....five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned 512 hard right, and as the rest of the flight matched him, an SA-4 radar from Stephenville came up briefly, then went off. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he called, switching on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called, and the others followed.

The flight headed east, headed in the general direction of Chalk Mountain and U.S. 67 again. A minute passed, then it was Flossy who called it. “Lead, Six. Got some vehicles near a lake with earthen dam.”

“Be careful, Six,” Guru warned.

“Roger that,” Flossy said as she closed on the suspect vehicles, and in 1569's back seat, Jang was working the Maverick controls.

“Got 'em!” Jang called. “Two Scud launchers with support vehicles. Just south of the lake.”

“Lead, we found some,” Flossy said. “And we've got some flak,” she added as tracers-which appeared to be 23-mm, came up.

“Five, you and Six take your rifle shots,” Guru called. “We'll finish.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen replied.

“Seven, you and eight do your TARCAP thing.”

“Roger,” Paul Jackson called as the two RAF F-4Js climbed for their TARCAP.

“Two, on me. Sweaty, you and Hoser orbit. See if you can't find the other two,” Guru called, knowing that Scuds usually moved and fired in batteries of four. Where were the other two, he wondered. Were they hurting the bad guys that much? Or were they splitting up? An element of two launchers would be easier to hide than a battery of four.....

“Roger, Lead,” Sweaty replied.

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Ready?” He asked Goalie.

“All set back here. Everything in one go,” Goalie called. She meant the armament controls.

“Let's do it,” Guru said. He rolled 512 in on his bomb run.


Below, on the south side of Horseshoe Lake, a split battery from the 4th Battalion, 5th Missile Brigade, was in the process of going through their pre-launch checks. The brigade commander had ordered that all of the brigade's missile battalions split their units in half, for the Imperialists were proving adept at locating and killing missile launchers. Whether it was the counterrevolutionary bandits, American reconnaissance aircraft, or other, more technical means, the Libyans had found out-the hard way-in recent weeks that the Americans were very good at finding and killing mobile missiles. The lessons had been shared with the other Socialist bloc allies, and now, the National People's Army was putting those lessons to use.

The battery's commander, a Major, was pleased with things so far. His men were mostly reservists, and their launchers had been in Soviet war reserve storage until six months earlier, when they had been shipped over, first to Cuba, then Mexico, and finally, America. He and his men had expected to be further north, but, as his political officer had said, “setbacks are to be expected,” and that, come spring, they would be on the move again. The Americans, though, were likely to have a say in the matter, and he had heard how bad things had been for the Socialist forces, not just the NVA. Half of the Army's expeditionary force in America had been destroyed up in Colorado, in what was called “The Pueblo Pocket”, by the Soviets, and the other three divisions had been roughly handled in Kansas and in the withdrawal south through Oklahoma and Texas.

The missile units had suffered some losses, but once the front lines had stabilized, things had settled down, but on occasion, the orders came down to send some missiles to the Americans, to remind them that things weren't always going their way. Normally, the missile shoots had been at night, but on occasion, they were launched in the afternoon, as was the case here.

Now, the missiles had been mated with their warheads-both of them HE, he was glad to see, which meant the precautions needed for CW warheads could be dispensed with, and had been fueled. The two missiles had been raised to their firing positions, and final checks were underway. The Major checked his watch. The missiles were to be fired at 1700 on the dot, and the Major was pleased that his men would easily make the launch time. He got out of his command vehicle, a BTR-70, and was looking for his technical officer when the AA guns-a pair of ZSU-23-4s from the brigade's air defense battalion, opened up, before missiles came in and exploded them. Another officer pointed to the south. Aircraft coming in. “TAKE COVER!” The Major shouted, pulling on his steel helmet and jumping into a trench, and others followed suit.


“Lead in hot!” Guru called as he came in on the bomb run. He saw the flak start to come up, then fireballs erupt on the ground as Dave and Flossy's Mavericks found their mark. Good job, guys, the CO thought as he lined up one of the Scuds in his pipper. You're mine, he thought. “Steady....Steady....And.. And....HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, sending his twelve Mark-82s down onto the launcher and support vehicles below. He then pulled up and away, jinking as he did to give any SA-7 shooters a harder target. “Lead's off target.”


“Verdmamnt!” the Major shouted as Guru's F-4 came in on its run. The AA guns were silent, and he watched helplessly as the F-4 came in and released its bombs. He ducked into the trench as the first bombs exploded, and felt others huddled around him as the earth shook and dust flew. A bomb landed in another part of the trench, and the Major flinched as a body landed on top of him. Someone dragged the body away, and the Major stood up in the trench. The missile TEL had blown apart, and the missile itself was nowhere to be seen, though the shrapnel around likely had missile parts included. Several support vehicles had also burned or been thrown aside by the bomb blasts, much to his regret. The Major shook his head, and saw the second launcher still intact. Then he saw another F-4 coming in, and his heart sank. The Major ducked back into the trench.


“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “We got a big secondary!”

“How big?” Guru asked as he jinked, then turned to the left.

“Big and good.”

“Scratch one Scud,” Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she took 520 down on her bomb run. She saw the CO's run, and the large explosion that signaled missile fuel going up, and smiled beneath her mask. Good run, Boss, she thought aloud as Kara picked out the other launcher, which was still intact. Okay, Franz, Kara said to herself. Your turn. She lined up the MAZ-543 in her pipper and waited. “Steady....And..And... NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, releasing her twelve Mark-82s. She then pulled up and away, jinking to give the SA-7 guys a harder target. “Two's off target.”


“Son of a bitch!” The Major said as Kara's F-4 came in and released its bombs. The Major hunkered down in the trench as bomb blasts surrounded the second launcher, which erupted in a large fireball. Unknown to him, several other vehicles were caught in the blasts, and either became fireballs, or were tossed around like toys. Once the F-4 had flown past, the Major got up to look around. Both launchers were, of course, wrecked, along with nearly all of the support vehicles, including his command BTR-70, which had been flipped over by a near-miss bomb, and was burning. The fuel tanks then blew, and another fireball was the result. The Major shook his head. This had started out as a good day, and was turning into a bitch of an afternoon. He grabbed his Techinical Officer and ordered him to send a runner to the nearest traffic-control point and report the attack, since the radios were in the BTR, and were nothing but slag at the moment.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted from 520's rear seat. “Got some secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked. Nobody was shooting at them-yet, but she kept jinking.

“Several, and they're good ones.”

“Works for me.”


“Good job, Starbuck,” Guru called. “Where's the other two?”

“No joy, Boss,” Sweaty called back. “Just two down there, and they're history.”

“Five, anything?”

“Negative,” Dave Golen replied. “Just those two, and we killed the Shilkas.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Form up into elements, and get into Combat Spread, and follow me. We're going hunting again.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara said. “And if we get no joy?”

“Call out any good opportunity targets, and we'll turn Sweaty and Hoser loose. Dave? You and Flossy find us some more Scuds.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen replied.

“Seven, you and Eight form up, and let's go.”

“On you,” Dave Gledhill called.

With that, Firebird Flight formed up, and headed southwest, towards Dublin. Two birds still had ordnance, and as Sweaty had said before takeoff, they didn't get paid for bringing it back.

A minute later, as they approached Dublin, radar strobes came up on their EW displays. A “4” and two “6s” signaled an SA-4 battery and two of SA-6s, and that combination was not a good one, especially with no Weasels around. “Shit on that,” Guru said to Goalie over 512's IC. He then did a 180, and the flight followed his move.

“Now what?” Kara called.

“Hold tight, Two,” Guru said. He was checking his map as they headed roughly east. “Everybody keep your eyes peeled. Call out anything on the ground that looks like Scuds or is missile related-or so you think.” With the sun getting lower on the western horizon, it would soon be time to either find a target or head for Stephenville Airport and give both Sweaty and Hoser the chance to get rid of their bombs at the East Germans' expense.

“Roger, Boss.”

“Anything?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Nothing yet,” she replied. Like the other GIBs, she was scanning with a pair of binoculars.

“Lead, Five,” Dave Golen called. “Got something here. At Harbin. Looks like a missile convoy.”

“On the road?”

“Affirmative.”

“Can you make an ID pass?” Guru wanted to make sure this was a missile convoy and not something else. For now, anyway. In ten or fifteen minutes, he'd settle for killing anything Soviet or East German, but he wanted to follow the tasking order as much as possible.

“Roger,” Dave Golen replied, then he took his plane down lower. It wasn't a missile convoy per se, due to no missile launchers being present, but trucks towing trailers-and on those trailers were missile reloads. Good enough. “Lead, Five. It's a convoy of missile reloads.”

Good enough, Guru thought. “Roger that, Five. You and Flossy take your rifle shots. Block that convoy, kill any air-defense vehicles, then orbit. Sweaty, you and Hoser finish up. Two, you and me orbit with Seven and Eight to cover.” Guru then pulled up to form a TARCAP with the RAF, and Kara followed.

“Roger that!” Sweaty replied. “Five, when you can, clear us in.”

“Wilco,” Golen said as Terry McAuliffe lined up the lead vehicle in the convoy for a Maverick shot. He and Flossy had four Mavericks left. “RIFLE!” Golen called as the first Maverick came off the rail.


Below, in Harbin, an East German Captain was leading his convoy. The support battalion from the 5th Missile Brigade had been busy all afternoon, supporting the brigade's fire missions, and that meant going to the Front supply point, obtaining the needed missiles, and delivering them to the technical support area so that the missiles could be checked out prior to delivery to the firing batteries. The Captain had been upset to hear that not everything was getting through across the Atlantic as it had been, and rumor among the Russians had it that the Soviet Navy was running into a lot of trouble in getting convoys across the Atlantic, and that meant the Fascist navies-the Americans and British-were doing their best to cut the shipping lanes.

The Captain dismissed such thoughts, for the Soviet Navy would do what was needed to supply the soldiers in America, and the Armies of the Socialist Bloc would finish the war. He stood up in his command vehicle, a BRDM-2, and checked his map. Yes, this little crossroads was near the technical support point-Harbin was its name. He wondered-briefly, who had named a little town in Texas after what had been a major city in what had been China, but that wasn't his concern. The Soviet rear-area troops-a platoon of motor-rifle troops with a pair of old BTR-152 APCs and and three equally old T-54A tanks did, though. The Soviet officer-in-charge, a Senior Lieutenant in his forties, came to him for the ID check. Just as the Captain handed his papers and movement authorization, one of his air-defense vehicles-a gun truck with a ZU-23 mounted, suddenly exploded. To the rear, his other gun truck also exploded, then his heart sank as he saw why. A Fascist F-4 flew overhead. “AIR RAID! TAKE COVER!” He shouted in both German and Russian.

Overhead, Dave Golen had killed two gun trucks, then Flossy had killed an APC that had been bringing up the rear, along with a tank that had come off a side road, and when it was hit, the explosion took out a missile trailer. With two Mavericks left, they would wait until Sweaty and Hoser had made their runs, then pick off any stragglers. “Sweaty, you and Hoser cleared in.”

“Roger, Five,” Sweaty said. In the back seat, Preacher worked the weapons controls, and gave the go-ahead. All set for one pass. “Hoser, follow me. Three's in!” She called as she went in on her bomb run. As she did, Sweaty went in from southwest to northeast, intending to angle her bombs across the road and kill as many of the trucks and trailers as possible. No flak came up, apart from what looked like small-arms fire, and no SA-7s, either. Not today, Franz....Sweaty lined up a truck and trailer in her pipper and waited. “And...And...And...HACK!” She hit the pickle button, releasing her dozen Mark-82s before pulling up and away, jinking as she did so.

“SCHISSE!” the Captain yelled from a roadside ditch. He and his crew, along with several truck drivers and some of the Russians, had found the ditch just in time, and they watched helplessly as Sweaty's F-4 came in. The Captain saw the bombs come off, then he ducked into the ditch. He heard and felt the bombs going off. After the last bomb, he poked his head out of the trench, and saw several of his trucks, and the precious missiles either blasted to pieces or tossed aside like toys. One of his officers tried to get up, but the Captain had been under air attack before, and pulled the man back in. For he knew that American aircraft didn't hunt alone.


“GOOD HITS!” Preacher shouted from Sweaty's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as she pulled clear and climbed.

“Got a couple.” Preacher's voice was disappointed, but these missiles were likely not fueled....Oh, well.

“We'll take 'em.”


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he went on his run. He angled to the right of Sweaty's run, intending to catch the rear half of the convoy. Like Sweaty, he saw very little fire coming up, but this time, there was an SA-7, which failed to guide. Not today, Hoser said to himself as the convoy grew larger. He lined up a truck-trailer combination in his pipper, then got ready. “Steady....Steady....And....THEY'RE OFF!” Hoser hit his pickle button, sending his Mark-82s on their way, then he pulled up and away. Like Sweaty, he was jinking to give any SAM shooters a harder target. Once clear, he made his call. “Four's off target.” Then he climbed to join Sweaty.

“Of all the...” the Captain muttered as Hoser's F-4 came in. This time, he watched in morbid fascination as the Fascist aircraft made its run. He saw the bombs come off, then ducked back into the ditch. Again, he heard and felt the bombs go off, and again, after the last explosion, he saw the trucks and the missile trailers either blown apart, or tossed aside like roadside trash. The Captain issued orders, and he and his crew got up and ran to their BRDM. Someone had to report this.....


“BULLSEYE!” KT shouted from Hoser's rear seat. “We got a couple of secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Hoser asked as he stopped jinking, and pulled up to join on Sweaty.

“We'll have to take what we get.”

“Fine with me.”

Orbiting overhead, Guru watched it all. Several vehicles looked to be intact, though.. “Five, you and Flossy have rifle shots left?”

“Two each,” Dave Golen replied.

“Take the shots, then we're egressing.” That was fighter pilot talk for “Getting the hell out of here.” There would be MiGs coming, Guru knew.

“Roger, Lead,” Golen called. “Flossy, did you hear Lead?”

“On it,” Flossy said. “Double rifle!” She fired one, then her last, Maverick. “Six is Winchester.” That meant “Out of Ordnance.” The missiles killed an APC near the tail end of the convoy and a missile trailer.

“Five is in.” In Dave's back seat, Terry worked the missile controls. “Rifle one!” Golen called, then he gave another “Rifle” call. “Five is Winchester.” One missile went dumb, much to Golen's and McAuliffe's disgust, but the second missile tracked an APC at the front of the convoy and exploded it. “Five is clear.”

“Roger, Five,” Guru called. “Flight, Lead. Form up and let's egress.”

In his BRDM, the Captain had managed to contact his battalion commander and inform him of the situation. He was still talking when there was an explosion, and the Captain and his crew were suddenly engulfed in fire. No one had any time to scream....


Guru led Firebird Flight north. They formed up, and as the flight headed north, they came up on Stephenville. “Last thing they'll expect now,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Let's show folks in Stephenville the Air Force is doing its thing. Drop down to Three hundred, and waggle our wings as we go by.”

In 520, Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. Sticking it to Ivan and Franz on the way out? Why not? “Right with you, Lead,” she called.

The Flight came in from the south, and in Stephenville, there was hardly any warning as the F-4s thundered overhead. The pilots waggled their wings to the civilians below, and much to the chagrin of the East Germans and Russians in the garrison, the latter were cheering as the F-4s made their flyby. Before any of the East German or Soviet commanders could get to a phone, the aircraft were gone.


In 512, Guru asked, “How far to the Fence?” That meant I-20.

“One minute fifteen,” was Goalie's reply.

Guru nodded in the front seat, then he called the AWACS. “Warlock, Firebird Lead. Say threats?”

Aboard the AWACS, the controller replied, “Firebird Lead, Warlock. Threat bearing One-zero-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Second Threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Third Threat bearing One-eight-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Fourth Threat bearing Two-four-zero for sixty. Medium. Closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Any bogey dope?”

“Firebird, Warlock. First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers. Fourth threats are Fishbeds-wait. Fifth threat bearing Two-three-zero for seventy-five. Medium, closing. Fifth threats are Fulcrums.”

“One minute to the Fence,” Goalie advised.

Guru did some quick math in his head. Low level, high speed, and they would be across the I-20 before any of the MiGs got close enough to be a factor. The closest MiGs, the -21s, were too far away to worry. “Roger, Warlock. Can you get some Eagles on the bandits if they get too close?”

“Affirmative, Firebird. Rustler Lead, Multiple bandits bearing One-seven-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Kill. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm and fire.”

In an F-15C of the 8th TFS, a Captain checked her own radar display. Sure enough, the bad guys were there. “Roger, Warlock. Rustlers, on me. And go gate.” Four F-15Cs then headed south in afterburner.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. They were overflying the East Germans, and the ground-pounders were surprised to see American aircraft coming from behind them. None of the air-defense assets from the 9th Panzer Division or the 11th Motor-rifle Division never had a shot at the F-4s as they thundered north, for the strike flight, quite by accident, was making its egress at the boundary between the two divisions.

“Copy,” Guru replied.

Just then, the F-15s encountered the MiG-21s, which were in this case, Soviet. Two of the MiGs fell to Sparrows before things got up close and personal. Another MiG fell to a Sidewinder shot, before the survivor turned for home. The F-15s, low on fuel, didn't pursue, and headed back to the tankers.

“Crossing the fence....now!” Goalie called as the twin ribbons of concrete that were I-20 appeared. As they crossed, the last radar strobe on the EW display, the Mainstay's, went off. “And that's that.”

“No more Mainstay,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.”

The flight then climbed to altitude and joined up with the tankers. They drank enough fuel to get them back to Sheppard with a reserve, then headed for home. When they got to Sheppard, two 335th flights were ahead of them, along with a C-130 and a flight of Marine Hornets. When it was their turn, Firebird Flight came in and landed. As they taxied clear of the runway, the crews noticed the news crew at work. “Looks like Ms. Wendt's people are making themselves busy,” Guru said.

“They must have their pay docked if they're not filming something,” Goalie quipped.

“Maybe,” Guru said as he popped his canopy and raised it, and Goalie did the same. Much to the disappointment of those watching, no one had a finger raised to signal a MiG kill. Maybe next time...

The flight taxied to their dispersal area, then the planes went for their revetments. Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, where Sergeant Crowley was waiting with the ground crew. After getting in, and getting the “Shut down,” signal from the Crew Chief, Guru and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist, while the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Then they dismounted the aircraft, and found Sergeant Crowley waiting with the usual bottle of water for both. “Major, Captain,” Crowley said. How'd things go?”

“Made some Scuds go away,” Guru said before draining half the bottle.

“They went up-briefly,” Goalie added. “Then they came down in pieces.”

“Suits me, Ma'am,” Crowley beamed. “Anything I need to know?”

“She's still truckin', Sarge,” replied the CO, who finished the water. “Keep it up, whatever you're doing. And get her ready for the morning.”

“Will do, Major,” Crowley said.

“And when you're done? Get yourselves some chow,” said Guru. The aircraft came first in the ground crew's eyes.

“Yes, sir!” Crowley nodded. “All right you guys! Let's get the Major's bird ready for the morning.”

Guru and Goalie then headed for the entrance to the revetment, and they found Kara and Brainiac already waiting. “How'd it go for you?” Guru asked.

“Got a Scud launcher, and so did you,” Kara smiled. “And we both got some support trucks.”

Guru nodded. “Good for them,” he said as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT arrived. Dave Golen and Flossy, with Terry and Jang, followed, with the RAF crews behind them.

“More Scuds went up in pieces,” Sweaty said. “For a minute, anyway.”

“Want to bet they're going to go back to night shoots?” Dave Golen asked. “We burned them today.”

“Depends on how the other hunts went,” Sin Licon said as he arrived. “Major, we need to get the debrief in.”

“Where's Sundown?” Kara asked.

“He's with the XO's flight. They got in before you guys did.”

Guru nodded, then checked his watch. 1655. “Okay, people. Let's get debriefed, and check your desks. For once I'll say that if it can wait until morning, let it wait. It's been a busy day, and we all need to unwind.”

“I'll second that,” Sweaty said. “Not to mention having Sundown on base adding to the stress level.”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Get the debrief done, and then we're off the clock.” With that, the crews headed to the squadron office, to make the intel happy, before they could unwind.

[Matt Wiser]

Part IV: Animals in the Zoo need to unwind, and a coup that everyone was waiting for finally goes down...


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 1710 Hours Central War Time:


In his office, Major Matt Wiser went over some papers that had shown up in his IN Box while out on the Scud Hunt, and that the elves, as usual, had never taken care of. He took care of the papers, and with General Cunningham on base, opened his desk and found a pair of memos that paper-pushers sent him. One dealt with “excessive expenditure” of 20-mm ammunition, while another treated use of flares and chaff in the same way. With a warfighter's loathing of paper-pushers, the CO decided to show these to the General at the earliest opportunity. Smiling at the thought of some of the REMFs getting a kick in the ass from the General, the Major was getting ready to leave when there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

Capt. Mark Ellis, the Exec, came in. “Boss, got a couple of things for you before we get off the clock.”

“Lay it on me, Mark,” Guru said. It had been a busy day.

“First, aircraft status report. Twenty birds for the morning.”

“Twenty?” The CO asked. “Battle damage?”

“No,” replied the Exec. “Both due for hundred-hour checks.”

Guru nodded. “Fair enough.” He signed the paper. “What else?”

“Chief Ross came through on three counts. First, two refurbished J-79 engines.”

“Well, now, Mark. That'll make Maintenance happy. What else did the scroungers, uh, 'acquire'?”

“Three dozen Paveway bomb kits. All for GBU-10s.” That meant the 2,000 pound Mark-84 when it became a laser-guided bomb.

“Good. We can fly some more LGB missions. UNODIR, if necessary. And last?”

The XO smiled. “NBC gear for Buddy. They found a MOPP suit for a military working dog just lying around, Ross swears, and they, uh, appropriated it.” He was referring to the squadron's mascot, who had been made an honorary Captain, and Chief Ross and the other senior sergeants were taking care of the dog-including visits to the vet, and finding an NBC suit.

“Not here, I hope. Last thing I want is Ryan Blanchard's counterpart from the Air Base Group paying a visit,” Guru replied. “Where'd they get it?”

“Amarillo,” Ellis said. “They have more suits than dogs, Ross said. So...”

“So they took some initiative.” The CO had a smile on his face. “Good. Now, before we head to the Club, have a look at these. I know, I've shown them to you before, but I'm planning on showing them to the General tonight.” He gave the offending memos to Ellis.

The XO scanned the memos and shook his head. “What's up with these turds?” His own loathing of REMFs was coming to the surface.

“Good question. Somebody's got to know, but I sure as hell don't. And maybe the General can kick a few asses either into gear or better yet, off base, wherever they are. That it for now?”

Ellis nodded. “That's all until morning.”

Guru nodded back. He got up and grabbed his bush hat. “Let's hit the Club.”


When the CO and XO got to the O-Club Tent, the place was buzzing, as usual. They got to the bar, and found Smitty there, as if he was glued to the place. “Smitty,” Guru said. “Whatcha got?”

“Bud, Coors-”

“They started up again?” Ellis asked.

“They did,” Smitty replied cheerfully. “Michelob, Miller Lite. No Sam Adams, though. Not yet.”

“Bud for me and the Exec,” Guru said. Smitty produced the bottles, and Guru paid him. “Thanks. The General here yet?”

“Not yet,” Smitty said. “This the 'Sundown' Cunningham I've heard about?”

“He is,” said Guru. Just then, the object of the conversation came in, with Colonel Brady and two of the Marine squadron COs. They finished chatting, then both General Cunningham and Colonel Brady came to the bar. After Smitty got their drinks, Guru nodded. “General.”

“Major,” Cunningham said. “I was telling Colonel Brady when we came in, you've got a nice place here. And Colonel Brady did tell me what happened when the Resistance blew up the prewar club.”

Guru nodded again, this time a grim one. “Yes, sir. One more score to settle,” he said, recalling the story they had been told when MAG-11 arrived to set up shop a few days after liberation.

“Among many,” Ellis added. “Uh, sir.”

“No need to apologize, Captain,” Cunningham said. “And you're quite right on that.” He noticed a female Lieutenant coming over. “Who's this, Major?”

“That's Lieutenant Patti Brown, sir. She's my PAO when not flying. What's up, Patti?”

“General, Boss,” Brown replied. “Our newsies want to see if the General is willing to sit down and do an interview.”

“You've got a news crew here?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes, sir, Jana Wendt, from 9 News Australia,” said the PAO. “They do send their stuff to CBS as well.”

“The reporter's made of sterner stuff than we thought when she got here, General,” Brady added. “She's been through an Su-24 strike, a Scud alert, and a backseat ride with the Major here.”

“Oh?” Cunningham asked. “Where'd you take her?”

“West of here, to one of the Scud boxes from last summer,” Guru replied. “Did a little DACT, only she wasn't in my back seat. Her cameraman was.” Guru then grinned. “She rode backseat with Captain Thrace.” The CO then pointed in Kara's direction, where she was going through a hand-waving session with Dave Golen and Flossy.

“She flew with the wild and crazy one, then. Were you trying to scare her out of here?”

“That had entered my mind, General,” Guru replied. “Sir, nothing would've made us smile than her and her crew getting onto the first C-130 out of here, but no dice.”

“She puked on the tarmac after landing,” Ellis added. “But she's an adrenalin junkie, looks like. She wants to fly with the Marines and the RAF now.”

Cunningham thought for a moment, then smiled. “Then who am I to disappoint the press?” He turned to Lieutenant Brown. “Tell them I'll be available in the morning. Is there-”

“Sir,” Guru jumped in. “My office is at your disposal. And it's not the first time. She did an interview with me and my GIB, and wants another.”

“Another?”

“Day one vets, sir,” Guru said.

“Very well, Major,” Cunningham replied. “Lieutenant?” He turned back to Brown. “Tell your media friends to be at the CO's office at 1000.”

“Yes, sir!” Brown replied, then she went to tell Ms. Wendt.

“Be warned, General,” Colonel Brady said. “She can be a sneaky bitch, but that's a compliment. She does know what questions to ask, and which to avoid, and that's a bonus.”

“I'll keep that in mind, Colonel,” Cunningham nodded. “So, before you all eat your fill, how's the RAF doing in this corner of the war?”

“They're doing pretty well, all things considered,” Brady replied. “They fly with the 335th for the most part. The fact they speak Phantom helps a lot.”

“And they've splashed a few MiGs in the process, sir,” Guru said. “Including Fulcrums. They've only lost one plane and crew, but that was on the first day.”

“To a MiG?” Cunningham asked.

“No, sir. ZSU-30-2.”

“God damn those guns,” Cunningham spat. “All right, they involved in this mission you're cooking up?”

“Yes, sir, TARCAP, which is their usual role.”

Cunningham nodded. “All right. Now, before Colonel Brady and I swap some Southeast Asia stories, I'd like to get a brief on this mission of yours.”

Guru, Ellis, and Brady all exchanged glances. Worried ones. “Yes, sir. If you'll come down to the basement after Noon, that's where our Planning Cell has a working lunch. Everyone who's planning the mission will be there.”

“And like on BOLO,” Ellis added. “Those who plan it are flying it, sir.”

“All right, Major. I'll see you then. You have a good evening.”

“Yes, sir.”



Guru and Ellis went to their flights' respective tables, and the CO found his people chatting away. “Well?”

“Sundown's showing his good face today?” Goalie asked.

“He has a good face?” Kara added. “Everytime we see him on the news, it's the fire-eater we see.”

“If Frank was still here, we would've seen that already,” Guru said. “Frank being kicked onto the first C-130 out of here. But...”

“Yeah, but.,” nodded Sweaty. “Too bad getting rid of him got some refugees killed.”

Preacher nodded agreement. “He was going to fall on his own sword sooner or later,” he reminded everyone. “Our bad luck he took some friendlies with him.”

“Too bad,” Hoser said, and KT nodded.

“Yeah,” Guru said as he pulled on his beer.

Then Don Van Loan came by with the newspapers. “Folks, got these. Hot off the C-141 from the West Coast. L.A. Times for the Boss.”

“Thanks, Don,” Guru said as he took the paper.

“Orange County Register?” Goalie asked.

“Here you go,” the Ops Officer said. “Who wants USA Today?”

“I'll take it,” Preacher said. He handed the front page to Sweaty, and kept the sports section.

“And Stars and Stripes?”

“Here,” Kara and Brainiac said almost simultaneously.

“Here you go,” replied the Ops Officer, then he headed off.

“Anything?” Guru said as he skimmed the L.A. Times. He noticed that fomer L.A. Mayor Tom Bradley was mulling a run for a vacant U.S. Senate seat, vowing to “Give our brave fighting men and women whatever they need for final victory.”

“You off the front page?” Goalie asked. “Page three here,” she said. “West German Chancellor asks for Army, Air Force Chiefs to resign.”

“Got it,”

“Same here in Stars and Stripes,” Kara said. “Says here they told him off. Politely, but firmly. That 'exercise' is still going on.”

“The coup's coming,” Sin Licon said from a nearby table. “Won't be long now.”

“How long, Sin?” Sweaty asked.

“A few days. A week at the most.”

“Shorter than that,” RAF Flight Lieutenant Steve “Jack” Lord said as he came over. “Just heard the BBC on shortwave. It's started.”

“The coup?” Goalie asked.

“Yeah. Tanks on the streets in several cities, especially Bonn.” That was the West German Capital.

General Cunningham and Colonel Brady had also overheard. “Smitty?” Brady said to the barkeep. “Turn the TV to CNN, now!”

Smitty took the remote and changed the channel. Sure enough, the screen showed the West German Capital, with the “Breaking News” tag in the lower left of the screen. Leopard-II tanks and Marder IFVs were in the streets, taking over the bridges across the Rhine, key intersections, and major government buildings. And CNN's Bernard Shaw was giving commentary. “And we're hearing that this is happening in other major cities in West Germany,” he said. “Hannover, Munich, Frankfurt, Mainz, Cologne, Hamburg, Bremen, and other major cities are also reporting armored vehicles and soldiers in the streets, and more reports are coming in. There is no word as yet as to the fate of the West German Chancellor, though the Vice-Chancellor, Petra Kelley, is reportedly under house arrest. Several cabinet members and leaders of the Neutralist Coalition headed by the Greens have been taken into custody. There has been no reaction yet from either Philadelphia or Moscow, but British Prime Minister Thatcher has hailed the coup as the 'Nail in the Coffin for Neutralism in Europe.'”

General Cunningham was more reserved, but the Club went wild as cheers broke out. “About goddamned time!” Guru, Kara, and several others said at almost the same time.

“What took them so long?” Flossy asked.

“This isn't some shithole in the Middle East or Africa,” Sin Licon reminded everyone. “The West German Generals were probably biding their time.”

Cosmo and Revlon, the first two crewers in an “unmanned” F-4, looked at each other, then at Sin. “For what?” Cosmo asked.

General Cunningham answered. “It's simple, Captain. They were waiting for us to start winning. Now that we are, it's easier.”

The screen shifted to a podium at the West German Defense Ministry, with numerous microphones present, and the briefing room was filled with news media. A minute later, two Generals-one each in Army and Luftwaffe uniforms, accompanied by an Admiral, along with a civilian, strode to the podium. “Good Evening,” the Army General said. “I have a brief statement to make.” Speaking in German, the General, who identified himself as the Chief of Operations at the Defense Ministry, said, “Citizens of the Federal Republic. I am making this announcement over all radio and television networks to give the following statement. Early this morning, the armed forces of the Federal Republic, with assistance from the BKA, took decisive action to restore the honor and dignity of the Federal Republic of Germany. The so-called 'Neutralists' who took power in 1984, who encouraged similar governments in Western Europe to form, dismantling NATO in the process, and in so doing, encouraged the Soviet Union and its lackeys to attack the United States and Canada. This government has been shown to be a stooge for the Soviets, with their lack of support for our traditional allies in North America as well as in England, and have allowed Soviet and Eastern intelligence to operate freely, disrupt the actions of those private citizens and corporations who wish to aid our allies, and have turned their backs on those who, even as we speak, are still fighting for their freedom from the uncaring and oppressive jackboot of the Soviet occupier.

“Fortunately, there are those in the Federal Republic who have stood firm with our friends in North America, and have aided those fighting in a variety of ways. Now, the citizens of the Federal Republic have made their wishes known, demanding that the Green Alliance Government resign, admit to its support for the Soviets, and in so doing, admit that some of its members are either agents for the Soviets or the East. The Greens have refused. So be it. They are responsible for the consequences.

“As of now, the Armed Forces have taken action, and the Alliance has been removed from power. While there has been some bloodshed, and that is unfortunate and regrettable, the country has remained generally calm. The leaders of the Alliance, their members of the Bundestag, and of local assemblies, have been taken into custody. Unlike similar situations in Latin America or Africa, there will be no show trials, no executions. They will be deported at a future date to their friends in East Berlin and Moscow.

“We call on our friends in Europe to join us in the reestablishment of NATO, with all of its prewar members, at the earliest possible moment. That does not mean that our soldiers and airmen will be fighting in North America, but it will mean that if the Soviets rashly choose to respond, they will be meeting the united forces of Western Europe in the defense of freedom.

“To our friends in North America. The previous government turned its backs on you. Some of us did manage to show our support in a number of ways, but it had to be done covertly. No longer. We will support those who are fighting for their own freedom, in any way possible short of entering the conflict.

“To the old men in Moscow. If you choose to respond rashly, the Bundeswehr stands ready to defend the Federal Republic, by any means necessary. Choose wisely, Comrade Chebrikov, and think about the state of your country, and its situation abroad, before taking any foolish actions.

“Finally, a Government of National Unity will be taking power within hours. It will assume the reigns of government until new elections can be held within sixty days. Former Chancellor Helmut Schmidt has agreed to assume the office of Chancellor pending the outcome of the elections. Herr Kanzler?”

Schmidt went to the podium. He appealed for calm, confirmed the new election plan, and denounced the Greens and their partners for their stance, both before the war and since its outbreak. Schmidt reaffirmed his-and the new government's support for those fighting in North America, and for the first time since the war began, denounced the Soviets and their lackeys for “heinous and appalling atrocities in America and Canada.” Then flashbulbs began popping again, as reporters-both German and Foreign-began shouting questions.

Smitty, the bartender, stood up on the bar. “Boys and Girls, there's a round on the house!”

The crowd surged towards the bar, and after that, the restraunteurs who ran the Marines' mess operation came in. “People, we've got bacon-wrapped meat loaf; it's bison instead of beef, or Tex-Mex style pork chops. Come and get it!”

After people got their drinks and their food, the place was still buzzing. CNN was still on, showing a split screen of the ongoing press conference in Bonn, and the briefing room at the Provisional White House, where reporters were gathering, awaiting reaction from either the President or, at the very least, his Press Secretary.

“Here's to the Bundeswehr,” Guru said, raising his second bottle of beer for the evening. “They did what Stauffenberg and his people couldn't do: They toppled a government.”

“Hear, hear,” Kara nodded. “Now, who resisted? They implied there were some knotheads who did.”

“There's always fools who think a handgun or a deer rifle will stop a tank,” replied Guru. “Some of the early Resistance types were like that. Same drill here.”

“Want to bet they'll clean up the Baader-Meinhof Gang as well?” Mark Ellis wondered.

“That's a given, Captain,” Cunningham said. “They can clean up the KGB, GRU, and Stasi while they're at it.”

Sin Licon nodded. “They'll do that, sir, and not just the Baader-Meinhof types. They'll clean up the rest of the far-left.

“Ship 'em all to East Berlin,” Don Van Loan said. “See how they like living in a 'Socialist' paradise for a change.”

“They'd be locked up themselves,” Dave Golen observed. “A lot of those types don't care for any sort of authority, and they'll be the Stasi's problem.”

“Bullet in the back of the head, Dave?” Guru asked.

“If they're lucky.”

“And if they get sent to Russia and a Gulag, they wind up with some of our POWs, and that'll be fun,” Sweaty quipped.

“It would,” Digger, Flossy's former GIB, said.


People were still eating when CNN showed the Briefing Room full-screen. The anchor, Bernard Shaw, came on just as President Bush came into the room and went to the podium. “And now, the President will be making a statement.”

“Good evening,” Bush began. “I have a brief statement to make, and I'll take a few questions. Tonight, the forces of freedom regained friends in West Germany. The Green-dominated Neutralist Coalition has been shown the door, and in the most direct way possible. The previous government's refusal to see reason, acknowledge the demands of those who disagreed with the neutralism that government espoused, and remove those members of its government who were identified as assets of either the Stasi or the KGB, has led to this. While no one likes to see a Coup, the Bundeswehr and those in the political sphere who backed them felt that they had no other choice.

“I have spoken on the phone with Chancellor Schmidt, and he has assured me that there will be no trials or executions, but that those whom he described as 'Communists and fellow travelers', will be sent to East Germany as quickly as possible. He has also promised-and I see no reason to doubt that promise, that the Red Army Faction and the Revolutionary Cells-both very notorious terrorist groups who have operated for years, will be crushed. In his words, 'utterly and totally.'

“We look forward to working with the Schmidt government on reestablishing NATO, though no time frame has been mentioned, only that it be done as soon as possible. I have invited the Chancellor to visit Philadelphia in the coming days, and though he will be busy, he has accepted the invitation.

“I will be talking with Prime Ministers Mulroney and Thatcher in the coming hours, and will have more to say tomorrow. However, the Soviets and their lackeys have suffered a defeat tonight. While not a military defeat on the battlefield, a defeat nonetheless. And one just as important as the one they took this past summer. Now I'll take some questions.”

“Mr. President,” Sam Donaldson of ABC asked. “Has there been any change in Soviet forces in East Germany as a result?”

“Not to my knowledge, but we are keeping an eye on the situation,” replied the President. “The British are also watching, and for sure, the West Germans are.”

Eric Engberg of CBS stood up. “Sir, has there been any reaction from Moscow?”

Bush shook his head slightly. “No, not yet, but I imagine they're finding out just as we are. Though I wouldn't want to be the man who has to wake up Comrade Chebrikov and give him this kind of bad news. He'd better have his will probated and sins confessed before he goes in. Yes?”

“Mr. President,” Andrea Mitchell of NBC asked. “When you do meet with Chancellor Schmidt, what do you plan to discuss, and second, would you give him a tour of some of the liberated states?”

“As for the first, Andrea,” Bush said. “We'll be discussing improving American-German relations, and how to move forward from the mess that the Greens and their partners made. Second, I expect some kind of visit would be on the agenda. Bob?”

“Sir, Bob Perkins of the L.A. Times. Mr. President, this is going to be a boost to morale on the home front, but what about the immediate military situation?”

“Bob, the short answer is that we'll have to wait and find out. This just broke, and the Soviets are going to have to scratch their heads and figure out what to do next. One more. Lou?”

“Mr. President, Lou Cannon of the East Coast Times-Post. Sir, when the Chancellor visits, he's going to have their own news media with him. Some of which did endorse the neutralist policy agenda. Would the visit to liberated areas show those people that we mean it when we say the Russians are committing atrocities behind the lines?”

The President nodded. “When skeptics get exposed to what's been happening, they either sober up or shut up pretty fast,” Bush said. “I expect the same thing to happen here. That'll be all for tonight, everyone. Thank you for coming.” The President then left the podium, and CNN's Shaw resumed his commentary.

Jana Wendt nodded agreement. “I wasn't a skeptic, but seeing a mass grave of KGB victims sobered me up. Now we know what you all are fighting against.”

“That you did,” Patti Brown replied. That visit had not just sobered up the news crew, but that had been her first up-close visit to a mass grave, though she had seen them on the evening news. Knowing what you were fighting against was a good thing, even if it had been a shock.

“Well, people,” Cunningham said. “You all had a good day today. Not just putting the hurt on those Commie bastards, but you didn't lose anyone. And what just happened made it better! Drink up and celebrate! And that's an order!”

With that, Kara finished eating, then she went to the pool table to hold court. Not noticing, Guru and the others at his table finished, then he noticed his rambunctious wingmate. “Kara's at it again.”

“Did you think she'd calm down with Sundown on base?” Goalie asked.

“No. But the last thing I want to hear is her getting sent packing because of a 'debt collection.'” Guru then went over to the pool table. “Kara,” he said with a very serious tone of voice.

“Boss?” Kara asked.

“Some advice from your CO. No one-night stands or 'debt collection' while Sundown's on base.”

Kara knew exactly what Guru meant. “Will do, Major.” When she-or anyone else-used Guru's rank, that meant they were taking his advice very seriously. “But Sundown's coming this way.”

“If he beats you, you do know what to do.”

“Just like with Generals Tanner, Olds, and Yeager.”

“Good girl.” He slipped back to his table, and watched with the others as the General approached the pool table. Both combatants laid down their money, then got down to business. It took fifteen minutes, but the General's skills were superior to Kara's, and he collected the $50.00 from her. Kara smiled, nodded at the General, then came back to the flight's table in a rage.

“That's four generals who've beaten me.”

“So?” KT asked. “They've been doing this since before you were born.”

“Doesn't make it any easier,” Kara shot back. She headed towards the bar.

“Where you headed?” Guru wanted to know.

“Get me another beer, then I'll kick some ass at the table to show I haven't lost my touch.”

Don Van Loan heard that, and laughed. “That's the Kara we know and love.”

“Some more than others,” Sweaty reminded him.

“Yeah.”

Kara went to the bar, got another beer, then proceeded to defeat two Marine Hornet pilots, the pilot of General Cunningham's C-130, and a VA-135 A-7 driver. After collecting from the Navy, Doc Waters rang the bar bell. “Twelve-Hour now in effect!”

People turned in their drinks and got something nonalcoholic. Guru got a plate of nachos for his table, and asked, “Ever have a day like today?”

“Now that you mention it, no,” Sweaty said as Goalie came back with several bottles of iced tea. “Never saw a coup live before.”

“Same here,” Brainiac added. “Not what I expected. Just tanks on the street corners.”

“Doesn't look good if they go in shooting,” Sin Licon said. “Then they don't get accused of blasting their way into power.”

“So what's up tomorrow, Boss?” Sweaty asked the CO.

“Hopefully, no CAS or Scud Hunts,” Guru replied. “Just get us back to the usual.”

“I'll drink to that,” said Goalie. “Even if it's iced tea.”

“Not arguing that.”

The time went by, and before too long, one of the Navy flight surgeons rang the bar bell. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!”

Those on the flight schedule in the morning grumbled, but headed off to Officer Country. Several hours' sleep was needed by all, for it wouldn't be long until 0430 and aircrew wakeup came along.

[Matt Wiser]

Part V: The Soviets react to the coup, and the first mission of the day...

335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 10 December, 1987, 0535 Hours Central War Time:


It was still dark as Major Matt Wiser went from Officer Country to the 335th's office. The first hints of dawn were just starting to show in the east, and the clear sky promised good flying weather. Pleased at that thought, the CO went into the former ATC building that the squadron had taken over, and found the night-shift SDO there. “Morning, Breaker,” the CO nodded.

“Morning, Boss,” 1st Lt. Alan Theate replied. He normally flew with the Ops Officer's flight, but with his bird being down for a hundred-hour check, he was grounded for the day. So he had been put in the slot as SDO. “Waiting on my relief.”

“Digger will be here shortly,” Guru said. Digger, who had been Flossy's GIB, had been paired with with 1st Lt. Jody Phelan after Jang had teamed up with Flossy after being grounded for a medical, and the CO wanted to team up new crew with experienced hands. “Anything happen overnight?”

“Nada, Boss,” Breaker said. “Nothing unusual, not even from the CSPs.”

“Good. What's on AFN right now?”

“Wolfman Jack's show is still going strong.” Breaker turned up the volume, and Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band's Old Time Rock and Roll was playing.

“Good choice,” the CO smiled. “XO in?”

“He's in your office, Boss.”

“Thanks, Breaker. Your bird should be out of maintenance sometime today, and tomorrow....”

Breaker grinned. “And it's back in the saddle.”

“It is. And don't be upset about missing a day, because you're not missing a damned thing,” the CO reminded him.

“I know, Boss.”


Guru went to his office, and found the XO waiting, along with a cup of cooca for him. “Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said. “Here's your cooca, and the morning reports for Tenth AF and MAG-11.” He handed Guru a clipboard.

“Anything unusual?”

“Nope. Still have twenty birds for the morning. Should have the two in maintenance back sometime in the afternoon,” the XO replied.

Guru nodded as he scanned the reports, then signed them. “That's done. What else?”

“Weather update. We should be getting a storm in two days or so.”

Guru grinned. “That makes my day, Mark. We need a stand-down.” He scanned the weather update. “Highs in the 60s today and tomorrow. Rain beginning late tomorrow night, and most of the following day. Even a slight chance of snow, even if it won't stick.” The CO looked at Ellis. “We have cold-weather gear for everybody?” He finished the hot chocolate.

“Ross says we do,” said Ellis. “I'll make sure, though.”

“Do that, and make sure it gets issued either today or tomorrow. All that time in the Phoenix area spoiled us, and we didn't get much in the way of winter weather. Here, now...” Guru's voice trailed off.

“Got you,” the XO said, making a note to get that stuff issued.

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

The CO's GIB, Goalie, came in, with two steaming cups of liquid. “Cooca for the CO,” she said cheerfully. “I always want my pilot awake and alert.”

“For which he thanks you,” Guru said as he took the cup. “Anybody seen Sundown this morning?”

“Haven't seen him,” Ellis said, and Goalie merely nodded agreement.

Guru nodded. “Either he went to Early-bird, or we'll see him in the chow line. Now, between the three of us? The ATO may be a little sketchy for a few days beginning tomorrow. For Sundown told General Tanner to clean out the Ops Cell at Nellis.”

“About damned time!” Goalie nearly shouted. “Those Whiz Kid wannabes who wanted to go big on our little party for the sake of going big got the heave ho?”

“They did,” said the CO. “Now, we'll have to play it the way we did after PRAIRIE FIRE wrapped, and the guys who planned it in the air for us got in that crash.”

The XO nodded. “Carefully.”

Guru nodded back. “You got it.” There was a knock on the door right after, and the CO said, “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

Breaker came in. “Boss, you'll want to turn your TV to CNN. Moscow's reacting to the coup.”

Goalie found the remote and turned the TV on. CNN was showing the Press Room at the Soviet Foreign Ministry, and the international press was there as Soviet Foreign Minister Dimitriy Tumansky came into the room and went to the lectern. “For our viewers,” CNN's morning anchor, Donna Kelly, was saying, “This is via our friends at Swedish TV, as the Soviet Foreign Minister is about to make a statement about last night's coup in West Germany.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Tumansky said. “Last night, the forces of reactionary fascism and militarism illegally took power in the Federal Republic of Germany. This event is comparable to both the Reichstag Fire and the Night of the Long Knives, and the Soviet Union condemns these events in the strongest possible terms.

The USSR will not recognize the new revanchist government that claims to have assumed power in Bonn, and will continue to recognize the Green-led Popular Coalition as the legitimate government of Western Germany, and calls upon all peace-loving governments to do the same. We are also calling for an immediate session of the UN Security Council, to condemn this latest incarnation of Fascism in Germany.”

“Fat chance of that, Comrade,” Guru muttered.

“We also call upon all peace-loving people in Western Europe to show their disapproval at the revival of Fascism in Germany, and to demand the restoration of the rightful government to office.”

“Is he on something?” Asked the XO. “There were protests all over calling for a coup.”

“They're seeing only what they want to see, and hear want they want to hear,” Guru reminded the Exec. “Just like Hitler in '44-'45.”

“Forgot about that.”

“The Soviet Union and its Fraternal Socialist Allies will monitor the situation, and if a neutral country takes action that is not befitting a neutral, we reserve the right to respond. Thank you, and I will take no questions.” Tumansky left the podium, flashbulbs popping as he did.

“Now what?” Goalie asked.

“They can't do much,” the XO pointed out. “They're bogged down here in two fronts, they've got trouble along the Chinese border-or what was the border, and Afghanistan's been a thorn in their side since '79.”

“Exactly, Mark,” Guru said. “And they can't afford to get something going in Europe.”

“They pulled a lot of troops out of Eastern Europe for this one, back in '85?” Goalie asked.

“They did,” Guru nodded. “Right now, they're probably regretting it. But what happens over there, we'll see on CNN. Got our own little war to take care of.”

Ellis and Goalie nodded. “There is that,” the XO said.

“Yeah. Let Philly worry about what's next there. Here, we've got people and things to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“That we do,” Goalie said.

Guru nodded, then checked the wall clock. It read 0555. “Let's go eat.”


Guru, Goalie, and the Exec went over to the Officer's Mess Tent, and found the usual crowd already waiting. Colonel Brady was there, talking with two Marine squadron COs, but General Cunningham was conspicous by his absence. Brady spotted the 335th CO and nodded.

“Morning, Major,” Brady said. “Surprised we didn't have any Scud alarms?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru replied. “Either they got the message, which is unlikely, or they shot at somebody else. Or....”

“Or, Major?”

“We did take out some reloads in a convoy,” Guru pointed out. “What good's a launcher if they don't have anything to shoot?”

“A valid point,” Brady agreed. “Notice anybody absent?”

“Yes, sir. Where's the General?”

“He's with the enlisted guys this morning. Not every day a four-star drops in with them.”

“His perogrative, sir,” Guru said. “If you'll recall, though he didn't have that kind of rank, General Tanner did the same when he was here.”

“That he did,” Brady agreed.

Guru nodded, then said, “Before I forget, sir, General Cunningham will be joining the planning cell at lunchtime. The only person who could have told him about this mission we're cooking up would have to be General Tanner himself.”

“He wants a briefing?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brady grimaced, then nodded. “Then we'll have four-star company down there. And who knows? He might pick up something we've all missed.”

“There is that, sir,” said Guru.

The Marine Mess Officer appeared, and flipped the sign on the entrance from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's on, people!”

After breakfast, flight leads went to the Ops Office, to get their mission folders. Guru got their first, as usual, and found the Ops Officer waiting. “Don,” he said.

“Boss,” Don Van Loan nodded, handing the CO a mission folder. “Here's your mission. This should be the last ATO those guys at Nellis you talked about cook up?”

“Sundown told Tanner to swing the ax, so yeah,” the CO replied. He scanned the mission summary, then looked at the Ops Officer. “Again?”

“Boss, the ATO guys-”

“I know, they put it together and we supply the aircraft. We strike, they rebuild, and we restrike. This is too much like Southeast Asia. We weren't there, but it reminds me of everything they say.”

Van Loan nodded. “Same here, Boss. You're preaching to the converted.”

“All right. You have a good one yourself. And I know, come back, because you don't want to be XO, and we don't need Kara as Ops just yet.”

“Took the words out of my mouth, Boss,” Van Loan grinned.

Guru shook hands with his Ops Officer. “Bring everybody back, Don.”

“You too, Boss.”


The CO went to his squadron's briefing room, and when he got there, he found General Cunningham just arriving with his aide, along with the squadron's mascot. “General,” Guru said, saluting. “I see you've met Buddy.”

“I have, Major, and he's a nice enough dog. Reminds me of Roscoe, back in the day at Korat. He a good-luck charm?” Cunningham asked.

“Well, sir, if he sleeps through a brief, it's an easy ride. If he's awake and alert? Watch out, because it's going to be a bear.”

“Let's find out, shall we? I'd like to sit in on a typical brief.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. He opened the door for the General, and followed Cunningham in. To no one's surprise, the dog went and found a place to curl up.

Those inside stood, but Cunningham said, “As you were, people. This isn't the time or place.” He nodded at Guru. “Major.”

“All right, people,” said Guru. “Let's get the show on the road. First up today is Comanche Municipal Airport. I know, we've hit this place several times, but it's active again.”

“This place crawls,” said Kara.

“It does, and it's still the HQ for the Soviet 32nd Army. And that means Army-level air defense assets.”

“How are we getting in?”

“Getting to that. First, no Weasels or Navy IRON HAND. Just us and our ECM pods,” the CO said. “We launch, then meet up with the tankers at Track TEXACO, over Mineral Wells, then we follow the Brazos all the way to Lake Whitney. A mile short of the dam, we turn left to a heading of Two-five-zero for seventy miles, to the town of Priddy. Not much of a town, and the overheads show a few houses and a small store. But that's where we turn north. Follow State Route 16, and the IP is a ranch five miles south of Comanche proper. Pop-up, ID the target, and make your runs. Then get down low, and your asses north to the I-20 as quick as you can.”

“Defenses, Boss?” Sweaty asked.

“Coming to that,” Guru said. “There's 23-mm and 57-mm AAA at the airport, plus guns on the rooftops in town. Not to mention the usual MANPADS and small-arms threat. No word on whether 32nd Army's SAM brigade has gone from SA-4 to SA-11, but assume they have, because there's imagery showing both in the area.” He pulled out a photo-probably from an SR-71, and it showed both an SA-4 battery and an SA-11 battery just west of the town.

Hoser spoke up next. “Who gets what?”

“I'm taking the northern ramp and hangars, and Kara?” Guru nodded at his wingmate. “You get the south. We've both got the Mark-82/M-117 mix this time.”

“Got you. No CBUs?” Kara wanted to know.

“Not this close to a town.”

Cunningham spoke up. “Captain, that's for a very good reason. I know, you're out here on the tip of the spear, and ROE can be....frustrating at times. It pissed us off to no end in Southeast Asia, with what Landslide Lyndon and the Edsel Mechanic pulled, but here, it's to protect our people. We don't want anyone-kids especially-getting hurt or killed by dud bomblets. Out in the boonies? Different story. But here, it's to keep the people we're fighting to liberate safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Kara said. “It's just...”

“Frustrating, Captain. I know it firsthand. Just roll with it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Major?”

“Thank you, sir. To make up for no CBUs? The Mark-82s have Daisy Cutters.” Guru was referring to the fuze extenders on the Mark-82. The CO then looked at his second element lead. “Sweaty? You get the runway. No Daisy Cutters. Just put holes in that runway.”

Sweaty grinned. “Will do, Boss.”

“Hoser?” Fuel dump's southeast of the runway. Ivan's getting smart, and they've built some revetments to protect the fuel trucks, drums, and bladders. Take out as many as you can.”

Hoser nodded. “Got you, Boss.”

“Dave?” Guru turned to Dave Gledhill's people. “When I call PULL? Go ahead of us and kill anyone airborne, and break up any party-crashers.”

The RAF Squadron Leader nodded. “Understood. And speaking of the latter, who's the threat?”

“Good question,” Guru replied. “Brownwood Regional is only a minute's flight time to the southwest, and that's MiG-21s and -23s, and the latter are Soviet-the Fishbeds are East German. Goodfellow has MiG-29s and -23s, and so does Gray AAF down at Fort Hood. TSTC/Connolly AFB at Waco has -21s and -23s, and the same goes for Temple Regional. More Fulcrums and the Flankers are down at Bergstrom.”

“Understood,” Gledhilll replied. “We've got four Sidewinder Ls, four Sky Flash, a SUU-23 pod, and two wing tanks.”

“Good,” Guru said. “Strike birds have six Mark-82s and six M-117s. Four Sidewinder Ps, two Sparrow Fs, full load of twenty mike-mike, and two wing tanks. ALQ-119 pods for all this time.”

“Tanner came through,” Brainiac said.

“He did,” Guru nodded. “Now, the EW systems are being tweaked as part of the hundred-hour checks, and none of our birds are due until we get a weather stand-down the day after tomorrow. If you see those basketball-sized tracers that mean ZSU-30-2? Abort. We'll go for an opportunity target.”

“Good call, Major,” Cunningham said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“This is an Army-level rear area,” Kara pointed out. “We ought to be able to hit something if we can't go for the airport. And who's there, by the way?”

Guru checked the intel summary. “Says here it's an FOL for Hinds, Hips, and Su-25s, and there's also transports like the An-26 or the L-410.”

“So it could be empty, or be packed?” Preacher asked.

“Either answer can be graded as correct.”

“Swell.”

“Yeah. General? Anything to add?” Guru asked.

“No, other than good brief. You people get ready, and I'll see you on the ramp.” Cunningham and his aide then left the room.

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded as an Ops NCO appeared in the doorway to collect the briefing materials. “You heard him. Let's gear up, and meet at 512. And don't bother Buddy, because he's sound asleep.”

Several of the crews looked at the dog, who was still curled up. “Let him lie,” KT said.

“Let him. See you outside.”


The crews went to the locker rooms to gear up-survival vest, G-Suit, and helmet. When Guru came out of the Men's, he found Goalie waiting as usual. “Ready?”

“As I'll ever be. You sure about this stand-down?”

“Weather people think so.”

“Good. A chance to get caught up on everything.”

“Including sleep.”

“Among other things,” Goalie said, her expression getting coy.

“That, too.”


Guru and Goalie then left the squadron building as twilight was giving way to dawn. The sun wasn't quite up just yet, but the sky was getting brighter and brighter. They walked to the squadron dispersal area, and got to 512's revetment. There, their flight was waiting, along with General Cunningham, and four others. Guru noticed Dave Golen and Flossy talking with the General, and the General didn't seem too pleased. “General,” Guru said, sketching a salute.

“Major,” Cunningham said. “Seems the Ops planners have struck again, even though they got their asses kicked out of that establishment.” He handed Guru Dave Golen's mission order.

Guru scanned it, then wadded it up. “Son of a bitch! Those Whiz Kid wannabes never get the message.”

“What is it?” Goalie asked.

“You guys are going to Comanche, right?” Golen asked.

“We are,” Guru replied. “Let me guess: your time-over-target is five or ten minutes after ours.” It wasn't a question.

“Five,” the IDF Major spat.

“Major?” Cunningham asked, seeing Guru thinking for a moment.

“Dave? You and Flossy join up with us at the tankers. You'll be Five and Six, respectively. Our RAF friends are Seven and Eight.”

“We'll be there,” Golen said.

“Understood,” Dave Gledhill said.

Guru nodded. “All right: usual on the radio, and watch for the Mainstay radar. Sooner or later, somebody's got to do something about those.”

“Somebody will, Major,” Cunningham said. “You can take that to the bank.”

“Yes, sir!” Guru was pleased at that thought. “We're Mustang Flight, by the way. Dave? See you at the tankers.”

The IDF Major grinned. “We'll be there.” Then he and Flossy went back to their GIBs, and got themselves ready to fly.

“Any other questions, people?”

“How many more today?” Sweaty asked.

“Three, unless somebody starts hollering for CAS,” Guru replied. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay,” the CO said, clapping his hands for emphasis. “Let's hit it. We meet at ten grand overhead.”

As the crews headed to their aircraft, General Cunningham took Guru aside. “Major, I know this sounds like a cliché, but bring everybody back, you hear?”

“Do my best, General, but can't guarantee anything in this line of work.”

Cunningham knew it. Still.... “Just do the best you can.”

“All anyone can do, sir,” Guru replied, then he went into the revetment. Goalie was there, and so was Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief. “Ready?”

“Major, Captain,” Crowley said, saluting. “Five-twelve's ready to go back and kick some Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru replied as they returned the salutes. Pilot and GIB did the usual preflight walk-around, then they climbed the crew ladder and mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, then putting on and plugging in their helmets, it was time for the preflight checklist.

As they went through it, Goalie asked, “I thought the Ops Cell had been cleaned out. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, and check yours. So did I, but I guess they got in a few more of their crazy theories before they got the heave-ho. Arnie?”

“Arnie's all set, and so is the backup INS,” said Goalie, referring to the ARN-101 DMAS system. “Those guys will get to liking counting paperclips somewhere.”

“Hope so. Preflight complete?”

“Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

Guru then gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who responded with the “Start engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running, and when the warm-up was complete, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Mustang Lead rolling.” Guru then gave another thumbs-up to Crowley, who gave the “Chocks” signal to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the wheels, then the Crew Chief gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru began to taxi out of the revetment, and once 512 was clear, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, which Guru and Goalie returned. Then Guru taxied to the runway, and as he got to the holding area, a flight of four Marine Hornets was ahead of him. While in the holding area, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, making the ordnance “live.” The F/A-18s then rolled down the runway and into the air, then it was his turn.

“Tower, Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-five at seven,” the controller responded.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied onto Runway 35L, and Kara followed, forming up in the Five O'clock position. The CO glanced over at 520, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, then did a final check. All was ready. “Ready back there?”

“All set,” Goalie replied.

“Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower didn't reply by radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his canopy. Goalie did the same, and a quick look saw 520's crew doing it as well. Time to go.

“Let's go,” Goalie said.

“Let's.” Guru then firewalled the throttles, and released the brakes. Then 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, then the RAF. Then Dave Golen and Flossy took off under their own call sign, and headed for the tankers while Mustang Flight met up at FL 100. Then they, too, headed south for the Tanker Track.


Over Central Texas: 0750 Hours Central War Time:



Mustang Flight was headed south doing 500 KIAS at 550 Feet AGL, having just cleared the I-20 and entered enemy territory. They were following the Brazos River, but weren't going down the middle. The Flight was going in about a mile to the east of the river, but still high enough to pick up the river visually. Another advantage was that they were just inside the sector of II Nicaraguan Corps, and unless someone had paid them a visit, the Nicaraguan gunners were not in a mood to shoot at passing aircraft. The East Germans on the west side of the river, though, were another matter entirely.

In Mustang One-one, Guru was concentrating on flying, as the first checkpoint, the Granbury Bridges, was coming up. He checked his instruments, then his EW display, then outside the cockpit, scanning all around. Keeping one's head on a swivel had been drummed into his head at the RTU back at Homestead AFB, during his F-4 training prewar, and that, among other things, was a reason he was still alive and flying. “Granbury coming up?” He asked.

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie advised from the back seat. “Should have a visual...now.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. Sure enough, the U.S. 377 bridge, the old 377 bridge, and a rail bridge all came into view, and the East German AAA gunners on the west side opened up immediately. As usual, the Nicaraguans on the east side stayed quiet, though that woudn't last once they got into the Libyan sector further south. Those guys shot at everyone, and did so with a vigor that indicated they felt that someone would outlaw the practice five minutes later. “Flak coming up.”

“East Germans on the ball,” Goalie said. “And some traffic on the bridge.” A few trucks and APCs were on 377 as the strike flight passed by.

“Not their turn today,” Guru said. “Dam in when?” He was referring to the Lake Granbury Dam, and its own flak.

“Ten seconds,” Goalie called. “And there it is,” she added as 23-mm tracers and puffs of 37-mm appeared.

“As usual,” said Guru. He then checked his EW display, and a strobe appeared as the SEARCH warning light came on. Then a “MS” flicked on next to the strobe. “Mainstay's up.”

“Also as usual,” Goalie shook her head at that. Somebody needed to do some really bad things to the Mainstays on the ground, and she knew that was shared by every strike and fighter crew in theater. The sooner that happened, the better. “And twenty seconds to Glen Rose.” That was U.S. 67.

“Copy.” Guru then called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” a controller replied. “First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-one-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-four-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing One-seven-five for seventy. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope.”

“Mustang, Crystal Palace. First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers. Fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that,” Guru called back. “No Flankers.”

“Good to hear,” said Goalie. “Glen Rose Bridge at One.”

“On it,” Guru said as the flak opened up from the west bank. “Got some traffic on the bridge.”

“Convoy. Wish we were on an armed recon?”

“Now that you mention it? Yes.”


On the bridge, an East German Major Of Transport Troops was quite nervous. His convoy of supply trucks and several T-72 tanks on tank transporters from the Port of Houston had been forced to divert to U.S. 67 due to blown bridges. Oh, the main bridge over the Brazos on Route 174 was still up, but a couple of smaller bridges that led to the large one had been blown, either by the Imperialists' air forces or the Counterrevolutionary bandits that were known to be in the area-and the Libyans had flatly refused to help with his convoy in any way at all. The Nicaraguans, though, had been accommodating, albeit reluctantly, and to him, it seemed as if the Nicaraguans were playing the role of the Italians in the last war: eager to be on what seemed to be the winning side at first, but now, their enthusiasm for the war had cooled significantly, and some Nicaraguan commanders were in the mood of “Please, get your convoy out of my area as quickly as possible, if not sooner. The Yanqui aircraft might return.” It did remind him of what his father had said about the Italians, in North Africa and in Sicily. Shaking his head at the thought, the Major was hoping he'd make his delivery to the 9th Panzer Division in time, when shouts drew his attention.

The Major looked to the north, upriver at first, then to the right, and saw a sight that chilled him. Eight F-4 Phantoms, and they were just inside the Nicaraguan sector. While the AA gunners on the west bank of the river were shooting, the Nicaraguans were conspicuous by their silence. Word was it that the Nicaraguans opened fire only if they were actually being attacked. He watched as the Phantoms thundered past, headed south. The Major dreaded the possibility that the aircraft would turn around and attack not only the bridge, but his convoy, and was relieved when they kept going south. What they attacked, and who, wasn't his problem.

“Next checkpoint?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Twenty seconds to the Brazospoint Bridge,” Goalie advised. “One minute to Route 174 Bridge at Lake Whitney.”

“And both mean Libyans on this side.”

“They do.”

With that, Guru took 512 just to the right, and down to 450 Feet, and the rest of the flight followed. This time, with the flight approaching the Libyan sector, it was time to go right down the middle of the river. And, if they could, watch the Libyans waste ammo-for they almost always failed to lead their targets, and the flak shot past the aircraft.

“Brazospoint ahead,” Guru said. “And the gunners are shooting.”

Goalie looked up from her TPC chart. “Which ones?”

“Both of em!” Which meant both the East Germans and Libyans.


Mustang Flight drew fire from both sides of the river, as they flew right down the middle. The East Germans were shooting high, and had they been at 550 feet, they would've been easily bracketed by the 37-mm flak. The Libyans, as usual, were shooting wildly, and not only did they fail to lead their targets, but shot everywhere else as well. Again, it was as if the Libyans felt that somebody would outlaw the practice in the next five minutes, and thus they had to expend as much as possible.

“We're clear,” Guru said, glancing back.

“Forty-five seconds to Lake Whitney and the 174 Bridge,” Goalie advised.

“Roger that.” Then Guru called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” a controller replied. “First threat bearing Zero-nine-zero for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-four-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Fourth Threat bearing One-eight-five for eighty. Medium, closing.”

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

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

Beneath his oxygen mask, Guru took a deep breath. Flankers and Fulcrums? Lovely. “Roger that.”

“Flankers and Fulcrums?” Goalie said. “And not a teenage fighter in the area. We'll get there.”

“We will.”

“Twenty seconds to the bridge,” Goalie reported.

“Copy.”

“And....Bridge in sight!”

Sure enough, the Route 174 bridge appeared, and Lake Whitney opened up to meet them. And the flak gunners again opened fire. Again, the East Germans shot close, while the Libyans shot wildly, and as the RAF element brought up the rear, the crews saw 23-mm tracers from the East side spray not the sky, but the bridge.

“They trying to get us by ricochet?” Dave Gledhill asked from his back seat.

“Maybe,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson said as the lake opened.


Mustang Flight thundered down the lake, still doing 500 KIAS and 450 Feet. The F-4s attracted attention of some locals who were fishing, and in a couple of boat-in only campgrounds, some of the local Resistance, and to both parties, the sight of the Air Force showed that there was light at the end of the damned tunnel. The only question was when. But where those F-4s were going, and who they hit, didn't matter. As long as they put the hurt on the bad guys, it made no difference.

“How long to the turn point?” Guru asked as 512 thundered down the lake.

“One minute,” said Goalie.

“Call it.” Guru took a look at his EW display. Sure enough, that damned Mainstay was still there, but no fighter radars, Thank God. But they were out there, he knew, and probably with their radars off. Only one way to find out....

“Copy. Thirty seconds.”

“Ready. Dam and flak coming up.”

“Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, then settled onto the course for the next checkpoint, the town of Priddy. “Steady on Two-five-zero.”

“Three and a half minutes,”said Goalie.

“A long three and a half,” Guru replied. In combat, that long was an eternity.


Mustang Flight headed on course, as the Texas Hill Country flew by beneath them. The pilots concentrated on flying the aircraft, while having an eye out for visual threats, while the GIBs monitored the navigation and also had eyes out. One thing about the F-4 that all of the crewers felt, that having a second set of eyes in the back had been a crew-saver on more than one occasion, and the USAF crews were eager for the F-15E to get into service, and continue the practice.

“Two minutes,” Goalie called.

“Copy,” Guru said. He checked the EW display. So far, just the Mainstay radar, and no fighter or SAM radars were showing. Good. A quick glance outside showed the ranches and farms of this part of Texas. Some were active, as if there was no war, others had been bombed-out or fought over, and others had been taken over by the bad guys. Then a familiar road came up. “Highway 281 ahead.” Not only was the road a MSR in the area, it was also useful as a navigation checkpoint.

“Got it,” said Goalie. “Road clear?”

“It is,” Guru replied. If they had been on an armed recon, he'd start flying north, looking to pick up a supply convoy, armored column, or other military traffic. Not today.... “How long?”

“One and a half minutes,”

“Copy,” Guru said as State Route 36 flew past underneath. The town of Hamilton, where they had been burned before, was just to the south, and so far, no SAM or AAA activity. “Hope nobody down there's picking up a phone.”

“Not the only one thinking that,” Goalie said.


In Hamilton, the garrison commander was still in a fit. The 327th Independent Tank Regiment was still positioned around the town, and much to the commander's disgust, the tankers acted as if they owned the place. Unfortunately, the tank regiment reported to 3rd Shock Army in Brownwood, thus bypassing his own chain of command, which went to division, then the Front's Chief of the Rear. At least they're not going after the locals, because the last thing he wanted was any kind of Resistance activity. Oh, the local KGB detachment-whose main job was to watch the garrison and the tankers-they being from the Third Directorate, and the PSD were at odds. The PSD man and his handful of thugs were most insistent on searching for and liquidating any “Counterrevolutionaries” in the county, not just the town, and the KGB man was most disinterested. Good for him, the Major thought as he sat at his desk in City Hall. At least the KGB and PSD were in the old Sheriff's Department, for the last thing he wanted was a firefight inside the headquarters.

His thoughts turned to his garrison, which consisted of overage reservists whose active service had been in the 1960s', and their equipment was the same. A platoon's worth of old BTR-152 APCs, a platoon of equally old T-54 tanks, a battery of 82-mm mortars, and a battery of ZIS-3 76-mm guns left over from the Great Patriotic War, and all of that meant any kind of serious opposition to any American armor or mechanized forces was out of the question. The garrison was under orders to keep U.S. 281 and State Route 36 open, and the Major was content to do so from the safety and security of the town.

The rumble of jets startled the Major, and he looked out his office window. Several American F-4s were flying by, just north of the town, and the tankers had been caught by surprise. At least they weren't being attacked, the Major felt, and where they were off to, and who they were going to attack, was no concern of his. If the 327th reported the aircraft, fine. If not.....


“Hamilton's clear,” Guru said.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “One minute to turn.”

“Copy.” Then Guru called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

The controller replied immediately. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. “First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-four-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-five-five for seventy. Medium, going away.”

“Roger. Do you have bogey dope?”

“Mustang, first threats are Flankers. Second and third threats are Fulcrums.”

“Copy.”

“Thirty seconds, Goalie said.

“Roger that!” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by to turn.”

“Two copies, Lead,” Kara called, and the others followed suit.

Goalie worked the armament control in the rear cockpit. Though Guru had the primary up front, this was one of the GIB's jobs. “All set. Everything on one pass.”

“Good girl,” Guru said as he turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod. “Music's on. Call it.”

“Turn in ten...now five, four, three, two, one, MARK!” She called as State Route 16 and the little town of Priddy appeared ahead.

Guru put 512 into a right turn, and headed north. “Time to IP?”

“Thirty seconds.”

The flight continued north, and the ranch that was the IP quickly appeared. “Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “PULL!”

The eight-ship pulled, and the RAF birds climbed higher, so that they could assume their TARCAP mission. As they did, radars came on, lighting up everyone's EW display.

“Got some radars here,” Goalie said.

“I see 'em,” Guru said. Then he made a radio call. “Coors One-one, MAGNUM!” Just after he made the call, the radars shut down. “They don't want to eat a HARM or Shrike.”

“I wouldn't, Goalie said. “Flak coming up.”

“I see it. Target's in sight, though. You ready?”

“Ready when you are.”

“Going in,” Guru said as the flak came up, and he took 512 in on the bomb run.


In Comanche, Major General Pavel Sisov was starting his morning routine. With the front lines to the north generally quiet, it was apparent that both sides were standing down and getting ready to sit out the winter. A briefing he'd had at Front Headquarters had said that the Americans had shot their bolt for the time being, and needed to build up their supplies, something that, despite the destruction of both Omaha and Kansas City, they would almost certainly do, and well before the Soviets could do the same. They didn't have a long supply line by sea, and the naval situation was in their favor when it came to not only the supplies of raw materials, oil, and war materiel that were coming in, but also the interdiction of Soviet convoys from Kola and the Black Sea.

The main concern of General Sisov at the moment was getting his divisions refitted and replacements integrated. The commander of the 203rd MRD had been screaming bloody murder that the T-80s his division had originally been equipped with had been taken away and sent to 3rd Shock Army, and T-72Ms issued in their place. At least they were off the production lines in Czechoslovakia, and were of very good quality, unlike some of the Ms built in the Rodina at tractor plants-some of those had to be sent to Front-level workshops for overhaul before they could be used. The APC situation was tolerable, with BTR-70s and BMP-2s, as was the artillery, but the division's air defense was still using Romb (SA-8) missiles and ZSU-23-4s for guns, instead of the new Tunguska gun/missile systems, and the Buk (SA-11) SAM. And this wasn't the only division in this situation, it was all over.

General Sisov shook his head at that, and at the personnel situation. Some of the replacements-the former RSVN guards, had settled in as infantry, but others-especially reservists or undertrained conscripts sent over with only a month's basic training and a month's orientation to America , were having problems. Especially when they found out that things were not going as well as the State TV and Radio said, or the newspapers for that matter.

The General got up from his desk and went to his office window in City Hall. He was about to call in his Chief of Staff when shouts came, then the sound of anti-aircraft fire. Another air strike.....Sisov grabbed his binoculars, his Chief of Staff, and his Air Force liaison, then headed for the roof.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 down on its bomb run. As he did, the flak started to come up, and so did a couple of radars. The GUN warning light came on, and that meant either a Firecan for a 57-mm, a ZSU-23-4, or a ZSU-30-2. But the tracers came nowhere near his aircraft, and that meant the ECM pod was doing its thing. Guru picked out the northern ramp area, which had been built by the Soviets after the invasion, and lined up two hangars and a couple of helos in his pipper. What kind didn't matter, though. “Steady....Steady, And....HACK!” The CO hit the pickle button, and his dozen Mark-82s came off the racks. He then pulled up and away, applying power and jinking as he did, to give any SAM shooters a harder target. Once clear of the target, he made the call. “Lead's off target.”


“Of all the...” Sisov muttered. The airport again, he saw as Guru's F-4 came in. AA gunners at the airport and on several rooftops sprayed the sky with fire, but the F-4 was unharmed as it came in and released its bombs. He watched as the aircraft pulled away, and the AA fire followed it, cursing as he did, for the gunners failed to lead the target. Then the bombs exploded, and two fireballs followed. Was one of them his own personal helicopter? Sisov then saw the guns swivel back to the south. More coming, he knew from bitter experience.


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

“How big?” Guru asked as an SA-7 type missile flew past on the right, and another SAM flew about a couple hundred feet above-a big one. SA-4 optically guided?

“Big enough!”

“Suits me.” Guru then turned north for the egress to the I-20.


“Two in hot!” Kara called as she brought 520 in on her run. She saw the CO's run, and the fireballs that he left in his wake, Good, Boss, you got a couple of helos. Kara picked up the South Ramp and the two hangars, and lined up what looked like an An-24 or L-410 transport. You'll do, Ivan, she thought as the flak came up, and so did the SAMs-two SA-7s or SA-14s came up, but failed to guide. Not this time....Kara lined up the aircraft in her pipper, ignored the flak and missiles, and concentrated on the bomb run. “Steady....And...And...HACK!” She hit her pickle button, sending her twelve Mark-82s down onto the Russians below. Kara then applied power, pulled up and away, and began jinking. When she got clear of the target, she called, “Two's off safe.”

“Damn it,” Sisov said, watching as Kara's F-4 came in. He cursed again at the AA gunners, who seemed to be shooting everywhere but ahead of the aircraft, as the F-4 went in and released its bombs. Again, explosions appeared in the aircraft's wake, and two more fireballs erupted. The General turned to his AF liaison and asked, “Where's the Air Force?”

“Fighters should be scrambling, Comrade General,” the Colonel replied. “I'll go check, with your permission.”

“Do that,” Sisov growled as the AA guns turned south yet again. More aircraft coming in.


“BULLSEYE!” Brainiac shouted from 520's rear seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as an SA-4, unguided, she hoped, flew above, and an SA-7 went by on the left. She then jinked right, then left again, and another SA-7 flew past on the right.

“Two,” her GIB replied.

“Better than none,” Kara said as she picked up the CO's smoke trail, then his aircraft.


“Three in hot!” That was Sweaty's call as she came in on her bomb run. She, too, saw the flak coming up, and the results of Kara's strike, seeing a pair of transports going up in fireballs and a hangar blown apart. Good work, girl, she thought as she lined up the runway in her pipper. Knowing full well that flying right down the runway was asking for it, she came in five degrees to the right as Runway 35/17 appeared. Sweaty, too, had both flak and missiles coming up, and she ignored them, concentrating on her bomb run. “And....And....Steady...And....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, and a dozen more Mark-82s came down onto the airport and its defenders below. Sweaty then pulled up, began jinking and applied power to get clear of the target area, all the while as flak and a couple of SAMs came up as she cleared the area. Only when clear of the target did she make the call. “Three's off safe.”


“Sookin sin,” General Sisov said. Son of a Bitch. These Americans were nothing but persistent, he thought as Sweaty's F-4 came in. He watched as the F-4 made its run, and the bombs came off. This time, there were no fireballs, but a dozen clouds of smoke and some flame were left in the aircraft's wake. Either some airport buildings, or the runway, had been hit. Maybe even both. The General turned to his Chief of Staff, and the Chief shook his head as the SAF Colonel came back. “Well?”

“I couldn't get through, Comrade General. Hopefully, the A-50 radar plane will direct fighters onto the Americans,” the Colonel replied. “If they've been picked up, that is.”

“If,” Sisov said. He shook his head, and saw the AA gunners turning their weapons back south. Still more aircraft coming in.

“GOOD HITS!” Preacher shouted in Sweaty's rear seat. “We got the runway!”

“How many cuts?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid a shoulder-fired missile, then again as an SA-4 flew overhead by about three hundred feet.

“Two, at least.”

“Good enough for a while.” Then Sweaty turned north, hoping to pick up the CO and Kara as they egressed.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw what his element lead had done, and noticed the bomb craters in the runway. Good one, Sweaty, he thought as he spotted the fuel dump, and centered it in his pipper. He, too, ignored the flak and the MANPADS coming up, as he concentrated on his bomb run, watching as the fuel tanks, drums, and bladders, along with some fuel trucks, grew larger in his pipper. “Steady...Steady....And....HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, and sent his dozen Mark-82s onto the target below. Like the others, he pulled up, applied power, and started jinking as he cleared the target area. Once he was clear, it was time to make the call. “Four off target.”


General Sisov started muttering more curses as he watched Hoser's plane come in for its run. The AA gunners were shooting, but they were shooting everywhere but where they should, namely, ahead of the target to lead it. Unfortunately, the air defense of the airport was not a 32nd Army responsibility, but was part of the Air Force detachment at the field, much to his ire. Somebody's fucked this up, the General thought, and he shot a withering look at the SAF Colonel, who knew right away the General wasn't pleased. Then the guns turned back-this time to the southeast. This can't be happening, Sisov thought.


“BULLSEYE!” KT shouted from the back seat. “We got the fuel dump!”

“Secondaries?” Hoser asked as an SA-7 flew past on the right, then an SA-4 crossed his path ahead of him and just above.

“Big ones and multiple!”

“Not complaining about that,” Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. He then turned and picked up Sweaty's aircraft up ahead.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called as he came in on his run. The target for his element wasn't the airport, but a damaged vehicle collection point just west of the junction of U.S. 67/377 and F.M. 3381. It did have its defenses, though, as 23-mm and 37-mm fire came up, and so did the shoulder-fired missiles. No matter, Dave thought as he ignored the flak, and kept his mind on the bomb run. He picked out several vehicles-were they tanks or APCs, he wondered, in his pipper. They'll do, he thought as he lined them up in the pipper. “And...Steady...Steady....And.....NOW!” Dave hit his pickle button, and his twelve Mark-82s came off the racks. He then pulled up and away, began to jink, and applied power as he cleared the target area. Only when clear did he give his call. “Five's off target.”


“Now what?” General Sisov asked as he watched Golen's F-4 go in on its run. The AA gunners were still shooting, but ineffectively, as the aircraft came in, and to his surprise, an explosion on a nearby roof got his attention. Some soldiers were shooting Strela shoulder-fired missiles from the rooftops, and one had apparently gone off in the tube. “Get some medics there right away,” he told the Chief of Staff, who nodded and relayed the order to one of the staff who was with them. Sisov watched as the F-4 cleared the area, leaving a dozen bomb blasts in its wake, and several other explosions. Then the AA guns turned again. “Not again,” he muttered.


“BULLSEYE!” Terry McAuliffe, Golen's GIB, shouted. “GOOD HITS!”

“Any secondaries?” Golen asked as he dodged some 23-mm tracers, and another SA-7.

“Some.”

“We'll take what we get,” Golen said as he picked up Sweaty's element.


“Six is in!” Flossy called as she brought 1569 in on her bomb run. She saw her element lead's strike, and a few fireballs that came up as a result. Nice job, Lead, she thought as the flak came up. Not today, Ivan....Flossy ignored the flak and a couple of SA-7s as she concentrated on her bomb run. She picked out some vehicles that had escaped Dave's attention, and decided on those. Your turn to have a bad day, Ivan... “And....Steady..And...And....HACK!” Flossy hit her pickle button, and sent her dozen Mark-82s down onto the Russians below. She then applied power and pulled up and away, and as she did, began jinking to give the flak gunners and SAM shooters a harder target. When she cleared the area, Flossy called, “Six off safe.”

“This can't be happening!” General Sisov shouted to no one in particular. The Chief of Staff, the SAF liaison man, and several staff officers knew the General, to use an American phrase that had become popular in the Army, was very pissed off, and there was no hiding it. Sisov watched as Flossy's plane made its run, and as it pulled away, left a dozen bomb blasts and a couple of fireballs in its wake. As the F-4 disappeared to the north, two more appeared, but they didn't attack, but followed the others. Either cover or a reconnaissance flight? No matter, there had been enough damage done this morning, and the day had barely begun. “We need to improve our air defenses around Army headquarters. Get the commander of the 272nd SAM Brigade and the 677th AA Brigade. I need to talk to them,” he said to the Chief of Staff.

“Now, Comrade General?”

“NOW!” Sisov roared.

“Right away, Comrade General.”


In 512, Goalie called it. “Six in and out. Time to fly for ourselves.”

“That it is,” Guru agreed. “One-seven and One-eight, get your asses down and away.”

“Roger, Lead,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson called from One-seven. The two RAF F-4Js broke off their TARCAP and, after going burner briefly, got back down low and caught up with the rest of the flight.

Guru took a look to his right, and found Kara in 520, right with him in Combat Spread. “Sweaty?”

Sweaty came back right away. “In your six, and Hoser's with me.”

“Dave?” Guru called Dave Golen.

“Right behind Sweaty, and Flossy's on my wing.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

A controller replied right away. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-four-five for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-four-zero for seventy-five. Medium, closing. Stand by....Fourth threat also bearing Two-four-zero for twenty-five. Medium, going away.

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

“Affirmative, Mustang Lead,” the controller said. “First threats are Floggers. Second threats are Flankers, Third are Fulcrums, and Fourth are...Fishbeds.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Goalie, time to the Fence?”

“Two minutes,” Goalie replied. “Thirty-two miles.”

“Copy that!” Guru then took 512 down to 350 Feet AGL, and the flight followed. “See if they like tracking us in the weeds.”

“Still got that Mainstay radar out there.”

Guru took a look at his EW display. The Mainstay signal was there, then two more strobes appeared, then two more. With a “21” next to them. “Blue Bandits active,” he called. “Blue Bandit” was the old Vietnam call for MiG-21s.

“Got 'em,” Goalie said.

“SAM LAUNCH!” Kara called. “THREE O'CLOCK!”

Guru looked right, and saw two SAMs coming up. They weren't tracking the flight, but passed about five hundred feet above. A quick look at the EW showed another strobe, and a “4” which meant SA-4. “Who are they shooting at?”

“Good question,”Goalie said. “Ninety seconds to the Fence.”

“Got it,” Guru replied, just as two of the MiG-21 strobes went off the scope. “What the hell?”

Sweaty got on the radio right after. “Lead, Sweaty. Two MiG signals just dropped off.”

“I saw it. What happened?”

It was Flight Lt. Karen McKay in One-eight who saw it. “Lead, this is Eight. Two fireballs at Eight O'Clock. Two birds going down.”

“Wyatt Earp back there just blew away two of his own MiGs,” Kara called.

“Looks that way,” Guru said, grinning beneath his oxygen mask.

“One minute to the Fence,” Goalie called. “That's the second Red-on-Red for us,” she added, recalling a pre-PRAIRIE FIRE mission where two Soviet MiG-25s mistook two Libyan Su-22s for Guru and Sweaty, and proceeded to blow them out of the sky.

“I'll go along with that,” Guru said as State Route 6 appeared. “Crystal Palace, say closest bogeys.”

“Mustang, Crystal Palace,” the controller responded. “Two bogeys bearing Two-one-zero for thirty. Medium, going away.”

“MiGs don't want to party,” Goalie observed. “Thirty seconds.”

“Don't blame 'em,” Guru said. “Two of their pals just got nailed by their own SAMs.”

“Coming up on the Fence,” Goalie called. “And the Mainstay's off.”

Guru took a look at the EW display. The MiG-21 radars were off, and now the Mainstay's signal had dropped off as well. About damned time. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out,” he called as I-20 passed beneath them.

Once clear of the Interstate, the flight climbed to altitude and met up with the tankers for the post-strike refueling. After drinking enough fuel to get back to Sheppard, they headed for home.

When Mustang Flight arrived, they were second in the landing pattern, after a flight of Marine F-4s, and two other 335th flights were behind them. Mustang Flight then came in and landed, and as they taxied away, the crews popped their canopies. Much to the disappointment of those watching, no one held up a finger or two to show a MiG kill. Too bad for the CO's flight, but the others might have somebody's scalp...

Guru led the flight into the squadron's dispersal, then they taxied for their own revetments. The CO found 512's and taxied in, following the CC's signals. When in the revetment, Sergeant Crowley gave the “Stop” signal, followed by the “Shut down.” After shutting down, the ground crew brought the chocks and crew ladder, while Guru and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist. When they were done, they climbed down the crew ladder, and did a quick post-flight walk-around, before seeing the Crew Chief.

“Shit hot, sir and ma'am!” Crowley said, handing bottles of water to both Guru and Goalie. “How'd it go?”

“Tore up an airfield,” Guru replied as he took a swig of water. “Again.”

“Same field we've hit several times before,” Goalie added.

“Just like my dad said in Vietnam,” Crowley said. “He was a Marine, but taking the same hill three times in a row?”

“Just like us,” Guru agreed. “With the battle lines stuck for now, guess there's no way around it.” He finished the water, then nodded. “All right, Sarge. No problems or issues with the bird. Let's get her prepped for the next one.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley beamed. He turned to the ground crew. “You heard the Major! Let's get this bird ready for the next mission.”

As the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie walked to the revetment's entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac there, along with Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT. “Well?” Guru asked.

“Both of us tore up the field,” Kara said. “And we both got ground kills, looks like.”

“I'll go along with that,” Guru said. “Maybe we made some general's helo go away.”

“That would be something,” Kara grinned.

The CO nodded. “It would. Sweaty?”

“Got the runway cut, but want to bet they've got engineers already filling in bomb craters?” Sweaty replied. “That's a bet I bet even Starbuck won't take.”

Kara nodded. “You've got that right.”

“Hoser?” Guru asked. “Fuel dump go up?”

“That it did, Boss,” Hoser said. “With some big fireballs.”

“Quite a few,” KT added.

“I'll go along with that,” Dave Golen said as he and Flossy came over. “They had several, and we got a vehicle repair yard and collection point.”

“Tear it up?” Guru asked.

“We did,” Flossy said. “No MiGs, though,” she added, and everyone could hear some disappointment in her voice.

Dave Gledhill and his element arrived next. “Guru,” he said. “No MiGs on this one.”

“Can't have them every time,” Guru replied. “Maybe seeing two of their buddies killed by their own SAMs cooled their tempers.”

“Quite,” Gledhill nodded. “But weren't the MiG-21s in that area East German?”

“So?” Preacher asked.

“The SAMs were Soviet,” KT said. “Soviet 32nd Army, right?”

“Yeah,” Goalie agreed. “Wait....Ivan just killed two East German MiGs-that's going to put a crimp in their relations.”

“Not much,” General Cunningham said as he appeared. He'd been listening in, wanting to see how the crews talked about a mission before the formal debrief with the intel people.

“General,” Guru said. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

“Ivan's going to tell the East Germans, 'accident of war, so get with it,' or words to that effect,” Cunningham said. “Not the first time, and won't be the last. Major, you and Captain Blanchard had a similar experience, I understand?”

Guru and Sweaty both nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Two MiG-25s locked up two Libyan Su-22s instead of us, and blew them out of the sky. First Red-on-Red that we saw.”

“Made good fireworks,” Sweaty added. “Uh, sir.”

Cunningham laughed. “No apology necessary, Captain, and you're quite right. Now, Major, I'd like to sit in on your debrief, and get your take on this. I know, this sounds too much like Vietnam for your taste-and I agree. But, until the battle lines move south, we'll have to roll with it.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir. Okay, people! Let's get the debrief out of the way. Then check your desks, because we're back at it in an hour or so.”

“And after that is the working lunch with the planning cell, Major?”

“Yes, sir,”

“I'll be there.”

The crews then headed to the briefing room, where Sin Licon and an intel NCO were waiting. Before long, it would be time to go back out and fly another mission, and the day was still young.

[Matt Wiser]

Part VI: The day just keeps on going...


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 0910 Hours Central War Time:


In his office, Major Matt Wiser sat behind his desk, doing the one thing that he-and every other CO detested-namely, paperwork. Though the wartime bureaucracy was nowhere near what he'd seen in peacetime, it still got him hot under the collar. At least Mark's a good Exec, he thought. For a good Exec filtered out the wheat from the chaff, and left only the most important for the CO's attention. After filling his OUT box, the Major checked a couple of memos. Then his blood boiled. Another paper-pusher was upset about what he deemed to be “Excessive expenditure” of 20-mm ammo, and another bureaucrat was upset about so many chaff and flare cartridges being used. Shaking his head at the armchair warriors, he opened a desk drawer and pulled out two more memos, nearly identical. Both were from HQ TAC, but different authors. But somebody-at least a one-star-had to sign off on these, he knew. At least TAC is still at Langley, the CO thought. Good. Sundown won't have far to go to kick those people off base.

He was about to get up from his desk when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The door opened and General Cunningham stepped in.

“Uh, sir,” Guru added as he stood up. “What can I do for you?”

“Major, that was a good mission you just flew. Has anyone told you that your squadron would fit right in if you were somehow transported back in time to Southeast Asia, twenty years ago?” Cunningham said.

“Yes, sir. General Olds, as a matter of fact.”

“He would know,” Cunningham smiled. “And I agree. Now, Major, I know you guys have been pretty informal around here.” He saw Guru start to open his mouth, but held up his hand. “Major, you're not the only unit doing this, and not just in Tenth Air Force. A lot of peacetime procedures and regs get tossed once the balloon's gone up, along with the deadwood who can't get used to it. I'm just reminding you that if they declared a peace tomorrow-and that's as likely as the Russians throwing either one of us a birthday party-your squadron would have some adjusting to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru admitted. “When it ended in August of '45, a lot of folks thought it still had six months-or more-to go. Peacetime took some getting used to.”

“It did,” Cunningham agreed, recalling his own father's stories about VJ-Day and after. “Just file it up here,” he said, tapping the right side of his head. “Major, you're just doing what General Tanner told you, and since winning the war comes first and foremost, just keep at it. You handle the Russians, and let those above you worry about some bureaucrat getting in your way.”

Guru nodded. “General, permission to speak freely?”

“Certainly, Major, it's your squadron until you either get killed or they find somebody better.”

“General, speaking of bureaucracy and bureaucrats, I got these in today's mail.” He handed the two memos to the General. “I have two similar ones, and I had hoped to show them to you last night, but things in West Germany got everyone's attention.”

“That they did, Major,” Cunningham smiled. “FYI they haven't caught the former Chancellor yet, but they've got their version of an APB out for him. He hasn't shown up in East Berlin just yet.”

Guru nodded. “Sir, if he had, he'd be on East German TV now, screaming for the 'liberation' of West Germany.”

Cunningham also nodded, this time in agreement. “That he would, Major.” The General scanned the papers, then looked at Guru. “Two Colonels, from TAC's Supply Office, and they're sending these?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru replied. He saw the General's face turn red. “And they've sent similar stuff in the past. Only we-that is Colonel Rivers and myself-have been feeding this BS to the shredder.”

“Major, like I said, you go out and take care of the Russians and their lackeys. Leave the bureaucracy and those who infest it to me. I'll make sure they get out of your way-and every other squadron or Wing CO.”

“Will do, sir,” Guru nodded. “Will you-”

“I'll need to use your office, Major,” Cunningham said. He was already mentally composing what he was going to say to the two Colonels, and the one-star in charge of TAC Supply as well.

“General, my office is at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Major,” said Cunningham. Then a knock came on the door. “Yeah?”

The office door opened and revealed Kara. “Whoops-sorry, General. Boss?” She nodded at Guru. “We've got a mission.”

“Looks like you've got someplace to be, Major. I'll try and see you on the ramp.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said as he grabbed his bush hat. “No rest for the weary or the wicked.”

“You'll rest when the war's over or you're dead, whichever comes first,” the General reminded him.

Guru nodded as he went to the door. “That's the sorry truth, sir,” he said.

“It is,” Cunningham said. “Major, Captain? If I can't get to the ramp? You have a good mission, and bring everyone back.”

Guru and Kara looked at each other. “Thank you, sir, and we'll try on the last. No guarantees in this line of work.”

The General had a grim look on his face. “That's also a sorry truth,” he said. “Good Luck.”

Both understood this form of dismissal. “Thank you, sir,” Guru and Kara nodded, then they shut the door. “Tell me this isn't CAS.”

“It isn't,” his wingmate replied. “And before you ask, no Dave or Flossy. They've got their own mission.”

Guru nodded. “All right, then. Dave Gledhill's people coming?”

“As usual.”

“Good. Round everybody up. Briefing room in fifteen.”

“On my way.”

The CO went to the Ops Office, and found Van Loan waiting. “Don,” Guru said. “What's on tap?”

The Ops Officer nodded, and handed Guru a folder. “Here you go, Boss, and before you ask? I just pass these on.”

Guru nodded, then opened the folder. He scanned the mission summary, then looked at his Ops Officer. “You shitting me?”

“No way, Boss,” Van Loan replied.

“Maybe Ivan figured they'd get along better with the East Germans. Okay, Don, thanks. You have a good one yourself. Let's not have to break in Kara as your replacement.”

“You too, Boss, and I'm not ready to be XO just yet.”

Nodding, Guru headed to the Briefing Room his flight used, and as he passed by the office, he heard shouting from his own office. Then he ran into Chief Ross. “Chief,” Guru said. “Looks like somebody's getting it.”

“Yes, sir,” the Squadron's senior NCO said. “I sure wouldn't want to be on the other end of that phone line.”

Guru had a grim smile on his face. “You and me both, Chief. Oh, I almost forgot: the General's supposed to leave this afternoon, but you and I both know four-stars can and do change their minds on a whim. Keep the scrounging, well....discrete.”

Chief Ross understood perfectly. “I'll pass the word, sir.”

“Good, Chief. I know, a lot of senior officers either look the other way, or give a wink and nod, but not while he's here.”

“Will do, Major.”

Guru then went to the Briefing Room, and found the rest of the flight, and Dave Gledhill's element, there. “Okay, people. Let's get the show on the road.”

“Where we off to this time?” Sweaty asked.

“Ten miles south of Stephenville, and five miles northwest of the small town of Duffal,” Guru said. “There's a helo dispersal field there. We get to make it go away.”

“Back to the East German sector,” Kara noted. “And that's an Army-level rear area.”

“It is, and here's the kicker.” Guru looked around at everyone. “It's not East German, but Libyan.”

“Aren't they supposed to be on the other side of the Brazos?” Hoser asked.

“They're supposed to be, but that's what the intel says,” Guru replied. “Helos are supposed to be Hinds and Hips.”

“Supposed to be,” Preacher said. “What if they're not there?”

“Good question. This is, as Kara said, an Army-level rear area. There's several opportunity targets listed, and if we can't find one for whatever reason? We unload on Stephenville Airport.”

Sweaty nodded. “Sounds good enough,” she said. “How are we getting in?”

“By the back way,” Guru smiled. “Not via the Brazos.” He pulled out a TPC chart and outlined the flight path. “We pick up Tanker Track ARCO east of Breckenridge, and top up. Get to the I-20, and drop down low, and pick up the Leon River. Follow the river to Proctor Lake, but we skirt the east side of the lake, and avoid the flak at the dam. We cross U.S. 67-377, and then pick up State Route 36. Follow 36 to Lamkin and turn east. Then we cross U.S. 281, until we hit the town of Fairy. Go northeast to State Route 6, then turn northwest to State Route 220. Duffal's just to the northwest of the highway,and that's where we pop up. ID the target, roll in, and make your runs. Once clear, head northwest and buzz the East Germans in Stephenville. Keep heading northwest until you hit Lake Comfort, then go north to the I-20. Climb up, meet the tankers, and come on home.”

Heads nodded at that. “Sounds good, Boss,” Kara said. “What are we getting?”

“No CBUs on this one, again. Before you open your mouths, there's several farms and ranches nearby, and this enclosure east of Highway 281? It's been ID'd as a prison camp. Don't want any of our own people hurt or killed by our own ordnance,” Guru said firmly. “We all get six Mark-82s and six M-117s. The Mark-82s all have Daisy Cutters to make up for no CBUs.”

“Usual air-to-air?” Hoser asked.

“Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, full twenty mike-mike, each bird. Two wing tanks, and ALQ-119s for the leads, -101s for the wingmates.”

Dave Gledhill nodded, then said, “We've go the usual: four Sidewinder-Ls, four Sky Flash, the SUU-23 pod, and two wing tanks.”

“Good,” Guru nodded. “Do your usual TARCAP thing, and break up any party-crashers.”

“Our pleasure.”

“All right.” Guru said. “MiG threat is unchanged since this morning, and so are the bailout areas.” That meant anyplace away from roads. The CO went on. “Ground defenses: expect ZU-23s at the target, along with MANPADS. This is the East German rear, so expect SA-4s, and when we get into a divisional rear, SA-6.”

Kara grinned. “And a few 'Magnum' calls should shut those guys down.”

“Good idea,” Guru smiled. “When I call PULL? Make a call or two. And use a known Weasel call sign while you're at it. They'll shut down fearing they'll take a Shrike or HARM. There's this as well: expect flak when we get to Stephenville.”

“Too low, and too fast,” Sweaty said.

“Watch for a Golden BB, though,” Goalie pointed out. “All it takes is one lucky shot...”

“Good advice,” Dave Gledhill nodded.

“It is,” Guru said as an Ops NCO appeared to collect the briefing materials. “Anything else?”

“Planning cell when we get back?” Kara asked.

“It is, and Sundown's going to be there,” said Guru. “He wants a look at this little project.”

Sweaty grinned. “He'll like it.”

“He will,” the CO agreed. “Unless there's anything else, let's gear up. I'll see you at 512.”

The crews went to their locker rooms and geared up. When Guru came out of the Men's, Goalie was waiting outside, as usual. “Ready?” She asked.

“Ready to get it done, because in the planning cell?” Guru asked.

“Sundown,” Goalie nodded. “And we get to hear what he thinks of this little op.”

Guru nodded back. “That we will.”

They left the squadron office, and headed outside. There, Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs, Terry McAulifffe and Jang, were discussing their mission. “Guru,” Dave nodded. “Where are you headed?”

“East German sector, southeast of Stephenville. You?” Guru replied.

“East of there, Walnut Springs,” Golen replied. They checked their respective maps. “We'll be close enough.”

“We will. If you hit MiG trouble, holler. We'll bring the Brits. Still Mustang on the radio.”

“We're Cobra this time,” Golen said, glancing at his wingmate. “Took Flossy to explain to me what the Ford Cobra was.”

Hearing that, Guru and Goalie laughed. “Well, when this is all over, Dave, maybe you can hit a car show and see one of Carroll Shelby's best for yourself,” Goalie said.

“Wouldn't mind that at all,” the IDF Major grinned. “You guys be careful.”

“Likewise,” Guru said.

Guru and Goalie then went into the squadron's dispersal area and found the rest of the flight gathered at 512's revetment. “Okay, folks, gather round.” It was time for his final instructions.

“Usual on the radio?” Sweaty asked.

“Usual,” Guru nodded agreement. That meant call signs between them, and mission code to AWACS and other parties. “Now, I didn't say this inside, but I'll throw it out here. If you see those damned basketball-sized tracers at the target? Abort. We'll reform and go for an opportunity target.”

“Do the Libyans have those guns?” Kara wanted to know.

“The Mad Colonel's got the money,” Dave Gledhill pointed out. “Any sign they've got some of those?”

“Good question. Nothing in the intel sheet, but....” Guru said, voice trailing off. “Let's not be surprised, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Hoser said. “Two more after this one, Boss?”

“Unless somebody starts screaming for CAS,” KT reminded them.

“Don't say it,” the CO said. “All right, anything else?” Heads shook no. Guru then clapped his hands for emphasis. “Meet up at FL 100, and let's get it done. Time to hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, 512 was ready and waiting. The Crew Chief snapped a salute as they came in. “Major, Captain? Five-Twelve's ready to rock and kick some Commie ass,” Sergeant Crowley said.

“Good to know, Sarge,” Guru said as he and Goalie returned the salute. They did the usual preflight walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, and helmets on and plugged in, they went through the preflight checklist.

“Worried about the planning cell?” Goalie asked as they ran down the checklist. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom; check yours,” replied Guru. “No, but, well, nervous anticipation would describe it. Arnie?”

“Same here,” Goalie said. “Sundown's either going to pat us on the back or roast us. Arnie's up and ready, and so is the backup INS.” She meant the ARN-101 DMAS system. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start,” Goalie added, stowing the checklist.

“It is and we are,” Guru acknowledged. “Let's hope for the former, shall we?” He then gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who gave the “Start Engines” signal in reply.

First one, then two, J-79 engines were soon up and running. When the warm-up was complete, it was time to call the tower.

“Tower, Mustang Flight with six, ready for taxi and takeoff instructions,” Guru called.

A tower controller came back immediately. “Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five-Charlie. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Mustang Lead rolling.” Guru then gave the crew chief another thumbs-up, and the “Chocks” signal to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the wheels, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru then taxied 512 out of the revetment, and when he cleared it, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, as usual, which Guru and Goalie returned. As he taxied, the rest of the flight fell in line behind Guru as he made his way to Runway 35C. When the flight arrived in the holding area, there was a Marine flight of four Hornets ahead of them, and a Marine four-ship of F-4s ready to take off. The Marine Phantoms rumbled down the runway and into the air, and the Hornets taxied onto the runway.

Guru taxied into the holding area, where, as usual, the armorers removed the weapon safeties. The F/A-18s launched, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-five for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied onto the runway, with 520 coming right with him. He and Goalie did a final cockpit check, and found everything ready. Guru then glanced over at 520 on his right wing, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups to signal ready. Guru and Goalie returned them, then it was time.

“Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower didn't reply by radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“All set?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” Goalie replied. “Let's fly.”

In the front seat, Guru nodded. “Let's.” He reached up and pulled the canopy down, closing and locking it. “Canopy down.”

“Mine's down,” Goalie said as she did so, and a quick glance at 520 showed its crew had done the same.

“Time to go,” Guru said. He firewalled the throttles, then released the brakes. The big Phantom rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara in 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, followed by their RAF element. Mustang Flight met up at FL 100, then headed south for the tanker track.


Over Central Texas: 1025 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight was headed south, having just cleared I-20 and the FLOT just south of the freeway. Once clear of the Interstate, they were in enemy territory for all intents and purposes, even though the actual front lines were a few miles south. It didn't matter, for the pilots and GIBs were focused, intent on their instruments and their visual scanning. For all manner of threats could be out there, and often, the first sign of danger was a plane blowing apart in a fireball....


In 512, Guru had his head on a swivel, just as he had been taught in the RTU at Homestead prewar. Lessons he had learned from Vietnam vets, and had been drummed into his head. As far as he was concerned, that was a very good reason why he was still flying and fighting. He checked his instruments, then his EW display, then outside. “Anything?”

Goalie was checking her own instruments. “Nada, and the EW's clear.”

“Won't be for long,” Guru replied. The strike flight had picked up the Leon River, near the boundary between the East German sector and that held by the Soviet 32nd Army. “And there he is,” he spat as a bright strobe appeared on his EW display, off to the southeast, with an “EW” next to it, and the SEARCH warning light illuminated.

“Mainstay?”

“You got it,” Guru said. “Sure hope somebody's going to do something about those.”

“You and me both,” said Goalie. “One minute to Proctor Lake.”

Back to business, Guru thought. Good. “Roger that,” he replied. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

A controller came back right away. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Two-four-zero for forty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-five-zero for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Mustang, First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers. Wait one.” The controller paused, then came back. “Mustang, fourth threat bearing Two-two-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Threats are Fulcrums.”

Whoa...Guru thought. All that's missing are the Foxbats. “Roger, Crystal Palace.”

“MiG-29s? That'll make Kara's day,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to the lake.”

“It would,” Guru agreed. “And Dave Gledhill's, too.” He noticed the lake coming up. “And there's the lake.” He skirted the east side of the lake, and as the flight followed, the AAA gunners at the dam opened up. “Flak at the dam.”

“They're on time,” Goalie said. “One minute to turn.”

“Copy that,” Guru said as the East German gunners opened up with their 23-mm and 37-mm flak. The strike flight was too fast, and they easily outdistanced the AAA fire. “Passing U.S. 67.”

“Roger that,” Goalie said. She checked her EW display. “Radar at One.”

“Got it,” Guru said. A strobe appeared on his display, with a square with “21” illuminated. “Fishbed.”

“Too low and too fast,” Goalie said. She knew that down low, an F-4 could easily deal with a MiG-21 in a maneuvering fight. But in their case, they'd have to jettison ordnance, which was not the point of the exercise. But if the RAF's F-4Js, though....

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS called. “Threat bearing One-niner-zero for twenty-five. Medium, now going away.”

“Brownwood Regional and their East Germans,” Goalie noted. “Thirty seconds to turn.”

“Yep,” Guru said. “Roger, Crystal Palace.”

The strike flight continued on course, and State Route 36 appeared. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!” Goalie called.

Guru turned east, headed for Fairy. “Time to the next turn?”

“Sixty-five seconds,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to U.S. 281.”

“Copy.” It wasn't long until the highway appeared, and so did a convoy. “Bad guys on the road,” Guru noted as Mustang Flight buzzed the convoy, and Soviet soldiers scattered like human shrapnel.

“Not their turn today.”

“Next time,” Guru said coldly.


Below, a Soviet Major was having a quiet, professional, fit. His convoy of reinforcements-though not a formal unit, had been organized at Fort Hood, and was intended for the 32nd Army. However, it appeared that back at Hamilton, he had taken a wrong turn, and cursed the traffic regulators who had sent his convoy down this road. Checking his map, he noticed that the next town was Hico, and there were not only East Germans, but Soviets, and there, the Major hoped, he could get directions back to Comanche,where he was due to deliver not only several truckloads of replacements, but also several additional truckloads of fuel, ammunition, and spare parts for tanks. Shaking his head, he ordered the convoy to halt, then he climbed down from his BTR-60PB to talk with his deputy, when there was shouting.

Both men looked up, and saw six F-4 Phantoms fly low over the convoy, and as they did, many of the soldiers scattered, seeking cover in roadside ditches. Before anyone could grab a Strela shoulder-fired missile, or man a machine gun, the aircraft were gone. “Get the men back in the vehicles and ready to move.”

“Where are we going, Comrade Major?” the Captain asked.

“Hico. Maybe someone there can send us in the right direction. If, that is, those counterrevolutionaries don't have any culvert bombs or an ambush waiting.”


“Time to Fairy?” Guru asked.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie advised. “No more fighter radars,” she added.

Guru checked his EW display. Just the Mainstay. Lovely, but just because the radars were not up, that didn't mean that fighters weren't out there. “Roger that,” he said.

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace, Threat bearing Zero-two-zero for ten. Medium, closing.”

Thanks a heap, and where'd they come from? Guru wanted to know. Then another call came.

“Lead, Sweaty. Four bandits at Twelve O'clock High, and fast!”

Guru looked up and four MiG-23s flew right over the flight, headed south. “Anyone got eyeballs?”

“Lead, Hoser, They're still heading south,” Hoser said.

“No radars,” Kara added.

“They must not have look-down radar,” Goalie added.

“Good for us,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Music on.” He turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and so did the others.

“Fairy coming up,” Goalie called. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned slightly to the left, now on a northeasterly heading. “Steady on,” he said.

“Forty seconds to turn,” said Goalie.

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Pick up your visual scanning.” If those MiGs had had a visual, they would be in a fight right now, having had to jettison their ordnance, and that would have meant that Ivan had kept them from their primary mission.

Goalie checked her map. “Twenty seconds,” she said.

“Copy.”

It wasn't long until State Route 6 and the town of Iredell appeared ahead of the flight. “Highway 6 coming up. Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard left turn, heading northwest, right for State Route 220. “Time to IP?”

Goalie did a quick calculation. “Thirty-five seconds.”

“Roger that. “Flight, lead. Switches on, and stand by,”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied. The others did so as well.

In 512's back seat, Goalie worked the armament control panel. “All set. Everything in one go.”

“Good girl,” Guru said as Highway 220 appeared. “Pop up in when?”

“Five seconds to Duffau,”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. PULL!” He then pulled back on the stick, and climbed. As Guru did, he saw Highway 281 and the suspected prison compound, and what looked to be rotor blades glistening in the sun. “Got it.”

“Eyes on target?” Goalie asked as she stowed her map.

“You got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight,” then he asked, “All set?”

“Ready back here,” replied Goalie. She took a good look around for MiGs. Just the RAF F-4Js climbing to take up their TARCAP mission. “Sky's clear.”

Guru then rolled in on the bomb run. “Then let's do it.”


Below, at the prison compound, the inmates were going through the daily routine of survival. Many of the prisoners had been picked up for “Offenses against the Occupation”, a phrase that could-and did-mean almost anything, from having a gun and failing to turn it in, to tearing down a propaganda poster, black-market activity, or just about anything. Some, though, had been arrested for “Counterrevolutionary Activity”, which often meant they had been employed by either County, State, or Federal Government, or even were working for the Collaborationist Government, and had been denounced for something that a friend-or a rival-had informed the PSD about. At least two of the prisoners claimed to anyone who would listen that they had been loyal to the new government, only to be turned in by the Resistance! The others had a laugh at that. And so did the guards-all of whom were Soviet MVD Troops.

For Ron Ashton, it was the start of another day behind the wire. He had been a loan officer at a bank in Stephenville, and had been living very comfortably before the war. After the invasion, though, the Soviets had gone through the bank, and not only had they shot the President and Vice-President of the bank, they had shot those who the KGB felt were guilty of “Exploiting the People.” The VP in charge of the loan department and his senior loan officer had both been shot-and that was after the latter-a woman, had been gang-raped, and the others tossed into the prison compound. One who had protested that he had a right to a trial had been dragged in front of the Camp Commander, who shot him then and there, and that had shut up the others pretty fast. He had no idea what had happened to his wife and their two children, six and three, but a more recent arrival had heard that she and the kids had slipped away to her father's ranch, and Ron knew that Julie and her dad had quite a spread, and that if there was a place to hide, she and the kids had found it.

Now, he was wondering when the guards would bring the midday meal, when shouting came from the guard towers, and the tower guards opened up with their machine guns. Not on the prisoners, but on some planes coming in.

“Here comes the Air Force,” another prisoner muttered.

“About time.”


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he brought 512 down on the bomb run. He saw the tracers start to come up from the helo field, and some more coming from the prison compound. Machine guns at least, he knew, and bigger tracers from the field meant 23-mm. All right, he thought, as he picked up a pair of Hips sitting in the field, and one of them had just started engines, for the rotor blades had started turning. Not now, Guru said to himself. But those were the only two choppers on the field. Where were the rest? No matter.... “Two, Lead. Drop on the fuel dump, there's only two here. Sweaty, you and Hoser hold off.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called back, and so did Sweaty.

“Copy.” Guru then lined up the two Hips in the pipper. “Steady...Steady...And..And....HACK!” He hit his pickle button, and his six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the racks. Guru then pulled up and away, jinking as he did and applying power so as not to give anyone with an SA-7 or better an easier shot. Once clear, Guru made his call. “Lead's off target.”


For Ron and the other prisoners, it was like an air show. They had seen the helicopters come in a couple days earlier, and had noticed the crewmen walking by the compound. Libyans, and they had been jeering at the prisoners. How's it feel now? He thought as Guru's F-4 came in and released its bombs. The prisoners watched as the Phantom pulled up and away, and the bomb blasts followed. They were then joined by two big and oily fireballs. Choppers, maybe? Then the AA gunners around the field turned their guns back south.


“GOOD HITS!” Goalie called from the back seat. “We got the helos!”

“Anything else?” Guru asked as he banked to avoid some 23-mm, then again to avoid an SA-7.

“Maybe the tent area.”

“That's good enough,” Guru said as he headed north.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she took 520 in on the bomb run. She saw the CO's run, and the two fireballs as the Hips exploded. If they counted ground kills, he'd be way ahead, she thought. Kara then put that aside as the flak came up, and she picked out the fuel dump. Damn it, no more helos, she said to herself. Okay, if that's how it's being played today....Kara ignored the flak and lined up the fuel dump in the pipper, centering a group of fuel tanks and a couple of fuel trucks dead center. You'll do... “And...Steady....And...And....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, and sent her Mark-82s and M-117s down onto the Libyans below. She then pulled up and away, applying power and jinking as she climbed out, dodging an SA-7 as she did. When she got clear, it was time. “Two's off safe.”

“Hot damn!” Ron said as the second F-4 came in on a bomb run. He had seen air strikes before, but from a distance. Now, though, it was up close and personal. The F-4 pulled out, and left a dozen bomb blasts in its wake, which were followed by several fireballs and additional explosions. “What was that?”

“Fuel,” another prisoner said. He had been in Vietnam, and knew what happened when a VC rocket or mortar attack hit a fuel dump. “When those choppers come back, they'll be SOL.”

“Now what?” Ron asked as four more F-4s flew past. Maybe fighter cover?

“Hope those Libyans don't come and ask for any of us to be shot.”


“SHACK!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask as she jinked to avoid an SA-7. “How many and what kind?”

“Several, and all fuel-fed.”

“Righteous, as Preacher would say,” Kara said as she picked up the CO's bird.


In 512, Guru was thinking, then he said, “Goalie, talk to me. We need an opportunity target, and fast.”

“Checking,” Goalie said as she looked over a map with several possible opportunity targets. “Closest one is Stephenville proper. There's several there.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Kara, on me. Sweaty, you and Hoser take Stephenville Airport. We'll draw fire while you go in.”

“Roger that, Lead,” Sweaty said.

“Dave, you guys go in ahead and kill anyone airborne,” Guru called Dave Gledhill. “And break up any party-crashers.”

“Right!” Gledhill replied. “We're on our way.”

“Let's do it,” Guru said, setting course for Stephenville, a mere thirty seconds away.



Mustang Flight headed for Stephenville, and the town and airport were soon in sight. “Sweaty,” Guru called. “Let's go. Kara, you go with Hoser. Give the folks in the town an air show.”

“Roger that,” Kara replied.

“Call it, Sweaty.”

That hadn't happened in a while, Sweaty thought. The CO letting me lead? Last time was over Highway 287 and the big ComBloc bug-out from the Texas Panhandle. “Roger, Lead. Three's in!”


In Stephenville's City Hall, the Commander of the East German “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg” Major General Gerhard Metzler, was having a talk with his Political Officer. For once, the Party Man was being honest with him about the letters the men were writing home. In fact, that was one of the chief grumbles among the soldiers: the intermittent mail service. Even the Party knew that soldiers' morale went up when mail from home was being delivered on a regular basis, and that morale on the home front, already shaky, could get a boost of its own. Though had been said in those letters, though....

“You're saying, Comrade Colonel, is that the defeatist mood, though low at the moment, is still present?”

“Yes, Comrade General, and there's no way to disguise it. Some of them are complaining about the food and the lack of mail, which one may expect, but others....?” The Political Officer said. “Some are wondering what they're doing here, far from home, and, I quote, 'Dying for the Russians.'”

Metzler knew it full well, having overheard it himself from several officers-senior ones. Though they were professionals to the core, they were becoming more and more cynical about the war. Since the officers in question had been in America since the beginning, he wasn't surprised. He himself had been having doubts. “You'll just have to step up the politcal education of the men, and if you have to, let the Stasi set a few examples.”

“Of course, Comrade General,” the Colonel replied, before shouts and sirens started to sound.

“What the hell's going on?” Metzler raged at his staff as he stormed out of his office.

“Air raid, Comrade General,” his air force liaison replied.

Metzler nodded, then reached for his binoculars. “Let's go to the roof.”


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called again as she went in on her bomb run. Stephenville Airport was a familiar target, and this time, it wouldn't be the runways that drew her attention. As she came in, Sweaty noticed two Hip helicopters and a pair of transports-were they An-26s or L-410s-near the hangars. Time to make some scrap metal, Sweaty thought as she lined them up in her pipper. A quick glance to her left revealed the CO's bird going in, low and fast, and even doing a couple of victory rolls for the benefit of the civilians below. “All right, Franz...Your turn,” she muttered as she approached her release point, and only then did the flak, both 23-mm and 37-mm, start to come up. “Steady....And...Steady...NOW!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and her six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the racks. She then pulled up and away, jinking and applying power as she did so. Once clear, she made the call. “Three's off target.”

In 512, Guru took his bird down low, and to full military power. He leveled off at nearly 200 Feet AGL, and as the town appeared beneath him, he rolled twice, doing victory rolls to cheer up the civilians and to impress the East Germans that things in the air weren't going as well as their propaganda was telling them. “Been a while since we did this,” Guru said as he came out of the second roll.

“Last time was Denver, right?” Goalie asked. “A week before Wichita.” She was recalling a strike where, after blasting some of the artillery that had been shelling the city, they had given the city's inhabitants and the defenders an impromptu air show, waggling their wings and doing a roll as they did. Though Colonel Rivers had initially been less than pleased, a message from Denver, relayed via Tenth AF, had thanked “Whoever did the flyby. It made our day.” And at General Tanner's insistence, both crews (Sweaty had been his wingmate at the time) were awarded the DFC.

“It was,” Guru said as some belated tracer fire came up behind them. “Time to get our asses north.”


“Vas is los?” Metzler asked as he saw two F-4s come in nearly simultaneously. One of them went for the airport, and he watched as the AA gunners responded barely in time as Sweaty's F-4 came in and dropped its bombs. As it did, a second F-4 came in low overhead, the roar of the jet engines deafening nearly everyone as the American did a couple of rolls over the town, before turning north. “Why didn't he drop his bombs?”

The Air Force man responded. “He probably attacked a target somewhere else, Comrade General.” He looked around and saw the AA gunners trying to track Guru's aircraft, and fail. “He was drawing attention-and fire-from the first.”

Metzler nodded, and the Political Officer was scowling. Both now heard the cheering from the locals.

Then the Political Officer pointed to the south. “There's another pair coming in.”

“Let's see what they do.”


“SHACK!” Preacher shouted from the back seat. “Got some secondaries back there.”

“How many?” Sweaty wanted to know as she was jinking.

“You got the hangars, and probably the planes, too.”

“Fully fueled? I'll take those,” she replied as an SA-7 type missile flew past the right side. Then she picked up the CO's bird.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw what Sweaty had done, and the CO's buzzing of the town, and watched as Kara broke left to do the same. This time, forget the runway, he thought as he spotted the fuel dump, out in the open. As if the East Germans had just set it up and hadn't had time yet to camouflage it. Big mistake, Franz, Hoser thought as he came down. Ignoring the flak, he concentrated on his run, lining up the fuel dump in his pipper. “And...And...Steady...Steady....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, releasing his bombs onto the dump below. Then Hoser pulled up and away, applying power as he did and jinking. Once he was clear, it was time to call in. “Four's off target. “


“Whoo-hoo!” Kara shouted as she took 520 in over Stephenville. She, like Hoser, had flak coming up from the rooftops, but like the CO, was too low and too fast. Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask as she did a couple of victory rolls, and waggled her wings after coming out of the rolls. “Hope they like the show,” she said.

“Bad guys don't,” Brainiac said. “Still got some flak.”

“Not enough. Not this time,” she replied as she cleared the town, and picked up the smoke trails of both the CO and Sweaty.


“Schisse!” Metzler yelled as Kara's F-4 flew right over City Hall, and it did a couple of rolls as it flew over the town. He and everyone else on the roof had ducked, and as they picked themselves up, those on the roof saw Hoser's F-4 pulling out of its run, and leaving fireballs in its wake as the bombs had landed in the fuel depot at the airport. “Of all the...” Metzler raged. He turned to the air force man. “Where is the Air Force?”

“To be honest, Comrade General, I have no idea.”


“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled from the back seat. “We got the fuel dump!”

Hoser grinned beneath his own oxygen mask. “Good secondaries?” He jinked left to avoid an SA-7, then right to dodge some 23-mm.

“Big and bad,” KT replied.

“Good enough.” Hoser then headed north, and he picked up the others as he cleared the target area.


“All in and out,” Goalie said. “Time to fly for ourselves.”

“It is,” Guru agreed. “One-five and One-six, get your asses down and clear.”

“Roger, Lead,” Dave Gledhill replied, and both F-4Js thundered down over Stephenville, giving those in the town the air show's finale, as they headed north.

“Two, you with me?”

“Right with you, Boss,” Kara replied.

Guru took a quick glance to the right, and 520 was right with him in combat spread. “Got eyeballs on you. Sweaty?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Goalie, how far to the Fence?”

“One minute fifteen,” she replied. “Twenty miles.”

“Got it,” replied Guru as they passed over the sector held by the East German 11th Motor-Rifle Division. The East Germans below were surprised to see American aircraft coming from behind them, and before the astonished East Germans could react, Mustang Flight was gone. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” a controller replied. First threat bearing Zero-nine-five for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-six-five for fifty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-five-five for fifty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope.”

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

“Copy all,” said Guru. “They won't be a factor.”

“Too far,” Goalie said. “Forty seconds.”

“Too far,” Guru agreed.

The seconds clicked by, as the strike flight continued north. “Approaching the Fence....now,” Goalie said, as the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared.

“Mustang, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller called. “Closest Threat bearing One-zero-zero for twenty-five. Medium, now going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” replied Guru. “Flight, Lead. Music off, and IFF on, out.”

“Mainstay's off,” Goalie noted.

Guru checked his EW display. The strobe signaling the Mainstay's radar signal was no longer present. “Somebody had damn well better take care of those.”

“You are preaching to the converted,” Goalie said.

Mustang Flight then climbed to altitude, and met up with the tankers. After drinking enough fuel to get back to Sheppard, they headed for home. When the flight arrived, they were third in line, behind a Marine flight of F/A-18s and a two-ship from the 335th. That happened to be Dave Golen's, the CO was happy to see. This time, no one did victory rolls, much to the disappointment of those watching from the ground.

After landing, the flight taxied towards the squadron's dispersal, and as usual, the news crew was busy filming. “I guess if they're not filming, they're not earning their pay,” Guru commented.

“They have to have something to do,” said Goalie.

Guru shook his head. “Guess so,” he nodded.

After taxiing to the dispersal area, the planes were taxied into their respective revetments. When Guru got 512 to its revetment, Sergeant Crowley directed him into the revetment, and after getting the signal, shut down the engines, as the ground crew brought the wheel chocks and the crew ladder. After going through the post-flight checklist, then they took off their helmets before climbing down the crew ladder.

“Major, how's my bird?” Sergeant Crowley asked as he handed a bottle of water to the CO, then to Goalie.

“She's doing fine, Sarge,” Guru replied, then he drained half the bottle. “Whatever it is you're doing? Keep it up.”

“Yes, sir!” The Crew Chief said, beaming at the praise. “What'd you guys do?”

“Tore up a chopper field,” Guru said

“Then we gave the folks in Stephenville an air show,” Goalie added. “Hope the citizenry enjoyed it, and the East Germans hated it.”

“Shit hot!” Crowley shouted. “Uh, you know what I mean, sir.”

“Sarge, you can use that kind of French on the ramp anytime,” Guru said, trying to hold a laugh. “It's not like you need to hold back.” He looked around, and the ground crew was busy. “You guys get yourselves some chow, then get her ready for the next one.”

Crowley nodded. “Will do, Major. She'll be ready.”

“All right, Sarge,” Guru said. Then he and Goalie headed to the revetment entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac already there. “Enjoy the performance side of the air show?”

“First for both of us,” Kara said. “How about you?”

“Haven't done any of that since Denver, a few days before you joined this merry bunch,” Guru said. He then related the story of buzzing the city after a strike. And Colonel Rivers' reaction. “He had reason to be a little pissed.”

“Why's that?”

Sweaty and Preacher, with Hoser and KT came up. “Because we both came back with unexploded SA-7s in our tailfeathers. That was a pretty good air show, by the way.”

“Glad to oblige,” Guru replied. “How'd you do?”

“Got a couple of transports,” Sweaty said. “And a couple of Hips.”

“Fuel dump's gone,” Hoser added. “Boss, what was Colonel Rivers' reaction?”

“He was pissed that we'd gone too low, and brought back those dud SA-7s,” Guru said, recalling the dressing-down both he and Sweaty had gotten-and their GIBs. “But folks in Denver were glad for the low-level, and we got an official thank-you from the garrison, via General Tanner.”

“And Tanner said that if Colonel Rivers wouldn't write us up for DFCs, he would,” Preacher nodded. “So he wrote up the citations.”

“That he did,” Guru said. He'd been XO then, and recalled that had been only the second time Rivers had been upset with him. The other? Trying to get around being grounded for a cold. Then again, several others had been sick, and they, too, resented sitting around, doing very little.

Dave Gledhill and his people came next. “Guru, no MiGs this time.” The RAF Squadron Leader said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Next time, Dave,” said Guru. “Maybe they'll come to the party.” He was just as frustrated, for he wanted another MiG on his belt to tie him with Kara for top gun in the squadron. Though he didn't show it among the flight, Goalie did know, but kept it to herself.

“There's always that,” Flight Lt. Susan Napier, the number two in the RAF element, said.

“Yeah,” Kara said. She was frustrated as well, for she wanted that tenth kill and becoming the first female double ace in the USAF in the process.

“If they show, they show,” Guru said. “Okay, back to business. Let's go debrief and make the Intel people happy. Then get some chow and if you're involved, down to the planning cell.”

“Sundown's coming, right?” Sweaty asked.

“He is, but no idea when.”

“And then?” Kara wanted to know.

“We brief him, and maybe he'll find something that all of us missed,” the CO reminded them. “Let's go, because in an hour and a half or so, we're back at it.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part VII: Sundown is briefed...


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1215 Hours Central War Time:

The storm cellar beneath the 335th's Offices was full-as it usually was these days. Here, the planning cell for Operation BOLO II got together to hash out mission details, add or subtract ideas as they were debated, and see if anything had been overlooked. And it wasn't just one target being given the once-over again, it was three. Of the three possible targets, no one in the room knew which one would be struck on the actual mission, so details about all three were being collated and analyzed.

One of the planners wryly observed after seeing the box lunches on the tables that a few years earlier, the room would've been a typical smoke-filled room. Now, though, people took that seriously, or so Colonel Brady had said. Though if prewar, and this was an exercise, there would've been Chinese take-out on the tables.

Guru was sitting at a table, a BBQ Chicken sandwich being attacked in between looking at the maps and photos, and he had a scowl on his face. He was looking at a photo-probably an SR-71 shot again, of TSTC Airport outside Waco, the old James Connolly AFB, and the Major was not pleased. He turned to his Intelligence Officer. “Sin, where's that low-level stuff?” He had requested some low-level imagery the previous day.

Captain Darren “Sin” Licon shook his head. “Boss, it takes about a day for a recon sortie to make its way into the ATO, and with that getting thrown for a curve thanks to Sundown....” The 335th's Intel was referring to General Cunningham's order to sack the entire Tenth Air Force Ops Cell-which had meant that the ATO would be in somewhat battered condition until the new people got shaken down.

“Two or three now?” Colonel Brady asked.

“Yes, sir,”

“So what are they?” Capt. Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer and the intended leader of the strike's third flight, asked.

“Best guess?” Licon nodded. “Either 23-mm or 37-mm. That's based on the size of the emplacements. And look at this, Boss,” Licon put a photo in front of the 335th's CO. “See those two trucks?”

“What about 'em?” Guru asked. “They just look like a standard Soviet Army truck.” He pointed at a photo of a Ural-375 truck with a tarp over the cargo bed.

“This,” Licon said. He showed everyone a photo of two more trucks, with some kind of launcher in the truck bed. “These are very similar to what the Soviet Navy does on some of its smaller ships and naval auxiliaries. This is a four-round launcher for the SA-7 or SA-14.”

“Missile trucks?” Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace asked. “You are shitting us.”

“Nope,” Licon said. “Here's four more, and on one of these, the missiles are installed.”

IDF Major Dave Golen had a look and nodded agreement. “I've seen these before: in Lebanon. The Syrians and the PLO use similar vehicles and launchers.”

Lt. Col. Gene Dennis, the MAG-11 Intel, took a look at the photos and also nodded. He turned to look at Colonel Brady. “Colonel, you're going to need some more Hornets for flak suppression.”

Brady looked at Guru, who nodded as well. “Major? It's your call.”

Guru took one look, then said, “We'll need 'em. They pack two Mavericks each, and they go in with the guys killing the actual flak sites with Rockeyes. What they kill are these missile and gun trucks, and any prowling ZSU-23-4s or other mobile air defense assets.”

“Good call, Major,” Brady said. “I'll talk to 314's CO and get four of his birds for that tasking. Their flight lead and element lead will be here beginning tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru said.

“You're welcome, Major. Now, Gene? This isn't just 4th Guards Tank Army's HQ, there's a garrison here as well. What's their air defense?”

Dennis checked his notes. “That's 6th Guards Motor-rifle Division. Last known to be equipped with SA-6s in their SAM regiment.”

“And what are they equipped with now?” Brady asked. That was a key question. If the division kept their SA-6s, it would be a whole lot easier. For the SA-11 was bad news all around.

“Doesn't say here,” Dennis replied. “They could have SA-6...”

“Or they're reequipping with SA-11s,” Mark Ellis noted dryly.

“Either answer is valid, Captain,” said Dennis. He nodded at Sin Licon. “We'll get a query in with Tenth AF Intelligence as to what they've got presently. We do know the SA-4s are still at Army level.”

“And the MiGs?” Guru asked.

“Two regiments of fighters, both at TCSC,” Licon said. “One regiment MiG-21s, with a MiG-23 regiment as well. And both of them are Soviet.”

“The Libyans were there, too, right?” Don Van Loan asked.

“What's left of them, you mean?”The intel asked. Seeing the Ops Officer nod, he continued. “The survivors after -451 and the RAF tore them a new asshole are still there.”

Two of the RAF officers in the room heard that and were pleased. “Nice to hear that,” Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill grinned, while Flight Lt. Karen McKay nodded.

Colonel Brady looked at a photo, then at a JOG chart. “Who's at Waco-Madison Cooper Airport again?”

“Two regiments,” Colonel Dennis replied. “One with MiG-27 Flogger-Js, the other with Su-25s.”

“We can keep those guys on the ground,” Gledhill said. “Part of the TARCAP.”

“Do it, Dave,” Guru told him. “With the Hornets once SEAD is out of the way, and two Eagle four-ships? We'll have enough...”

“Just,” Kara noted. Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Uh-oh...”

“I think I know who that is,” Goalie said.

“We all do,” Brady nodded, then looked at Guru.

“Sweaty?” Guru asked his second element lead. “You're closest to the door.”

“Oh, boy,” Capt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard said as she got up and went to the door. She took a deep breath, then opened the door. Sweaty wasn't surprised to see who was there; Sundown and his aide. “General,” she said.

“Captain...Blanchard, isn't it?” Cunningham said. “I take it this is the planning cell?”

Sweaty gulped, then nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Come on in.”

Cunningham stepped into the room, but before anyone could say anything, he spoke up. “Carry on, people. As General Tanner is fond of saying: 'We can do without the jumping up and down nonsense.'”

“Yes, sir,” Colonel Brady said. “If the General will have a seat?”

Cunningham nodded, and found a folding chair at the planning table, where he opened a plastic bag and took out a styrofoam container. A burger and fries awaited him. “This does remind me some of Southeast Asia,” he said. “All right, I'd like to hear about this mission you're planning.”

“General, since this was Major Wiser's idea, I'll let him take over. He's also going to be leading the strike birds when we do fly this.” Brady gestured to the 335th CO, and nodded.

Major Wiser got up and went to a briefing board. “General, we call this mission BOLO II. What's in mind here is putting the hurt on Ivan's Su-24 force in this part of Texas. That's three regiments of Fencers, and in this AO, they belong to 16th Air Army.”

“I'm familiar with the Enemy OB in the area, Major,” Cunningham said. He took a bite of his burger, then nodded. “Continue.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “We do know they use staging fields when they come up from their main base at Randolph, but we don't know which field they'll be using on the strike day. So we have templates drawn up for three targets: TCSC Airport at Waco-the old Connolly AFB, Gray Army Airfield at Fort Hood, and Goodfellow.”

“And the template is similar for all three?”

“Yes, sir. I'll use TSTC as an example. We'll have at least one four-ship of Weasels, hopefully two, for that mission, a four-ship of Eagles, probably two, for BARCAP.”

Cunningham nodded, then asked, “And the BARCAP?”

Dave Gledhill spoke up. “That's our job, General. My 74 Squadron Juliets and the Marines.”

“Once we're done with the flak-and SAM-suppression mission, sir,” Capt. Cody Rusel, who would lead the IRON HAND birds, added. “All Hornets.”

“Sounds good,” Cunningham said. “And the actual strike, Major?”

“Sixteen F-4s, General,” Guru said. “Four flights of four, all from my squadron. The first two flights-and I'm leading the first, with my XO-” Guru nodded at Mark Ellis, then went on. “Leading the second. Twelve Rockeye CBUs each airplane, and we tear up any Su-24s on the ramp, along with fuel bowsers, ordnance carts, and anyone foolish enough to be out in the open during an air strike.”

“I like that, Major,” Cunningham smiled. “The third flight?”

“My Ops Officer,” Guru nodded again, this time at Don Van Loan, “has that one. Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes, and they tear up the ramp area again, along with hangars and taxiways. The fourth flight is Major Golen's.” Guru nodded at his IDF “Observer” who had done a lot more than just “observe.” “They take the runways with Durandals with the first flight, and the second has CBU-89s and GATOR mines-”

“Which will scare the living hell out of runway repair crews until they're cleared,” Cunningham noted. “And your egress?”

Guru showed him on the map. “Once we're clear of the target, everyone drops back low and gets their asses north, along the Brazos River. It's the boundary between the Nicaraguan II Corps and the East Germans, and they don't talk to each other very much.”

“General,” Colonel Brady added. “The East Germans shoot at us all the time, but the Nicaraguans? They don't shoot unless they're actually being attacked or have just been attacked.”

Cunningham thought for a moment. “That fits with intel we've received,” he said. “Major, any EW assets?”

“Tenth Air Force is going to arrange for that,” Guru said. “At least one EF-111, possibly two. One for standoff jamming, the other for strike escort. And they're also in charge of the deception effort to draw the Fencers north.”

“And they're also arranging for tanker coordination, rescue assets, and so forth?” Cunningham asked. Seeing both Guru and Colonel Brady nod, he then asked, “When are you going to fly this?”

Both Guru and Brady looked at each other, then Guru said, “General, that, we don't know. Tenth Air Force has that deception plan, one that they can brief you on more fully. When Ivan falls for the deception, then it's showtime.”

“And how long to execute?”

“An hour, at least. Maybe two.”

Cunningham nodded, then he got up and reviewed the imagery on the briefing boards. “Damn.”

“Sir?” Guru asked.

“Major, if I was your age, this is a mission I'd be chomping at the bit to fly.” He turned to address the room. “This is a mission your brothers who flew in Southeast Asia would have wanted to go, but the Edsel Mechanic and Landslide Lyndon wouldn't let us, for reasons you all know. Do 'em proud when you fly this. And kick some ass while you're at it.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. There was a knock on the door, and an Ops NCO came in. “Yeah?”

The male NCO came in, and saw the General-and everyone else-looking at him. “General, uh, everyone, but I've got some news from the Ops people.”

Brady looked at Guru, who said, “Let me guess: we've got mission folders ready?”

The Tech Sergeant, who was still in shock at seeing a four-star general in the room, nodded. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“All right,” Cunningham said. “Secure your materials, then it's time for you all to get back to work.”

“You heard him,” Brady said.

As the material was gathered up and put in the safe, the General waved Guru over. “Major.”

“Sir?” Guru asked.

“I understand Tenth Air Force is giving you everything you need.”

“Yes, sir. Including having the Fighter Weapons School qualify Durandals for F-4s. Sir, I know that's something the Armament Test Center at Eglin would normally do-”

Cunningham had an evil-looking grin on his face. “Don't worry about that, Major. If General Tanner gets some flak from Eglin, I'll make sure those people shut up. This is wartime, and maybe some balls need to be crunched down there if they're squawking about their toes being stepped on.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Don't worry about bureaucracy, Major. If General Tanner can't get what you need for this? I'll be seeing him later in the week, as you know, and I'll have a talk with him. If he can't deliver for you? I'll have him come to me, and by God, I-or the Chief of Staff-can deliver. Don't worry about the bureaucrats. Let General Tanner-and those above, handle those parasites. You and the people flying this? Go and take care of some Russians.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said.

“All right, Major,” Cunningham actually smiled. “You've got a mission to fly. I'll see you when you get back, then I'll be on my merry way.”

“Yes, sir,” said Guru, who then went to where Kara, Goalie, and Sweaty were waiting. “Kara, you and Sweaty round up our flight. Once more unto the breach, dear friends.”

“Just as long as they leave out that 'close up the wall with our glorious dead' shit,” Kara spat.

“When?” Sweaty asked.

“Briefing room, in fifteen,” said Guru, back in CO mode.

Kara and Sweaty looked at each other, then nodded. “On our way,” Kara said, then they headed out.

“Back in the game,” Goalie said.

“That we are,” Guru agreed. “Let's head to the Ops Office, then we have somewhere to be.”

His GIB nodded. “Making Ivan burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“You got it,” said the CO. “Let's go.”




335th TFS, 1250 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and Goalie went to the Ops Office, and found Don Van Loan waiting for them. “Don, what have you got for me?”

The Ops Officer handed him a folder. “Here you go.”

Guru took the folder and opened it, then he scanned the mission outline, before looking at the Ops Officer. “Thanks a bunch, Don.”

“What's the target?” Goalie asked.

“Divisonal HQ, outside Sidney, or what was Sidney prewar,” Guru replied. He took a look at a photo, a high-altitude shot probably from an SR-71. “Just a bunch of ruins here.”

“And there's a divisional CP there,” Van Loan said. “Your good luck.”

“Or bad,” Guru replied. “Okay, Don, you have a good one yourself, and be careful. Don't need a new Ops Officer just yet.”

“And likewise, we don't need a new CO,” Van Loan smiled. “That's the last thing Mark wants.” And I need, Van Loan thought. For he would be the new XO if anything happened to Guru.

“All right, Don,” Guru said. “Just watch out for those mother-humping guns.” He meant ZSU-30-2.

“Always.”

“One thing: Dave Golen coming with us?”

“Negative; they've got their own mission.”

“Okay, Don. Thanks.”

The CO and Goalie then headed to their briefing room, and found the rest of their flight waiting. Though Buddy, the squadron's mascot, wasn't there. He was probably with another flight at the moment, and he was hopefully napping through the brief. For if he didn't, the mission often turned out to be a bear. “Okay folks, gather 'round. We all got through Sundown in the Planning Cell, but we're back at it.”

“Where are we headed?” Kara asked.

“Town called Sidney, northwest of Comanche,” Guru said. He took out an ONC and a JOG chart and found the town. “Right here...Six miles northwest.”

Sweaty asked, “What's the threat level?”

“Divisional level air defense,” Guru said. “Intel summary says they're fresh off the boat, and they're also Cat IV: Mobilization only.”

“How do they know that?” Dave Gledhill wanted to know. “Older equipment?”

“That, and the lack of some stuff: no radar SAMs, for one thing,” Goalie said. She was going over part of the summary. “They do have a flak regiment, and you can bet they have MANPADS to make up for no -6s or -8s.”

Heads nodded at that. But a grunt with a shoulder-fired missile could still get lucky. And all of the USAF crews had come back at least once with unexploded SA-7s in their afterburner tailfeathers. “How do we get there?” Hoser asked.

“We pick up the tankers at Track ARCO, west of Mineral Wells,” Guru replied. Then we go south, get down low and cross the I-20 and the FEBA.”

“Okay so far,” KT said. “Then what?”

“We go in due south, just east of Route 16. That's the boundary between the East Germans and Soviet 32nd Army, as we all know. Follow Route 16 to the Leon River, then the river to Proctor Lake. We go south, and avoid the dam to the southeast.”

“And the flak along with it,” Kara noted dryly.

“And the flak,” Guru agreed. We head due south to the town of Priddy on Route 16, then turn due west for a minute to Zephyr on U.S. 84-183. Then we turn due north, and once we cross U.S. 67-377, that's our IP. Thirty seconds to target after that. The actual target is in a field just to the west of what was Sidney.”

Brainiac looked up from a photo. “Just a collection of ruins here. You're talking command vehicles and the like?”

“You got it,” Guru said. “There's a 57-mm battery to the west, and dug-in gun sites for ZU-23s or machine guns around the CP.” The CO tapped a low-level photo-most likely an RF-4C product. “The low-level stuff has the command vehicles, and there's also a couple of bunkers here, too. We tear all that up, then get our asses north.”

Kara looked at the CO. “So who's got what?”

“Apart from the usual air-to-air?” Guru saw Kara nod, then he continued. “Element leads have six Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117Rs, each airplane.” Six each of five-hundred and seven hundred-and fifty pound bombs would definitely give someone a rude welcome to the Lone Star State..... “Wingies have eight BLU-27s.”

Several of the crews grinned at that. “Shake 'n bake,” Hoser said, recalling the old Southeast Asia term for that load.

“It is that,” the CO agreed. “Now, the MiG threat, and the rest of the ground threat. The MiGs are unchanged, and since we'll be a little closer to Goodfellow, we may get MiG-29s coming. Brownwood Regional's the closest, though, with MiG-21s and -23s. The East Germans still have the -21s, and Ivan's got the -23s.”

“TARCAP as usual?” Dave Gledhill asked.

“You got it, and break up any party crashers. Now, this division's weak compared to others, but don't get complacent. They may have stuff like ZSU-23s that we don't see on the imagery, or Army might have moved an SA-4 battery nearby,” Guru warned them. “Every strike bird now has an ALQ-119 pod, and now that the software update's available for our RWR gear when our birds come out of their hundred-hour checks, we know when ZSU-30-2 is around.”

“Doesn't help with their optics,” Brainiac said.

“No,” Guru admitted. “And with no Weasels or Dave and Flossy with Mavericks? Just be careful, people.”

“Rescue and bailout areas still unchanged?” Sweaty asked.

“Still unchanged: best bet for that is anyplace rural and away from roads.” Guru looked around the room, and saw heads nod. “Anything else?” Seeing no one ask, he nodded himself as an Ops NCO appeared at the door to collect the briefing materials. “We're back in business, people. Gear up, and I'll see you at 512.”



The crews went to gear up, and when Guru came out of the Men's Locker Room, Goalie was waiting, as usual. “All set?” He asked.

“Ready to go,” Goalie said. “But like Kara said: just leave out that 'close the walls up with our glorious dead shit'.”

“Same here,” Guru replied. They left the squadron's office, and found Dave Golen, Flossy, Vader McAuliffe, and Jang going over their own mission. “Dave, you guys be careful out there.”

“You too, Guru,” Golen replied. “Where are you going?”

“Northwest of Comanche. You?”

“South. We're Corvette Flight.”

“Mustang,” Guru said. “If you hit MiG trouble, holler. I'll be there, and be bringing the Brits.”

“Sounds good,” Flossy said.

“It is,” Golen nodded. He and Guru shook hands. “Good luck.”

“You too,” the CO said. He and Goalie then went to their bird's revetment, and found the rest of the flight waiting. “Gather 'round, people.” It was time for his final instructions.

Kara nodded. “Usual on the radio?” That meant call signs between them, and mission code to the AWACS and other interested parties.

“It is,” Guru acknowledged. “Now, just because they're a Cat IV doesn't mean we can get complacent. Treat these guys as if they're a Cat I, and don't give any flak or missile gunners an easy shot. Their equipment may be old, but it can still bite if you give them a chance.”

“Got you,” Sweaty said. “Are we really biting them that hard?”

“I was about to ask that myself,” Dave Gledhill said. “I mean, mobilization only?”

Guru nodded. “My eyes got a little wide when I saw that, I'll admit. But ours is not to reason why, ours is to make them burn, bleed and blow up.”

“And make the survivors wish they were someplace else. Namely: back in Russia,” Goalie added.

“Exactly,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right, Time to go and get it done. Mount up.” He clapped his hands for emphasis. “Meet at ten grand as usual. Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and their mount, 512. There, they found their Crew Chief waiting, as usual. “Major, Captain?” Sergeant Crowley said, snapping a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie went and did the preflight walk-around, before mounting the aircraft. After strapping in and putting on their helments, they went through the preflight in the cockpit.

“You do know what some media types-ours excluded, mind you, would be saying about this kind of strike?” Goalie asked as they ran though the checklist. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom; check yours,” replied Guru. “Yeah. Especially the folks who've never been near the front lines. I can see some reporter saying, 'Major, this doesn't seem fair'. Well, I've got an answer for that. One they can't put on the air. Arnie?”

“Arnie's up and ready,” said Goalie. She was referring to the ARN-101 DMAS system. “So's the backup INS. Let me guess: 'Fair means we bring our people home alive, and fuck the others.' Or words to that effect.”

“Something like that,” Guru said.

“Yep,” Goalie agreed. “Somebody might just say that. Okay, preflight's finished and ready for engine start.”

“It is and we are,” Guru replied, getting serious. He gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running, and when the warmup was finished, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A tower controller replied at once. “Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five-Charlie. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Mustang Lead rolling.” Guru then gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who signaled to the ground crew, who pulled the wheel chocks away. He then gave another thumbs-up to the Crew Chief, who gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, Crowley snapped a perfect salute. Guru and Goalie returned it, and as they taxied, the rest of the flight fell in behind them. The flight taxied to Runway 35C, and found a four-ship of Marine Hornets ahead of them, with another 335th flight behind. The Marines taxied onto the runway, then launched.

Guru then taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-five for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A quick check in the cockpit showed everything ready, and Guru looked over to his right at 520. Kara and Brainiac gave a thumbs-up, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. It was time. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower didn't respond by radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” said Guru as he pulled his canopy down, closing and locking it. Goalie did the same, and a quick look at 520 showed that Kara and Brainiac had done so as well. “Ready?”

“Time to fly,” Goalie said.

“It is,” Guru replied. He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right alongside. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, and after that, it was Dave Gledhill's two F-4Js. The flight formed up at FL 100, then turned south for the tankers.

[Matt Wiser]

Part VIII: The third quarter gets underway...Readers of Hackett's Third World War: The Untold Story may recognize the Soviet Division....



Over Central Texas: 1335 Hours Central War Time:


After meeting up with their tankers, and taking on fuel from either KC-135s or KC-10s, Mustang Flight was headed south, into enemy territory. They crossed I-20 down on the deck, and were now flying roughly parallel to State Route 16, just inside the East German sector, but well within visual range of the road, which wasn't just a MSR, but was also the boundary between the East Germans and the Soviet 32nd Army.

In his F-4, Guru had his head on a swivel. He checked his instruments, then outside, left, then right, then back to left, maintaining his visual scanning. After that, he then checked his EW display. So far, it was all clear. “Goalie, talk to me.”

“One minute to the Leon River,” Goalie replied. “Two minutes to the lake.” She meant Lake Proctor, their next navigation checkpoint. Then Goalie checked her own EW display. “All clear on the EW.”


“For now,” Guru replied. He glanced at the EW display again, and this time, saw a strobe, with the “EW” next to it, and the SEARCH warning light on the panel below. “Spoke too soon.”

“Mainstay?”

“Even money bet,” said Guru. “How fast to the river?”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Roger that.” Guru then took the strike flight down to 450 Feet AGL, hoping to lose the Mainstay, and give any SAM or fighter radars that might come on a harder time.

“And here's the river,” Goalie called.

“On it,” Guru replied. He turned to follow the river, which would take them to the lake. “One minute to the lake?”

“One minute.”

Guru then called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

A controller on the flying radar station came back right away. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Zero-six-five for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing Zero-eight-nine for sixty. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-four-five for eighty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-one-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

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

“Mustang, first and second threats are Floggers. Third threats are Flankers. Fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that.” Flankers and Fulcrums? Our lucky day, Guru thought. MiG-29s, they could handle-hell, they'd done it before, and the RAF had killed a pair as well. But Su-27s? Nobody in an F-4 had any business tangling with those.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie advised.

“Got it.” Guru said. It wasn't long until the north shore of Lake Proctor appeared. “And here's the lake.”

“Visual on the dam?” Goalie asked.

“Dam at Eleven, and the Gomers are shooting,” replied Guru, as 23-mm and 37-mm flak opened up, even if the strike flight was nearly out of range.

The strike flight thundered down the lake, and though their fire was falling short, the flak gunners at the dam kept shooting. They flew past the dam, over Highway 67-377, and kept going south. “Next checkpoint is Priddy,” Goalie said after clearing the lake. “Ninety seconds.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as they overflew the highway, and saw several vehicles-a mix of armor and trucks, on the road. “Saving bombs today...” he said wistfully.

“Not their turn,” said Goalie.

“This time.”


On Highway 67-377, security was divided between the Soviets from 32nd Army and the East Germans. At the moment, a supply convoy en route to Stephenville and the East German HQ was passing a Soviet motor-rifle battalion from the 155th MRD's 374th MRR. With no major intersection, no traffic regulators were present, but the two-lane road was wide enough for both units to pass. These Soviets felt the East Germans were too eager, attributing every possible thing that went wrong to guerrillas, while the East Germans felt the Soviets were more content to stay in the towns than conduct any serious anti-guerrilla sweeps.

The East Germans were engaged in bringing replacement personnel to be allocated to the three EG divisions along with various supplies for the Army as a whole, while the Soviets were busy training: the Regiment had absorbed new replacements of vehicles and personnel, and the commander of the 374th had ordered an intensive training program for the new arrivals.

In his command BTR-60, the Major who commanded the 3rd Battalion, 374th, was having a fit. A month ago, he had been a Captain in the 1st Battalion until the division had been pulled off the line to refit and reorganize. Except for a few veteran soldiers and NCOs, all of the men were new, either recent draftees with two months' training back home, a few specialists with six months' training-which included the replacement NCOs, or in the case of his junior officers, fresh out of Military College. The bulk of the new infantrymen were in the recent draftee category, and even his company commanders-who were veterans-were appalled, as was the Major. He had told the Regimental Commander that sending this battalion right into combat was asking for the whole lot to get killed, and though the Colonel was sympathetic, having heard similar complaints from his other commanders, the Major had been told to “get with it.”

Although his 1st Company was made up of the best men, as was typical Soviet practice, the Major had sprinkled a few of his veterans among the other two companies, and he hoped their presence would help shape the new men up. At least we have the tanks with us today, he thought, for the Colonel had given him a tank company from the 96th Tank Regiment to work with. The tankers were just as raw as his own men, and the training time was too important to pass up, with the 374th's own tank battalion still waiting for new tanks from the Rodina, and the tankers from the 96th TR needed the training.

The Major had just checked his map when the East German convoy appeared in the northbound lane, and this time, there was very little waving, then both convoys suddenly stopped. There was shouting, as vehicles tried to get off the road, as six American F-4s suddenly appeared from the north. By the time soldiers got their Strela-3 (SA-14) shoulder-fired missiles ready, the aircraft were gone. Now to get some order out of this mess, the Major thought. Just keep those East Germans out of the way.


State Route 36 appeared in front of Mustang Flight, and this road happened to be clear. “That's Highway 36,” Guru said. He checked his EW display. “Mainstay's still there.”

Goalie saw the strobe on her display. “So he is. Forty-five seconds to turn.” The town of Priddy was their next turn point.

“Roger that,” Guru replied before calling the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “First threat bearing Zero-seven-five for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-one-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-two-five for eighty. Medium, going away. Bogey dope same as previous.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. Then the town of Priddy appeared dead ahead. “Priddy coming up.”

“Got it,” Goalie replied. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, then settled on a course of Two-seven-zero. “How long to Zephyr?”
That town on U.S. 84/183 was their next turn point.

“Forty-five seconds.”

“Copy.”


As the rolling hills flew by beneath, two fugitives from the Soviets saw the F-4s as they headed west. Unknown to the strike flight, Brenda Wallace and Karla Hayden had escaped from a prison road gang that had been overflown by the crews a couple of weeks earlier. Now hiding from the Russians and their lackeys-there were some Cubans in the area, the two had noticed, they were hiding in several ranches that had been fought over in the invasion, while a couple of Karla's friends from other ranches came by and dropped off some food for them, and some news. The battle lines were stalled to the north, the radio had said, but the Army and Marines were getting ready for a new offensive. For now, all Brenda and Carla could do was wait. Though they had tried looking for a Resistance group to hook up with, that had failed for now, but they had gotten some revenge, for a couple of Soviet soldiers who'd gotten lost from a patrol had wandered too close to a hideout, and after shooting the two, had used them as noisy amusements for their newly-acquired Bowie Knives.

Now in a new hiding place-in a bombed-out ranch near Meyer Lake, east of Zephyr, the two were busy getting some food-some prewar pork and beans from a can, and catfish from the lake, when the rumble of jets drew their attention. “F-4s,” Karla said. “Can't thank those guys enough.” For it had been an overflight of their work detail that had distracted the guards for them to make their escape.

“If I ever find out who those guys are?” Brenda grinned. “I'll find a couple of ways to thank them.”

“Up close and intimate?”

“Why not?”

“I'll be there,” Karla laughed, then said, “Make sure the fire doesn't smoke.”

Brenda nodded, and watched their cooking fire. If it smoked too much, that could draw unwanted attention.

“Zephyr dead ahead,” Guru called.

“Copy. Stand by to turn,” replied Goalie. “On my mark.”

“Ready.”

“Five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned due north as the town appeared, and once on course, he said to confirm. “One minute?”

“One minute to target, thirty seconds to IP,” Goalie confirmed.

“Set 'em up,” Guru replied. He meant the armament controls. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by to pull.” He then turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

In the back seat, Goalie worked the backseater's armament control panel, Though Guru had one, he liked having Goalie do it, so that he could concentrate on flying, and not having to look down. “Switches all set. Everything in one.”

“Roger that.” Guru said as U.S. 67-377 appeared directly ahead. “Flight, Lead. PULL!”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied as Guru began to pull up, and the two RAF F-4Js swept in to clear any possible threats. Seeing none, they began to orbit and assume their TARCAP mission.

As 512 climbed, both Guru and Goalie were looking out, scanning the area below for the target. The ruins of what had been Sidney appeared, then came a field with vehicle tracks, revetments, and vehicles. “That's the target,” said Guru. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight.” Then he asked Goalie, “You ready?”

Goalie tightened her straps, just in case of an ejection. The last thing anyone wanted were injuries caused by flailing arms or legs if they had to eject. “Ready.”

“Then let's go.” Guru then rolled 512 in on the bomb run.



Below, in a field near what had been the town of Sidney, the divisional headquarters for the 197th Motor-rifle Division was settling in. They were freshly arrived in Texas, and for the divisional commander, it was pleasing, for he was finally getting a chance to command a division in combat, and yet, maddening at the same time. His division, from Stary Ozek in Kazakhstan, was a mobilization-only formation, with T-55 tanks (all of them early production models), no BMPs in either one MRR or the tank regiment, while all three regiments had to make do with either BTR-60Ps or in the case of the tank regiment, BTR-50s. His air defense was mainly ZSU-57s with the regiments, with 57-mm S-60 AA guns in the divisional regiment, and he had no SAMs at all, other than Strela-3 shoulder-fired missiles.

While his staff was more concerned with getting the division settled into its positions, a nagging feeling came over the newly-promoted Major General. He had been a Colonel when the war began, half-expecting that his division would not be activated, and yet, it was. Though when activated, and drafts of men began to arrive, he was appalled. Reservists in their late thirties or early forties who barely remembered their training, mixed in with new conscripts, and the handful of specialists needed at divisional and regimental HQ, and no veterans. Still, he was expected to get his division combat-ready, and when the order came down to deploy in December, 1986, the men were as ready as he and his commanders could make them.

Hopes that they were going over for occupation duty proved remote, for first, they went to Cuba, where the division went through a training program where fighting in swampy terrain was stressed, leading the General to think they were going to Louisiana, but their orders changed, and the division boarded ship for Texas, offloading in Corpus Christi. There, the reception from the locals was largely hostile, but not overtly so, but hand gestures, graffiti, and even a couple of snipers, was a foretaste of what was to come.

The transit to the 32nd Army's Area of Operations had gone smoothly, but even so, the occasional sniper, roadside bomb, or in a couple of case, ambushes, showed that this part of America was not as “pacified” as either the Army's own briefings, or the State Media, claimed. And when the division moved into a sector being vacated by a division being pulled out for refitting, his counterpart had told him that the Americans he was going to face were hardened veterans out of III Corps. “Who had chased 13th Army out of New Mexico, and gone through Northern and West-central Texas like harvesters through a wheat field.” When his Zampolit had protested, the 203rd MRD's commander simply shrugged, saying, “We're in Texas, not outside Chicago. That should tell you more than enough.”

Now, the General got out of his command vehicle, a modified BTR-50, to stretch his legs. He was pleased at the sight of soldiers digging trenches and foxholes to protect against air or artillery attack, and the officers and NCOs were hard at it, supervising their men. The General went over to talk to some of them, when many of them jumped into trenches, while others grabbed either small arms or Strela missiles. He looked around, following some soldiers who were pointing skyward to the south, and froze. American aircraft coming in....then someone pulled him into a trench.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 down on the bomb run. He easily picked out the target, and the command vehicles in the field, surrounded by trenches and some revetments. You'll do, Ivan, he thought as the flak started to come up. All tracers, and that meant 23-mm or lower. Good, you'll get a nice welcome to the Lone Star State. Guru lined up some vehicles in his pipper and put his thumb on the pickle button. “Steady....Steady...And...And...HACK!” He hit the pickle button, sending his six Mark-82s and six M-117s onto the target below. Guru then pulled up and away, and began jinking as he did. No sense in giving the SA-7 shooters an easy shot..... “Lead's off target.”


“Sookin sin!” The General shouted. Son of a bitch. This was his first time under any kind of attack, and he felt the concussion of the bombs while huddled in the tranch. He looked for the man who had pulled him in, and found a young Junior Lieutenant still hanging on to him. The boy's face showed confidence, and yet, the General could sense the fear in his eyes. He shook loose, and poked his head up. Several command vehicles had either been hit, or had been tossed aside like toys by the bombs. Then he saw some AA guns turn back to the south and resume firing. That meant more Americans coming in....


“GOOD HITS!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “We got some secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as he headed north, still jinking, but surprised at no SA-7s passing by.

“Several.”

“Good enough.”


“Two's in hot!” Kara said as she took 520 in. And she intended to make it hot, for 520 packed eight BLU-27 napalm bombs with fins for dive delivery. She saw the CO make his run and pull away, leaving a dozen explosions and several wrecked vehicles in his wake. Good enough, Boss, she said, and time for Ivan to get a barbeque. As 520 went in, Kara noticed the flak, and ignored it as she lined up the vehicles in her pipper. “And....And...Steady....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, releasing the BLU-27s, and she pulled clear, accelerating as she did and jinking to give the flak gunners a harder shot. Then she made her call. “Two off safe.”


“Mother of God..” the General said as he saw Kara's F-4 come in. To the General, it looked like the Angel of Death approaching as the Phantom came in and released its bombs. He watched in horror as the bombs exploded, and drenched the command post area in flame. Napalm! He ducked back into the trench, and though the flames came close, they didn't get into the trench. The General turned to the young Lieutenant, and the man looked properly terrified. “It'll be all right,” the General said, then he heard the AA guns firing again. More?


“SHACK!” Brainiac yelled in 520's back seat. “It's barbeque time back there!”

“Crispy critter time?” Kara asked as an SA-7 passed by on the right.

“Big time.”

“More the merrier,” said Kara as she picked up the CO's bird, and formed up with him.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came down on her bomb run. She saw Kara's run, and smiled beneath her oxygen mask as the Napalm drenched the target area in flame. Still, there were vehicles untouched on the north side of the field from either the flame or the CO's bombs, and she selected those. Your turn, Ivan, Sweaty thought as she lined those up in her pipper. She, too, drew the 23-mm flak, and someone even shot an SA-7, but the weapon failed to guide, and she ignored both, concentrating on the bomb run. “And.....Steady...Steady....And....HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, releasing her six Mark-82s and six M-117s down onto the Russians below. She then pulled up and away, jinking as she did, and applied power to get clear. Then she made the call. “Three off safe.”


“This can't be happening,” the General said as he heard Sweaty's F-4 come in. He heard the anti-aircraft fire, and the shouts of the soldiers as some of them fired their Strela-3 missiles, and he stuck his head out of the trench for a look. He saw the F-4 come over and release its bombs, and ducked back in. The General felt the concussion of the bombs, and heard the screams of men caught in the bomb blasts. He piked his head up again, and saw several more command trucks and APCs either blown apart, or tossed aside like toys. Soldiers went to help, but before anything could be done, the AA guns turned back to the south. Another American was coming in.

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher shouted. “We got secondaries!”

“What kind and how many?” Sweaty wanted to know as she dodged an SA-7 as she jinked right, then another as she jinked left.

“Good ones, and several!”

“I'll take those,” replied Sweaty as she spotted both the CO and Kara.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw where Sweaty had planted her bombs, and decided to give those Russians a warm Texas welcome. Hoser, too, saw the flak coming up, and two or three SA-7s, but ignored them as he concentrated on the bomb run. Barbeque Time, Ivan, Hoser thought as he lined up the vehicles-and bomb craters-in his pipper. “And....And....NOW!” He hit his pickle button, and eight BLU-27s fell off the racks. Hoser then pulled clear, applying power and jinking as he did so, and dodging a couple of SA-7s in the process. Then he made his call. “Four off target.”


“Of all the..” the General muttered as Hoser's F-4 came in. He saw the aircraft come in and release its load, and saw the canisters as they came off the aircraft. The General ducked instinctively, and yet knew that if one of those canisters landed in the trench, he and everyone in it was done for. Fortunately, none of them landed in or near the trench, and after the F-4 was gone, he got up. Wrecked and blazing vehicles littered the area, along with charred corpses. Those who had not been hit by the napalm tried to help some who were still alive, but the handful of medical orderlies were clearly in over their heads. The General got up, and a familiar figure-his Chief of Staff, came over. He had been, of all things, visiting a latrine when the attack came in, and had taken cover in a nearby creek bed. “Arkady Ivanovich, I see you're still alive.”

“Just so, Comrade General,” the Chief replied. He shook his head at the sight, and yet, was a professional to the bone. “I've gone to the checkpoint, and gottten word to the divisional rear command post. They're sending what they can to assist.”

“Good, and I need a radio to talk to Army. We need more than just medical help: this is a good time for the Americans to attack.”

“Quite so, Comrade General,” said the Chief. He pointed to what had been a converted ZIL-131 truck converted into a command vehicle. “That was where the Political Department had set up.”

“No great loss,” the General said, referring to the Zampolit-who had been a thorn in everyone's side. “Get what help we can, and let's get some order out of this madhouse.”


“SHACK!” KT shouted. “Ivan's got a barbeque!”

“Big one?” Hoser asked as an SA-7 flew by on the right.

“Good and big!”

“Sounds good to me,” Hoser said as he joined up with Sweaty's bird.


In 512, Guru heard that. “All right, four in and out. Time to fly for ourselves. One-five and One-six, get your asses down and away.”

“Roger, Lead,” Paul Jackson replied, and the two RAF F-4Js dropped back down to catch up with the strike flight.

“Two minutes to the Fence,” Goalie advised. She glanced at her EW display. “And we still got the Mainstay.”

“Lovely,” Guru muttered. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead,” he said, calling the AWACS. “Say threats.”

The AWACS controller got back to him. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. Closest threat bearing Two-four-zero for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-two-five for fifty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that,” replied Guru. “Say bogey dope?”

“Mustang, both threats are Fulcrums.” The controller paused, then said, “Wait one....new threat bearing two-three-zero for thirty-five. Climbing.....and closing. Bandits are Fishbeds.”

“Copy all,” Guru said. MiG-29s and they're not coming hard, and the MiG-21s are? Then again, the F-4 could outrun the MiG-21 at any altitude, and down low, could outturn them. “East Germans may want to play.”

“Bring 'em,” Goalie replied. “One minute thirty to the Fence.” Twenty-five miles or so.

Guru glanced at his EW display. The Mainstay's radar was there, then two faint strobes appeared at their Six, with the “21” next to them, and the A-A warning light came on. “They're there.”

“Twenty miles,” Goalie said. Then she called again. “One minute.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “With me, Two?”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara said.

A quick glance to the right showed 520 in Combat Spread. “Got you,” said Guru. “Sweaty?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called.

“Copy,” Guru replied. He glanced at the EW display. The MiG-21 radars were still there, but faint. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Blue Bandits still a factor?” He was using the old SEA code for MiG-21s

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” replied the controller. “Blue Bandits now bearing One-eight-five for twenty-five. Medium....now going away.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “MiGs don't want to play.”

“This time,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to I-20.” The seconds flew by, and the twin ribbons of freeway appeared.

As the Interstate appeared, Guru called, “Flight, Lead. Music off, and IFF on, out.” Then the Mainstay's radar dropped off the EW display. “And no more Mainstay.”

“For a while,” Goalie replied disgustedly. Somebody needs to do something about those-NOW, she thought.

The flight then climbed to altitude, and joined up with the tankers for their post-strike refueling. This time, the RAF crews were glad to tank from their Tristar, while the 335th tanked from a KC-135. Then they headed for Sheppard.

When they got back to Sheppard,they noticed oily black smoke and fire from Kickapoo Downtown Airport, where the Army helos were sometimes based, but none from Sheppard. They were third in the pattern, after the Eastbound C-141 and a Marine F-4 flight, and when it was their turn, they came in and landed. Much to the disappointment of those watching from the ground, none did victory rolls.

“What was the smoke all about?” Goalie asked as they taxied away.

“Hope it wasn't a Scud attack,” Guru replied. “Not in the mood for wild-goose chases.”

“You and me both.” She glanced around, and saw General Cunningham's C-130 still there. “Sundown hasn't left yet.”

“Probably waiting for us.”


The flight taxied off the runway and to the squadron's dispersal area, then they made for their individual revetments. Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, where Sergeant Crowley and the ground crew were waiting. After shutting down, the ground crew brought the crew ladder and the chocks, while Guru and Goalie did the post-flight cockpit checklist. That done, they popped their canopies, then climbed down. As usual, Sergeant Crowley was waiting with bottles of water. He handed them to the CO and Goalie, and said, “How'd it go, sir?”

Guru downed half the bottle before replying. “Tore up a division's command post,” he said.

“Before Kara and Hoser gave 'em a barbeque,” Goalie added. “We did a shake'n bake.”

“Hot damn!” Crowley said.

“It was for some of 'em,” Guru said. “And Five-twelve's still going strong, Sarge. Get her prepped for the next one. Got time for one more strike.”

“You got it, Major!” The Crew Chief beamed, then turned to the ground crew. “You heard the Boss! Let's get this bird ready for another one!”

Leaving the ground crew to their work, Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. “You guys give those Russians a warm Texas welcome?” Guru asked. “After we tore up their CP?”

Kara grinned. “Oh, yeah. And it wasn't warm. Red-hot.”

“Same here,” Sweaty said as her element came over. “Been a while since we gave a Shake 'n Bake.”

“It has,” Hoser said. “What about that smoke by Downtown Airport?”

“Good question,” KT said.

“I'd like to know myself,” Guru nodded as the RAF crews came over. “Dave, sorry about no MiGs on this one.”

“Can't have them come to the party every time,” Dave Gledhill replied. “There's always the next one.”

“There is,” Flight Lt. Karen McKay, who was Jackson and Gledhill's wingmate, agreed. “What was all that smoke about?”

“I was going to ask that myself,” Gledhill said.

Just then, a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup arrived, and the XO, Mark Ellis, came out. “Boss,” Ellis said.

“Mark, what happened?” Guru asked.

“We got hit twenty minutes ago, and it wasn't Scuds. MiG-25RBs came over. Four of 'em,” the XO replied.

“What'd they hit? Hardly any damage from the air,” said Guru.

“You wouldn't be able to tell, but most of the bombs tore up the ruins of the family housing area,” Ellis said. “They also hit the old Atlas ICBM site north of here.”

Hearing that, Guru was incredulous. “What? There's hardly anything there.”

“I know that, and you know that,” Ellis replied. “But maybe Ivan doesn't.”

“What about the smoke from Downtown Airport?” Sweaty asked.

“Two of 'em got lucky,” Ellis replied. “Most of the bombs landed east of Highway 281, but two of 'em cratered a runway, and at least one landed in the Army's fuel storage.”

Heads nodded at that. “Which explains the smoke,” Dave Gledhill said.

“They splash any of 'em?” Kara asked.

“Patriots got one, but the rest got away,” said the XO.

“Sundown?” Guru asked.

“He's with MAG-11 right now,” the XO nodded. “Hopefully he can find out who these bastards were, and somebody can put the hurt on 'em.”

Guru nodded. “To be wished for.” Then he turned to his flight. “Okay, people. Let's go make the intel people happy, check your desks for any paperwork, and if you can, get a workout in and make Doc happy.”

“Do we have to?” KT asked.

“As long as he's checking off names?” Sweaty replied. “Got to.”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Then we got one more coming. Let's go.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part IX: One more mission, and it's CAS...



335th TFS, 1430 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat behind his desk, going over the paperwork that every squadron CO had to deal with, even those that some paper-pusher felt was important, but to those out on the firing line, some of the memos weren't worth the paper they were printed on. General Cunningham had torn into some of those bureaucrats earlier, but some hadn't gotten the word. These in question were from Tenth AF, and also were questioning the “excessive” use of flares, chaff, and 20-mm gun ammo. Hoping to see the General before he left, the Major left the memos on his desk, disposed of the rest, then he got up and looked out his office window.

F-4s and F/A-18s going in and out, the occasional helo, and the Eastbound C-141 coming in were all sights that warmed his heart. The battle lines were stalled for the most part, but come spring, things would be moving south again, and hopefully, they wouldn't stop until the Stars and Stripes flew on the Rio Grande. But, the CO knew, a lot of good people were going to die before that happened, and it was his job to make sure that most of the dying belonged to the other side.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

Goalie, his backseater and girlfriend, came in. “Got a few things: Mark's just left on a mission, and don't be surprised if Don Van Loan comes and says that we've got one coming.”

“As long as it's not CAS,” Guru said. “What have you got?”

“First, some new enlisted people coming in. Ryan Blanchard's getting a few more CSPs.” Capt. Ryan Blanchard ran the 335th's Combat Security Police detachment. “Thanks to the upgraded PSD threat.”

“About the only thing those scum are good for,” Guru noted dryly. “A few more CSPs will be good to have, especially when we move south. What else?”

“Chief Ross may have a lead on Airman Kellogg's sister,” Goalie said. “His OSI contact found out that a Jenna Kellogg, formerly a student at UT in Austin, and giving Wichita Falls as her hometown, joined the Air Force out of Memphis, two weeks into the war.” She looked at Guru. “Didn't Kellogg say that's where their dad told her to head for?”

Guru nodded, recalling that conversation. “It is. This enough to tell Kellogg?” Guru didn't want to be the one who gave the young airman false hope.

“Not yet, Ross said,” Goalie replied. “His contact's running down further information, and when he gets more, Ross'll let us know. His contact did say that no one with that name is on the AF casualty list.”

Guru let out a breath. “Good to know. Anything else?”

“The C-141 has a few things for us, and not just the newspapers. Anyone order a Pave Tack pod that you know of?”

“Not to my knowledge, unless Ross did so creatively.” Guru thought that the squadron's Master Sergeant-who was also in charge of the unit's scroungers, had overheard talk about flying more laser bomb missions, and had taken some initiative. “Well, now. We can put that to good use. Just tell Mark to make sure the paperwork for it exists. And if it doesn't? Create it.”

Goalie nodded. “Will do, and there's also three dozen Paveway kits. All for GBU-10.”

“Just what I've been waiting to hear,” said Guru. “We've got some already, but now we can do more. All right: I'll tell Don to start looking for point targets in the ATO, and if any come up....”

“We dump the dumb bombs and load the smart ones,” his GIB grinned. “And four to eight bombs do the work of forty-eight.”

“Exactly,” Guru said, then a knock on the door came. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

The door opened and General Cunningham came in. “Major, Captain.”

“General,” Guru said as he and Goalie drew themselevs to some kind of attention.

“As you were,” Cunningham said. “Major, I've been looking over your little plan, which isn't so little, and have a few suggestions.”

“Uh, sir...” Guru started, but stopped when the General raised a hand.

“I know what you're about to say. I had another talk with General Tanner, and he told me that any suggestions for your Op Plan-BOLO II, are just that, and that you're free to accept, modify, or ignore those as you all see fit,” Cunningham said.

Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “Yes, sir, he did,” said Guru.

“Well, then. That caveat still applies,” nodded the General. “I had a look at those missile trucks while you were gone. The ones with the SA-7s. You might want to have someone do something about those.”

“General, we're ahead of you there. Major Golen mentioned those, and Colonel Brady agreed. We're getting an extra four-ship of Hornets to send them AGM-65, and when they're Winchester? They reinforce the BARCAP.”

Cunningham nodded. For a pair with no post-commissioning PME, they were on the ball. “Very good, Major. Now, I'd suggest the third element-the one that's hitting the hangars?”

“Sir?”

“Have some of 'em have their Mark-82s with Daisy Cutters.”

Goalie recognized it right away. “To kill anyone or anything on the ramp that survived the Rockeyes.”

“Exactly, Captain. And Major?”

“Sir?” Guru asked.

“You might want another four-ship of Eagles for the BARCAP. I know, you'll have Marine Hornets for some of that, but four more F-15s might be good to have. The airborne Flankers aren't the only ones you'll have to worry about.”

“They flush the alert birds,” Guru said. “Damn it, how'd I forget that?”

“Same here,” Goalie added. “How did we all miss that?” By that she meant the whole planning cell.

“Some of this is out of your hands, and for OPSEC reasons, you can't get the Eagle or Weasel drivers here right now,” said Cunningham. “And there's this: General Tanner asked me to tell you there are signs of a second Flanker Regiment at Bergstrom. It's unconfirmed, but it will be in your Intel update tomorrow.”

“General,” Guru said. “Somebody needs to do something about those fellas.”

“Someone will,” Cunningham replied firmly. “You've got a good op plan, Major, and just refine it. When do you expect to fly this?”

Guru shook his head. “No idea yet, sir,” he said. “Certain op conditions have to be met, and Tenth AF's deception plan has to be put into effect, and neither one has fallen into place yet.”

“I'll get the lowdown on those from General Tanner,” Cunningham nodded. “Now, on to other business. You've got a good outfit, Major, and I know how informal you all are.”

“General-”

“Don't worry, Major, you're not the only squadron that took a lot of peacetime regs or procedures and threw them away because they got in the way of results. There's still, after two years, some stick-in-the-muds who can't accept that.”

Guru sighed with relief. “Sir, glad to see we're not alone.”

The General grinned. “If you think it's loose here? Try the guys who fly A-4s, A-7s, or A-10s. Some are close enough to be in artillery range, so they have to be informal. And I know, you're picking up where your predecessor left off, and he modeled his style on General Olds when he was in Southeast Asia.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “And we have the same attitude towards bureaucracy and needless regs that get in the way of results. Something a certain officer who's no longer in the squadron could not-or would not-understand.”

“I know who you mean,” Cunningham nodded. “And if you have to go over, on top, underneath, or straight through said bureaucrats, and bend more than a few regs in order to produce results, then so be it. Again, Major, you're not the only Squadron or Wing CO doing that.”

Guru was relieved. “Sir, I'm glad to know that I'm not alone in that attitude.”

“Winning the war comes first and foremost, Major. Sometimes the bureaucracy forgets that,” Cunningham said firmly. “Let General Tanner-and if necessary, either me or the Chief of Staff-handle the bureaucrats. You all on the tip of the spear? You handle the Russians and their lackeys.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, one last thing, and it's off the record.”

“Sir?”

“Was that snotty asshole right about wartime romances?” Cunningham asked with a very serious tone in his voice.

“Uh, sir,” Guru said, glancing at Goalie, who was doing the same thing to him. “We can explain...”

“Let me guess: It's 'eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow they may not tell us from the rest of the aircraft?'”

Both nodded. “Yes,sir.”

Hearing that, Cunningham laughed. “Major, Captain, what happens in your off-time is no one's business but your own. That snot mentioned you two and several other...relationships in the squadron, and this isn't the only unit with such romances. Rest assured, when this is over, we'll be taking a hard look at the regs that cover this sort of thing. Don't be surprised if they get tossed or at least, heavily modified.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said.

“And that wild and crazy one-Thrace?”

“She's my wingman, sir.”

“I know. And there's a lot of stories about her. She's a devil in the air, and more so on the ground. I do want to know if one story's true: did she get drunk, and you all found her nude, and having puked all over the cockpit of someone's airplane?”

“That she did, sir. After celebrating having made ace,” said Guru.

Goalie added, “In a group celebration-in the Supply Tent-sir.”

Hearing that, Cunningham let out a laugh. “Major, I would've loved to see that. Whose plane was it? Not the CO's, I hope?”

“No, sir,” Guru replied. “That snotty officer's.”

“In which case, it was richly deserved,” Cunningham grinned. “Now, Chief Ross. You've got one of the best scroungers in the Air Force, if not the best. Do NOT lose him. Is that clear?”

“As a bell, sir.”

“All right, then. I'll be on my way, and you don't need to see me off. You've got a lot of work to do.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir.”

There was a knock on the door, and the General answered. “Yes?”

The office door opened and Kara came in. “General,” she nodded. “Boss, we've got a mission, and it's CAS.”

Lovely, Guru thought. “Let me guess: Ivan or Franz got a little upppity, and all the Hogs and A-7s are busy.”

“Four-oh, Boss.”

“General, looks like we're going to be busy. Kara, round everybody up, and we taking the Brits?”

“We are,” Kara replied.

“Okay, meet at Five-twelve's revetment in fifteen.”

“I'm gone,” Kara said. “General,” she nodded as she ran out the door.

“General,” Guru said. “We've got someplace to be and bad guys to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“That you do,” Cunningham said. “You be careful out there, and bring everybody back.”

Guru nodded. “Will do, General, but no guarantees in this business.”

As I well know, the General thought. “Do the best you can, both of you. And there's this: you claimed a Yak-40 at Brownwood Regional the day the RAF first flew with you?”

“We did, sir,” Goalie said. “Why do you ask?”

“Because that was Marshal Kribov's personal transport,” Cunningham smiled. “You almost pulled off something similar to Yamamoto.”

Guru's jaw dropped, while Goalie was incredulous. “Sir, we had a chance to take out Ivan's theater commander and blew it?”

“Fortunes of war, Captain. You had no way to know. Now, you two go out there and make some Russians have their own misfortunes of war.”

Guru replied, “Yes, sir!”

“And Major, Captain?”

“General?” Guru asked.

“This BOLO II? Kick ass and take names. That's an order,” Cunningham said with a very serious tone in his voice. “Now get going.”

“Yes, sir!” Guru replied. “Let's go,” he said to Goalie.


Both went to the locker rooms to gear up, and when Guru came out of the Men's Locker Room, in G-suit, survival vest, harness, and helmet in hand, Goalie was waiting, similarly attired. “You ready?”

“Ready, but the Hog drivers should be doing this.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Guru replied. They left the squadron office and raced for 512's revetment. When they got there, they found their flight, Dave Gledhill's RAF element, and Dave Golen's. “Dave,” Guru said to the IDF Major. “Looks like you're coming with us.”

“Glad to be coming,” Golen replied. “And we're loaded with Mavericks.”

“Why's that?” Sweaty wanted to know.

Just then, a Dodge Crew-cab pickup pulled up, and Sin Licon got out. “Boss, glad I caught you. This is where you're headed, the general area, anyway, and the threat.” He handed the CO a piece of paper.

Guru scanned it. “Okay, we're headed for the area between Cross Plains and Gorman: that's State Route 36 and State Route 6. Bad guys are Soviet 32nd Army. Threat level is regimental on up.”

“Lovely,” Kara spat.

“That's not all, Major,” Sin said.

Guru noted the serious tone of voice. “Go on, Sin.”

“SA-11 and ZSU-30-2 are reported but not confirmed in area. As we know all too well, those things are bad news.”

All of the crew shook their heads, but it was Hoser who broke the brief silence. “You're full of good news today, Sin.”

“It's his job,” Guru said, turning to Dave Golen. “All right, we meet up at ten grand overhead. Then we head for the tankers, check in with the AWACS. They pass us off to the EC-130 ABCCC, who gives us a FAC. Okay: Dave? You and Flossy go in ahead of us. Kill anything on wheels or tracks that remotely looks like a SAM or gun track.”

“Will do,” Golen said.

“Good. Dave G?” Guru turned to Dave Gledhill and Karen McKay. “You two? Go in and kill anything with a red star. Fixed wing or helo.”

“We'll do that,” Dave Gledhill replied.

Guru then glanced over at 512, and saw a dozen Rockeye CBUs loaded along with the usual Sidewinders, Sparrows, wing tanks, and ECM pod. “Looks like we're going antiarmor on this one. Rockeyes for everybody.”

“Swell,” Kara spat. “And the bad guys in the air?”

“Their own people doing CAS, what else?” Preacher said.

“Pretty much,” Guru said. “Okay, Dyess and Abliene Municipal are open as divert fields if you're hit, though Albany and Breckenridge are also open-they're A-10 fields by the way.”

Hearing that, Kara asked. “And where, damn it, are the Hogs? This is their bread and butter.”

“Says here they're busy,” Guru said, reading from the Frag Order, before handing it to Sin Licon. “Best bailout area is the I-20 and points north. By the way, we're still Mustang Flight. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Then let's hit it.” Guru clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed to their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, Sergeant Crowley, 512's crew chief, was waiting. “Major, Captain, she's ready to rock.”

“Literally, with those Rockeyes,” Goalie quipped.

“Yeah.” Guru said. “Thanks, Sarge.” Guru and Goalie did their walk-around, then they climbed the crew ladder and mounted the aircraft. After strapping in and putting on their helmets, they went through the preflight checklist, as the ground crew removed the crew ladder.

“This had better be the last one today,” Goalie said as they went through the checks.

“You're not the only one thinking that,” Guru replied. “Arnie?”

“Arnie's up and running, along with the backup INS,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours.”

“All set,” Goalie replied. “Preflight check complete and ready for engine start.”

“So we are,” said Guru. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running, and once the warmup was complete, Guru called the Tower.

“Tower, Mustang Lead with eight, requesting clear to taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A tower controller came back right away. “Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Mustang is rolling.” Guru then gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away, and Crowley then gave the “Taxi” signal. Guru released the brakes, and 512 taxied out. When clear of the revetment, Crowley snapped a salute, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. As they taxied out, the rest of the flight fell in behind, and the eight-ship taxied to Runway 35L. Ahead of them, a four-ship of Marine F-4s was ahead of them, as the C-141 shuttle came in to land.

The big Starlifter landed and taxied clear, then the Marines taxied onto the runway. Guru then taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. A glance to the rear showed two more 335th flights behind them, with Marine Hornets behind the Phantoms. “Looks like they called in the clans on this one,” Guru remarked as the ordnance people did their job.

Goalie glanced in her own rear view mirrors. “Looks like. 'All hands on deck', as the Jarheads say.”

“Down, girl,” Guru said as the four Marine F-4s went down the runway and into the air. “Our turn.” He then called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-five for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520, tucking right in on their right side in echelon. Pilot and GIB did a final check, and everything was ready. A glance over at 520 showed Kara and Brainiac also ready, and they gave a thumbs-up to 512's crew. Guru and Goalie returned them, and everything was ready.

“All set?” Goalie asked.

“Normally I'm the one asking that,” Guru quipped, and both laughed. “Ready up here.”

“Ready back.”

Guru then called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his canopy. Goalie did the same, and a check of 520 showed Kara and Brainiac also ready.

“Let's fly and get it over with,” Goalie said.

“Let's,” Guru said. He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right alongside. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, with Dave Golen and Flossy behind them. Then came the RAF's turn, and Mustang Flight met at FL 100. Then they headed south for their tankers.



Over Central Texas, 1600 Hours Central War Time:



Mustang Flight was orbiting at FL 110, having met up with the tankers, then after checking in first with the AWACS, they had been passed off to Tampa, the EC-130E Airborne Command Post orbiting behind the lines. When the flight arrived, a controller told them, “Get in line at 24,000 and wait your turn.”

And so they did, dropping down as flights ahead of them were handed off to a FAC, and watching not only the action down below, but also looking off to the west, as the sun got lower and lower, and seeing clouds off in the distance, and the sun dropping between cloud layers-or so it seemed as the flight got lower and lower. And when they turned towards the east, the flashes of artillery fire on the ground towards the Brazos and off towards the D/FW area, cold be seen. Along with the occasional fireball in the air as somebody's air defense found a target.

In 512, Major Matt Wiser was not in a happy mood. He had led the flight south, and they had busted ass to get down there, and now it was the usual “Hurry up and wait.” It was another reminder of why he-and just about everyone else in the squadron-detested CAS.

“How long have we been waiting?” Goalie asked from the back seat.

Guru checked his watch. “About fifteen minutes.”

Goalie looked west and saw the setting sun. “Somebody needs to remind those guys that the only night-vision we have loaded is the Mark I eyeball.”

“Somebody will,” replied Guru. He then called Tampa. “Tampa, Mustang Lead.”

A controller called back. “Mustang, Tampa, go.”

“Tampa, be advised the only night-vision equipment we have is the Mark I eyeball.”

“Stand by, Mustang. Meanwhile, descend to Flight Level 100 and continue to hold.”

Guru scowled beneath his oxygen mask. “Copy.”


In the ABCCC pallet aboard the EC-130, the controller looked at the Senior Controller, who asked, “That's how many who've made that kind of call?”

“Five so far.”

“And let me guess: all Phantom or Skyhawk jockeys?”

“You got it.”

The Senior Controller consulted his board. There were five other flights-four Marine and one AF-ahead of Mustang. “Tell 'em to wait like everybody else.” Ivan would pick this time of day to launch an attack, he thought. Because once the sun set, any kind of visual attack would be waved off. And there were aircraft stacked up to 25,000 Feet, and more coming.


“Mustang, Tampa. Continue to hold.”

“Roger, Tampa.” Guru replied. “Lovely,” he spat. Then he went on the squadron's frequency.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “Anything?”

“Same as last time,” the CO called back.

On the IC, Goalie asked, “You wish that reporter was tagging along?”

“For once, yeah,” Guru replied. “She asked, off the record, why we hate CAS runs? This is a big reason why.”

“We bust ass to get here, and it's 'hurry up and wait.'” said Goalie.

Guru nodded up front as he got back on the strike frequency to listen to Tampa and, when they got handed off, the FAC or ETAC. “Mustang, Tampa, descend to FL 90 and hold,” the controller called.

“Copy.”

Three more calls, then it was their turn. “Mustang, Tampa. Contact Nail Seven-two for tasking.”

“Roger, Tampa.” Guru then got onto the FAC frequency. “Nail Seven-two, Mustang Lead.”

The FAC, who was riding in the back seat of an A-7K two-seater, called back. “Mustang, Nail. Say aircraft and type of ordnance.”

“Nail,” Guru said. “Mustang Flight is eight Foxtrot-Fours. Four Echoes with Rockeye, two Echoes with Rifle.” That meant AGM-65s. “Two Juliet with air-to-air.”

“Copy, Mustang. Target is a regimental sized force in the open at the vicinity of U.S. 183 and F.M. 375. That's north of Rising Star. Be advised Sierra Alpha One-ones are in the area, and regimental air defense is active.”

“Roger, Nail. Any Zulu-Sierra-Uniform Three-zeroes?” That meant ZSU-30-2s. Guru then checked his JOG map and found the town and intersection.

“Negative,” the FAC replied. “Two-threes are active.” Those were the well-known ZSU-23-4s.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Can give you one pass south to north.”

“Your call, Mustang,” replied the FAC. “Will mark the target.”

“Copy. Wait one.” Guru then got onto the squadron frequency. “Flight, Lead. We got some work to do. One-five and One-six? You go in and take your Rifle shots.”

“Roger, Lead,” Dave Golen replied.

“One-seven and One-eight? Go in with them and kill anything in the air that isn't ours.”

“Will do, Lead,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson, who was Dave Gledhill's pilot, said.

Guru then said, “Kara, on me. Sweaty, you and Hoser go in behind us. One pass south to north. Switches on and Music on.” That meant to set up their weapons, and turn on their ECM pods.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and so did Sweaty.

Guru nodded. “Set'em up,” he told Goalie.

Goalie worked the armament controls in the back seat. She knew the drill by heart. “All in one pass. Everything's set.”

“Copy.” Guru then got back to the FAC. “Nail, Mustang's all set. Where's our target?”

“Marking it now,” the FAC called.

Off to the East, Guru saw an A-7 roll in and fire several 2.75” Rockets. When they struck home, the WP bursts marked the Soviet Regiment. “Mustang has visual.”

“Roger, Mustang,” said the FAC. “You're cleared hot.”

“Roger that, Nail,” Guru said. He got onto the squadron freq. “One-five and One-six? Go and take your Rifle shots. One-seven and One-eight? Cover us. Rest of you, on me.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and the others followed.

“Ready,” Goalie said from the back seat. “Let's do it.”

“Let's.” Guru said. “Lead's in!” He then turned south, then did a quick 180. The Soviets below were in their battle formation, just like in a prewar exercise video. “Going in hot!” He then took 512 in on his attack run.


Below, the Soviet 10th Guards Army was moving against some American units that had arrived in the sector just a few days earlier. The 10th Guards had been disbanded in 1960, but had been reactivated as an Army headquarters in 1985, and had deployed in 1986, taking divisions from the Turkestan MD and, in 1987, a Polish division. The Army had not fought at Wichita, but had been in Colorado, holding a line roughly along the highway the Americans called I-70, until the Denver Siege Perimeter had collapsed, and the Army had fought a delaying action south, before taking a mauling north of Amarillo. After a period off the line to rest and refit, and taking the newly-arrived Polish 4th Mechanized Division under command (unknown to anyone, this was the last Polish division to deploy to North America) the Army had then moved back into the line.

Now, the Army commander had received orders from Front to launch an attack. Two new American divisions-which ones the Front Intelligence Directorate hadn't identified yet, had moved in opposite the Army, and the Front Commander wanted them pushed back north. At least across Interstate 20, and possibly the Army could threaten Abilene. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but the Army commander reviewed his options, with the 58th and 88th MRDs being veteran divisions, the 84th MRD had replaced the destroyed 116th MRD, which had been sacrificed at a town called Borger in the Texas Panhandle. That division was a Mobilization-only unit, and though it had T-62s, there was only a single BMP-1 battalion in the whole division, and that in the tank regiment, while the three MRRs had BTR-152s. There was no SP artillery at all, and no SAMs in the air defense regiment, just 37-mm AAA guns. So be it, then. The 84th and the Poles-who had T-55s and OT-64s in their MRRs, and T-55s and BMP-1s in their tank regiment, would lead the attack, and the 58th would follow up as it had reequipped with T-72s. He didn't have a tank division yet, but the 16th TD (disbanded in 1957 and reactivated in 1986) was due to come under his command. Well, then, he did have a tank regiment: the 1102nd Independent Tank Regiment, and that would do. They would pass through and push to the I-20 and raise some hell in the American rear.

The Army Commander-a Major General, and his forward command echelon was now following the 84th MRD. The 84th MRD's commander had reported that the Americans were giving ground, but he was worried that it was too easy. His reconnaissance battalion had brought back a few prisoners, and the shoulder patches on their uniforms were from the 14th Armored Division-last known to be in Colorado. Well, it took time to get used to a new area, the General knew, and ordered the 84th to continue forward, with the Poles on their left, and the 58th MRD following up, with the tank regiment behind them.

The command element had joined up with the 84th MRD's 1491st Tank Regiment north of the ruins of a town called Rising Star, and the General was looking for the Divisional Commander. The Tank Regiment was waiting to be committed, he saw, as a motor-rifle company deployed to protect his echelon. The General looked around, then, suddenly, White Phosphorous Rockets exploded among the tanks. Air attack! “TAKE COVER!” He shouted.

“Lead's in!” Guru called. As he took 512 down on his attack run, he heard Dave Golen and Flossy calling “Rifle” as they took their Maverick shots. They took their shots, then headed north, while the RAF F-4Js went in to clear the air of any Red Air, and, to their disappointment, found none in the area. A quick check of the EW showed SA-11, but to the south. Good. The ECM pods ought to do their job. As he came down, Guru saw a regiment of tanks in formation, but moving very slowly. Okay, Ivan...your turn, he thought as he centered some tanks in his pipper. “Steady...steady....And...HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, and released his dozen Rockeyes onto the Russians below. He then pulled up and away, jinking as usual to give any surviving flak gunners and SAM shooters a harder target. When he was clear, Guru called, “Lead off safe.”


“What the..” the General said as he watched Guru's F-4 come in on its run. Several soldiers, to their credit, opened fire with small arms and machine guns, and a Strela shoulder-fired missile, but the F-4 made its run, releasing its cluster bombs onto the tank regiment. The bomblets looked like a thousand firecrackers going off, then fireballs erupted as some of them found tanks. The General shook his head, then his aide dragged him into a nearby shell crater. More Americans coming in.

“SHACK!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “We've got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as he jinked right, then left, dodging a shoulder-fired missile, and some tracer fire-from machine guns, it looked like.

“Got a few tanks going up.”

“Fine with me,” Guru said as he headed north for the I-20.


“Two's in hot!” Kara called as she took 520 in. She saw the CO's run, and saw several fireballs going up as his CBUs found targets. Kara, too, picked out the tanks, and saw their artillery battalion setting up just to the east of the highway. So long, Ivan, she thought as she lined the guns up in her pipper, noting that they were towed and not SP mounts. No matter.....There were some tracers coming up, and a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, but the latter didn't guide, and she ignored the flak as she concentrated on the bomb run. “And...Steady...Steady....NOW!” Kara hit the pickle button, sending her Rockeyes down on the artillerymen below. She then pulled up, jinking along the way as she did, getting clear of the target area. Only when clear did she call, “Two's off target.”


“What the?” The General asked as he saw Kara's F-4 come in. He watched as the aircraft came in, and overflew his command element, intent on hitting some target just to the north. Then he realized that the regimental artillery was positioned in that direction, and he heard the exploding CBUs, then secondary explosions-large ones, as the artillery ammunition exploded. The General shook his head, then he stood up at the lip of the crater. He had barely had time to look around when his aide-a Major, literally pulled him back into the crater.


“GOOD HITS!” That was Brainiac's shout as 520 cleared the area. “Multiple secondaries back there!”

“How good?” Kara wanted to know as she jinked left to dodge an SA-7, then right to dodge another.

“Big and good!”

“Sounds about right,” replied Kara as she picked up the smoke trail from the CO's bird, then she got a visual on 512 herself.


“Three in hot!” Sweaty made the call as she came in on her run. She saw the aftermath of Kara's run, and the continuing secondary explosions going off. What'd she hit, Sweaty wondered. As she came in, Sweaty saw more tanks off to the left of where the CO had made his run, and selected those as her target. Looked like it was a battalion or so, she thought, as the flak came up-at least it was light, with some tracers and 37-mm coming up, along with a shoulder-fired missile or two. Ignoring the ground fire, Sweaty picked out some tanks and lined them up in her pipper. “Steady now...And..Steady....HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and sent her dozen Rockeyes down onto the Russians below. Then she pulled up and began jinking, getting clear of the area as the CBUs went off behind her. Only when she was clear did Sweaty give the call, “Three's off target.”


“Sookin sin!” The General said. Son of a bitch....He watched as Sweaty's F-4 came in, and this time, it was close enough that he could see the bomblets as the CBUs opened. Again, the bomblets looked like firecrackers going off, and some of them produced fireballs as T-62s took hits and exploded. Where was the regimental commander? He wondered. The General cursed again as several more fireballs erupted, then he glanced to the south. Another F-4 coming in...


“BULLSEYE!” Preacher shouted. “Good secondaries back there!”

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid some tracer fire, then an SA-7.

“Righteous ones!” The former seminary student replied.

“That's good enough.” Sweaty dodged another SA-7, then picked up the CO's flight in the distance.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he went down on his run. He watched Sweaty's run, and decided to follow his element lead down on the tanks. He, too, noticed the explosions where Kara had made her run, but noted more tanks that hadn't been hit, and selected those. As Hoser came in, he saw some command vehicles parked in the midst of the tanks, and changed targets. Okay, Ivan, your turn, he thought as the flak-mostly machine-gun fire and what seemed to be 37-mm, came up, along with a couple of SA-7s. Hoser lined up the command vehicles in his pipper. “And....And.....And..HACK!” He hit his pickle button, and another dozen Rockeyes went down onto the Russians below. Then Hoser pulled up and away, and just like the others, he was jinking as he did. When he got clear, it was time. “Four's off target.”


“Of all the...” The General said as Hoser's F-4 came in. At first, he thought the command element was the target, and he watched as the bombs came off the aircraft as it flew overhead. Then he saw the bomblets going off, and recognized the target: the tank regimental command element. Several fireballs erupted as vehicles were hit and exploded, and the General cursed yet again. He then stood up, and watched as two more F-4s came over, but these two didn't attack. Reconnaissance maybe? He shook his head, then went to his command vehicle,where the Captain who commanded the guard company that always accompanied him into the field was waiting.

“Comrade General, we need to get you out of here. American tanks are coming in from the north.”

“All right, then. Get us back to the forward command post, and I need a radio. I want the commander of that tank regiment relieved. If he's still alive, that is. And bring up the reserve tank regiment. If the Americans are coming...”

The aide nodded. “Right away, Comrade General.”


“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled. “Got some good secondaries.”

“What kind and how many?” Hoser asked as he dodged an SA-7, then some tracers, then another SA-7.

“Good ones, and more than a few.”

“I'll take that,” Hoser said as he picked up his element lead and formed up with Sweaty.


“Four in and out,” Guru noted. “Time to fly for ourselves.”

“Roger that,” Goalie replied.

“Mustang One-seven, you and One-eight get your asses down and away. One six, join up on me.”

“Roger, Lead,” Paul Jackson and Dave Golen replied.

The FAC then came on the line. “Mustang, Nail. I give you one hundred percent bombs on target. Good work, fella, and you guys have a nice day, now.”

“Roger that, Nail, and thank you,” Guru replied. He took a look to the right, and saw Kara formed up with him in Combat Spread. “Sweaty, you out there?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me,” Sweaty replied.

“Copy that,” Guru said as Dave Golen's element, and the two RAF birds, joined up. “Let's get out of here.”

Mustang Flight then headed for their tankers, and this time, the RAF joined up with their own Tristar, while the USAF birds drank from KC-135s. They then headed for Sheppard, and an occasional glance to the west saw the sun getting lower and lower in the horizon. When the Flight got to Sheppard, they were third in the pattern, behind two Marine flights. When it was their turn, they came in and landed. As they taxied clear of the runway, those watching were disappointed in that no one held up a finger to signal a MiG kill. Oh, well...

“Four and done,” Guru said as he taxied clear of the runway and headed for the squadron's dispersal.

“Yeah,” Goalie replied. She took a quick look around and noticed something missing. “There's a bird missing from the Transient Area.”

“Sundown's C-130?”

“Yep.”

“That'll reduce some of the tension on this base.”

The flight taxied to the dispersal area, then headed for their revetments. Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, where his CC gave the “Shut down” Signal, and the ground crew came with the chocks and the crew ladder.

Guru and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist, then popped their canopies. Then they took off their helmets before climbing down from the aircraft. They did the usual post-flight walk-around, then Sergeant Crowley was waiting with bottles of water, as usual. “Major, Captain? How'd things go, and how's my bird?”

“Tore up some tanks,” Goalie said before downing half the bottle.

“That we did,” Guru added. He took a drink, then said, “She's truckin' right along, Sarge. No problems or issues at all. Let's get her ready for the morning.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley was beaming. “All right, people! You heard the Major. Get this bird ready for tomorrow.”

Guru and Goalie left the ground crew to their work, and headed to the revetment's entrance, where not only Kara and Brainiac were waiting, but Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs were there as well. “Well?” Guru asked. “We didn't have that much flak, thanks to you guys,” he nodded at Dave and Flossy.

“Got their ZSU-57s,” Dave replied as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT came up. “Then we just killed the random tank or APC.”

“For that we thank you,” Goalie said.

“Got some tanks,” Guru said. “How about you guys?” He asked Kara. “You had a bunch of secondaries going off when I looked back.”

Kara grinned. “Not my fault they parked their regimental artillery out in the open.”

“So that's what that was,” Dave Gledhill said as he and his people arrived. “You taught them a lesson about that.”

“The big lesson is that they should've stayed home,” Kara replied.

“That's the big one,” Guru said.

“Quite,” Gledhill nodded.

Sweaty added, “We got some armor, and Hoser there?”

“Command vehicles of some sort. All parked in a circle among all those tanks,” Hoser said.

Just then, Sin Licon, the SIO, came up. “Boss,” the intel nodded. “I need to get you all debriefed.”

“Just a minute,” Guru replied. He looked at Dave Gledhill. “Any MiGs?”

“Not a one,” the RAF Squadron Leader replied. “There were some off to the west, but over the chaps you people hit? Not a one. Not even a chopper.”

Kara grinned. “There's always next time.”

“That there is,” Guru said. “Sin? When did Sundown leave?”

“About twenty minutes after you guys left,” the Intel said. “Said he was going to have a look at Altus.”

Sweaty was grinning. “And he makes them sweat for a day or two.”

“Something like that,” Sin replied. “Major, he left something for you on your desk. Before you ask, he swore me to secrecy about it.”

“Is it ticking?” Goalie quipped.

“Not big enough for that,” Sin laughed. “He only said you'd like it, Boss.”

The CO nodded. “I'll just have to find out, then,” he said. “Okay, let's debrief. Then you all check your desks and make sure any paperwork's out of the way before you hit the Club.”

“Because menana, we do it all over again,” Kara said.

“We do,” Guru nodded again. “Let's go.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part X: Time to unwind..

Sheppard AFB, TX: 1645 Hours Central War Time:


In his office, Major Wiser sent the last of his paperwork into the OUT box. The debrief had run, then it had been time to attack the papers. There wasn't much, but the elves never did their job while he was gone, so deal with the bureaucracy he had to. At least there wasn't anything one could consider frivolous, he thought, with memos from REMFs concerning “excessive” expenditure of ammo or flares. Sundown had made sure to clean that act up, but who knew what was coming from those idiots before the axe had fallen?

The CO then decided to open the envelope that General Cunningham had left on his desk. He'd been curious, but the CO felt that the paperwork needed to be dealt with first. He was about to open it when there was a knock on his desk. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

Capt. Mark Ellis, the XO, came in. “Boss, got a few things for you before we go off the clock.”

“Lay it on me, Mark.”

“First, aircraft status: we'll have eighteen for the morning.”

Guru looked at him. “Eighteen?”

Ellis nodded. “Two with battle damage, but nothing serious, and they should be up by Noon. Two are due their hundred-hour checks. One of 'em is yours.”

“Crowley didn't tell me,” the CO said. “He normally does.”

“He may have been waiting until the stand-down day after tomorrow, but Kev O'Donnell overruled him.” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the squadron's Maintenance Officer. Only two officers could outrank the CO in anything-Doc when it came to anything medical, and the maintenance officer when it came to a sick-or potentially sick-aircraft. “It may only a few hours over, but..”

“Say no more,” nodded Guru. “So, which bird am I flying in the morning?” He asked.

“657,” Ellis said. “Frank's old bird.”

Hearing that, the CO let out a laugh, just as Goalie, his GIB, came in. “What's so funny?” She asked.

Guru laughed again. “You'll like this: Five-twelve's down for its hundred-hour check, so we get Frank's former mount, 657.”

“What? This on the level?” Goalie asked. Seeing both the CO and XO nod, she laughed herself. “The irony-two of the people he hated the most in the squadron, and we're going to be flying 'his' bird. Too bad he's not here to see it.”

“I'd give good money to see the expression on his face if he found out,” Guru said.

“Does the 'no razzing' rule still apply?” Goalie asked. “I'd love to take a picture of us next to the airplane, and sending him a print.”

“Don't tempt me,” Guru replied. “What else, Mark?”

The Exec handed him a sheet. “Weather update. There's a hundred percent chance of rain after 2100 tomorrow night. Eighty percent after noon, and sixty percent after 1600. Starts clearing out after that. And it'll be chilly: lows in the upper thirties and low forties.”

“Cold-weather gear?”

“Be handed out tomorrow, and Ross is looking for more.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“C-141 brought the newspapers, and some stuff supply requested. Along with some of Ross's scrounging. He got us another two dozen Paveway kits for GBU-10s.”

“Well, now,” Goalie said. “We've got what, four Pave Tack pods and three Pave Spikes? Now we can play with those puppies seriously.”

“We can,” said Guru. “I'll talk with Van Loan and tell him to check ATOs for point targets. If we get any? He pulls whatever ordnance the ATO specifies and has laser bombs loaded.”

“Good,” Goalie nodded. “We can still stick it to those Whiz Kid wannabes, even if they got sent packing.”

“Something like that,” the CO nodded in reply. “That it, Mark?”

“Until morning,” the XO said.

Guru nodded again. “Now let's see what Sundown left,” he said. The CO opened the envelope and found a letter. He scanned it, then headed out.

“What's up?”

“Tell you in a minute,” Guru said. “Breaker?” He asked the SDO. “Get the department heads and Chief Ross over here, pronto!”

“Will do, Major,” Breaker said, getting on the phone.

The CO then turned to his secretary. “Trish, did you type this for Sundown?”

“He swore me to secrecy, Major,” Staff Sergeant Tricia Lord smiled.

“Figures,” Guru nodded, then he went back into the office.

“Guru what's going on?” Goalie asked. Then he showed her the letter. “This on the level?”

“It is,” he assured her, then he showed his Exec the letter. “What do you think, Mark?”

“If Sundown hadn't left this himself, I'd b asking if this is a joke,” Ellis replied. “Since he did, I guess we'll be having some kind of ceremony.”

“With everybody in flight suits or fatigues,” Goalie quipped.

“Something like that,” Guru replied as his department heads came in. When Chief Ross, the last to arrive, came in, the CO said, “Chief? Close the door.”

“Sir,” Ross said.

After Ross closed the door, Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, asked, “What's this all about?”

“Yeah, Boss,” Capt. Kerry Collins, the Ordnance Officer, said. “What's going on?”

“First,” Guru said. “Sundown left a letter. Page one, he praises squadron leadership, saying 'The leadership team in the squadron has been outstanding. Whatever it is you people are doing? Don't change a damned thing. And that's an order.'”

There were smiles and high-fives all around the room as a result. That kind of praise from the Vice-Chief of Staff was more than welcome. “There's more.”

“More?” Capt. Ryan Blanchard asked.

“More,” Guru nodded. “Going on, 'General Tanner has recommended your squadron for an Air Force Outstanding Unit Award. When I get to Nellis, I'll endorse his recommendation, and bypass the Review Board. This will go right to the Chief of Staff, and then the Secretary of the Air Force. Don't be surprised if, in the coming weeks, word comes that you're getting the award.'”

“Whoa,” Don Van Loan said after a moment's pause. “We're doing that good?”

“Good enough,” Capt. Kerry Collins, the Ordnance Officer, said. He had been de facto in the job, though officially the deputy, while his immediate superior, Maj. Frank Carson, was busy making himself the most hated man in the squadron. Now that Carson had been sent packing, Collins was officially in the slot, and everyone felt that things were moving a lot more smoothly with the skunk gone. “Any idea when?”

“No idea, but these things take a couple weeks at least,” Guru said. “Now, the last thing: he told me and Goalie before we left on the last strike, but he put it in writing.”

“What?” The XO asked.

“Sundown says, and I quote: 'This Operation BOLO II? Kick ass and take names. That's an order.'”

“Well, now,” Ellis said. “Then we'd better not disappoint Sundown.”

“And we won't,” Guru said firmly. “Anything else that pops your minds?” When heads shook no, the CO nodded. “All right, I'll see you guys in a while.” As people got to leave, he said, “Ryan? A moment, please. And Chief?”

“Sir?” Chief Ross asked.

“I need to see you after I'm done with Captain Blanchard. So wait a couple, and close the door on your way out.”

“Sir.”

After everyone else had gone, Capt. Ryan Blanchard, his CSP Officer-in-Charge, was left. “Yeah, Boss?”

Guru looked at her. An ex-Deputy Sheriff from Michigan's Upper Peninsula, she was good at her job. And had proven that more than once, either capturing-or killing PSD near the base. “How tight are you with the OSI guys?”

“Pretty tight,” Blanchard replied. “Martinez, the AIC? He's good. Ex-police detective, and he knows his business.”

“Good,” the CO said. “I know they check this place for bugs regularly, but see if they can't step it up in some way. I want to make it hard for Ivan-or the PSD slugs-to find out what's going on.”

“I know, the fact that we haven't cleaned up all the PSD is a given. It's also a given that some of the scum work on this base or close to it.”

“All right. That leads to the second thing. How many civilian employees work here at night?” Guru wanted to know.

Blanchard replied, “Five. All janitors or cleaners. And they've been vetted twice.”

“Vet them again. Just to be sure.”

“Will do, but we can't exactly check with Austin.”

Guru knew what she was talking about. With Austin-and Oklahoma City, Topeka, Santa Fe, Little Rock, all under Soviet occupation, that meant that the Soviets, Cubans, East Germans, and their PSD lackeys, all had access to state-issued ID documents, and access to county birth certificates as well. Every possible document to give a stay-behind a “legend” had fallen into enemy hands, and that gave the FBI, U.S. Marshals, the military, and the Resistance fits. While some had been known to be used by collaborators to get new identities and hide in plain sight, others were being used by KGB, GRU, Stasi, DGI, and PSD assets to establish “legends” for stay-behinds. “I know. Still, do it anyway.”

Blanchard nodded. “Understood.”

“Now, one more thing. I want your night-shift CSPs to check the basement twice a night. Make sure nobody's been there. I know, the SDO keeps the key in a locked drawer, but...”

“Say no more,” she nodded. “We'll give it the once-over. Three times a night, if necessary.”

“Good. Anything else?” Guru asked.

“Nada, Boss.”

“All right, then. If I don't see you at the Club? Have a good night.”

The CSP grinned. She picked up her M-16 and said, “You too, Boss. Send the Chief in?”

“Yeah.”

Blanchard left, and Chief Ross came in. The Squadron's senior NCO, he was a father figure to the enlisted airmen, as well as a point of contact between the enlisted and the CO. He was also the unit's “Chief Scrounger”, and had several NCOs who worked for him in that department. “Yes, sir?”

“Chief, this'll only take a minute. Any word on Airman Kellogg's sister?” Guru asked.

“Nothing further, sir,” Ross replied. “My OSI contact has information, but nothing you can take to the bank just yet. He's hoping to have stuff for me in a week or so.”

Guru nodded. He'd been told before, but wanted to hear firsthand. “All right, Chief. See if he can't hurry things up-if his current caseload isn't in the way. But I'd like to be able to give Kellogg this kind of Christmas present: news his sister's alive and how they can get in touch.”

Ross understood perfectly. He wanted to do the same thing. “Understood, sir. And I have a contact with VA-135. Their scrounger, who happens to be their Senior Chief Petty Officer. He's using his contacts to run down Kellogg's older brother. It may take a while, though.”

Nothing new, Guru thought. “I know, Chief. If he's in a sensitive job, like a Crypto Tech or a SEAL, that, we don't need to know. Just find out if the brother's on a casualty list, and if not? Contact info so that they can stay in touch. Just like with the sister.”

“Yes, sir. No promises, sir. I don't like making promises I can't keep.”

“Which is what you said when I became Exec and Rivers told me about your 'secondary activities',” Guru said, referring to the time when he found out about Ross'-and several other NCOs-scrounging work. “And one other thing: if it hasn't been done already? Have a doghouse built for Buddy.”

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “Cold nights ahead, and I'll get right on it.” Both were talking about the Golden Lab that was the squadron's mascot.

“Take good care of that dog, Chief,” said Guru. “When this is all over, someone in this squadron's going to give him a proper civilian life.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else that leaps out?”

Ross thought for a minute. “No, sir.”

“All right, Chief. You have a good night, and see you tomorrow,” Guru said.

“Yes, sir!” Ross said. “And you, too.”

After Ross left, the CO looked at the office clock. 1705. He grabbed his bush hat and as he left the office, Goalie and Mark Ellis were waiting.

“Well?” Goalie asked.

“Now we're off the clock.”



A few minutes later, Guru, Goalie, and the XO went into the O-Club Tent. The place was already buzzing as the trio bellied up to the bar. “Smitty,” Guru said to the barkeep. “Whatcha got tonight?”

Smitty grinned. “Michelob, Bud, Coors-which we got our first shipment today-”

“Just don't take that east of Texas, because that's bootlegging,” Goalie laughed.

“Did a Black Trans Am and a Kenworth long-nosed semi show up?” Guru quipped.

The barkeep laughed. “No, but I'm glad it showed. And Sam Adams for you, Major.”

“My usual, then,” Guru said, and he looked at both Goalie and Ellis. “And Bud for the XO and my GIB.” Both nodded, then he laid down his money.

Smitty produced the bottles. “Here you go, Major.”

“Thanks, Smitty,” Guru said. “So, what'll we drink to?”

The XO thought for a moment, then said, “How about just being alive?”

“Good enough for me,” Goalie added.

Guru nodded. “Sounds about right.” Then he raised his bottle and two more joined it. Clink. After they drank, the CO asked Smitty. “Ever think you'd serve a four-star in here?”

“No, Major,” the barkeep grinned. “Westmoreland came by my base, but never met him. We were getting ready to go out into the boonies on a patrol.”

“On your first tour, right?” Ellis asked. “And your second?”

“Went recon in between my first and second,” Smitty said. “On my second tour? We went after a POW compound near the Laotian border in South Vietnam. They told us a dozen Americans and a couple of West German aid workers were held there. One of 'em was a nurse.”

“What happened?”

“Got there, and a nasty fire-fight developed. They weren't VC, but NVA. After it was over, an NVA prisoner said the POWs had been moved a couple days earlier. Found out after the war that the two aid workers were sent up the Trail to Hanoi then and there. The Americans? They got moved to another camp, then went up the Trail. Came out of Hanoi in '73.”

Guru nodded. Anyone who came out of Hanoi, regardless of gender, had his undying respect. “And what'd you think of Sundown?”

“Major,” Smitty let out a smile. “I'd gladly serve under somebody like him.”

Then Colonel Brady came up, with another Marine officer-this one a light colonel. “Smitty, two Buds.”

“Comin' up, Colonel.”

“Major,” Brady said. “Meet Lieutenant Colonel Richard Hardegen.”

“Colonel,” Guru said, shaking the new arrival's hand. “Welcome to Sheppard.”

“Thanks, Major,” the Colonel said. “You're probably wondering what a guy with my last name is doing in the Marines? Came over in '61. The day before the Wall went up in Berlin.”

Goalie was surprised. “What was that like?”

“In those days? You could go to any part of Berlin you wanted with just an ID check. No wall, no checkpoints, nothing. My parents had a feeling that something was up, and they'd been thinking about fleeing for months. They decided to go, and took us-my two brothers and I, along with my sister. Came to the States when I was 21, and as soon as I could? I found a Marine recruiting office.”

“And here you are,” Ellis said.

“That's right,” then he noticed someone waving. “My XO and a couple of others. If you'll excuse me?”

“Go ahead,” said Brady.

After Hardegen left to join his XO, Guru asked, “He have a relative who was a U-Boat skipper?”

Brady nodded. “Let me guess, Major. U-123?”

Guru nodded back. “Yes, sir. Read a few books on the war off the East Coast. That boat's skipper played a big part in turning the East Coast shipping lanes into a shooting gallery.”

“You might want to talk to him about that one of these days,” Brady said. “Here and now? I told him he'll be flying against not just Russians, but East Germans. Maybe some of his relatives.”

Hearing that, Goalie was surprised. Not unlike the Civil War, she knew. “And, sir, if you don't mind my asking, what'd he say?”

Brady took a drink, then said. “He thought for a minute, then said this, and he was very serious: 'Their problem being Reds, sir. Not mine.'”

“And he meant it,” Guru noted.

“He did.” Brady took another drink. “And on that happy note, you all have a good evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said.

The 335th crewers headed for their tables, and when Guru and Goalie got to theirs, the rest of their flight coming in. “Boss,” Kara said. “Am I off the leash, now that Sundown's gone on his way?”

“You are,” Guru nodded. “And Goalie and I have something to share, and I'll let her do the honors.”

“What is it?” Sweaty asked.

Goalie let out an evil-looking grin. “Five-twelve's in for its hundred hour check, so guess whose bird we fly in the morning?”

“Whose?” Hoser asked.

Goalie still had the grin. “657. Frank's old mount.”

There were stares, then Kara almost spat out the beer she'd just drunk. After swallowing it, she said, “You are shitting us, right?”

“Nope,” Guru said. “Two of the three people he hated the most in this squadron are going to be in his bird all day tomorrow. Get Five-twelve back after the stand-down.”

Kara grinned herself. “Boss, you have got to let me take a picture of you and Goalie next to that plane. His name's still on it, right?” Seeing Guru nod, she went on. “Then you can send it to him.”

“I'd pay good money to see his face when he sees that photo,” Sweaty said. She, too, had had issues with the man. So had practically everyone in the squadron.

“Don't want to do anything to get in the way of the JAG investigation,” Guru reminded them.

“No, but if the investigation fizzles?” Hoser said. “You send it to him anyway.”

“And if he does get a Court-Martial?” KT added. “Send it to him in Leavenworth.”

Guru thought for a moment, then looked at Goalie. She had that evil-looking grin again. “Well?”

“I like it,” she said. “Bring your camera in the morning.”

“Done,” Guru said. “Kara? You take our picture, and I'll take one of you. We'll send those to that asshole when the time is right.”

“My pleasure,” Kara smiled.

As the place filled up, Guru noticed Dave Golen and Flossy, with Terry and Jang, their GIBs, talking with Ms. Wendt, and they were joined by Cosmo and Revlon, their other “unmanned” crew. “Looks like Ms. Wendt's got a story going.”

“How do you know?” Brainiac asked.

“Scott's behind the camera,” Goalie pointed out.

“They're doing a story,” Hoser said “Don't they want to do one on the Day One vets?”

Guru nodded, since he was one of the ten still in the squadron. “They do, only they haven't gotten around just yet. They'll be here for a while, so no rush.”

Then Lt. Col. Gene Dennis, MAG-11's Intelligence Officer, came in and spoke to Colonel Brady. Then Brady turned to the Barkeep. “Smitty? Turn the TV to CNN, NOW!”

Smitty turned the TV from ESPN to CNN, and the network's “Breaking News” banner was on, as it showed uniformed West German police dragging someone out of a car.
The footage, from Deutsche Welle, showed the man, dressed casually, being hauled off, shouting. CNN's translator was saying, “I am a citizen and the Chancellor of the Federal Republic! Take your filthy hands off me! You have no right!”

CNN's Bernard Shaw picked up the commentary. “This footage, just in to CNN from Deutsche Welle, shows the arrest of the former West German Chancellor after he was spotted near Helmstedt, which is close to the border with East Germany. Sources say that a phone call to the local police led to the arrest, and an end to the nationwide manhunt since the coup that ousted the Green Alliance Neutralist Government.”

“Now what?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“They need to interrogate him,” Sin Licon said. “They want to know his KGB and Stasi contacts, and any Swiss bank accounts. They said he'd then get sent to join his pals in East Berlin.”

“And if this was some shithole in Africa or the Middle East, and not West Germany?” Dave Golen added. “Then they torture the shit out of him to make him 'confess' to 'Crimes Against the State and People'.”

Guru added, “And after that, Ms. Wendt? He then backs into a wall to pose for rifle fire.”

“Too bad the West Germans don't do that,” Colonel Brady said. “But you can bet the Agency and MI-6 are going to have a few chats with him before they send him over the Wall.”

Just then, the restaurateurs came in with dinner. “Folks, we've got some Chicken-fried Steak, or Hamburger Steak. They're Bison, not beef, but you'll never know the difference. We've got all the fixin's, so come and get it!”

After people got their food, conversation continued about the ex-Chancellor and what should happen to him.

“Send him over to his Commie pals,” Mark Ellis said. “One piece at a time.”

“Taking something out of the GRU's playbook, Mark?” Guru asked.

The 335th XO shrugged. “In this case, why not?”

“Hell,” Digger said. “Just shoot him over the wall. Get a catapult from some museum someplace and do it that way. Let his Commie friends clean up what's left of him.”

“No arguing that,” Colonel Brady said.

After dinner, Kara went to the Pool Table to hold court. She easily dispatched a transiting C-130 driver, two A-7 pilots from VA-135, before RAF Flight Lt. Karen McKay took her turn.

“You took her a while back,” Dave Gledhill said.

“She's entitled to another crack at me,” McKay replied as she went to the table. Both combatants laid down their money, but this time, it was Kara's skills that were superior, and the RAF pilot came back to her table, short $50.00.

“Next!” Kara shouted.

“I'll get her again,” McKay grumbled as she accepted a beer from one of her squadron mates.

“If she's figured you out,” Flossy warned. “You won't.”

“She figured all of us out,” Don Van Loan added. “Now you know why none of us will play unless there's no money at stake.”

A few minutes later, Colonel Brady rang the bar bell. “People, we've got ten minutes until Twelve-Hour, and there's a few announcements. First, I'd like to welcome to MAG-11 Lieutenant Colonel Richard Hardegen, the new CO of the Smokes of VMFA-134.”

Colonel Hardegen stood up, to applause, then sat back down.

After a few Marine-related announcements, and VA-135's CO giving call signs to two nugget (Replacement) pilots, it was Guru's turn.

“Colonel, nothing special, but there's this: a certain snotty asshole who is no longer in the squadron and on this base? Well, we were hoping Sundown Cunningham would have shown up and sent him off by sundown, but things went the way they did, so we didn't have that pleasure. Well? My bird is due for maintenance tomorrow, and my Ops Officer scheduled me and my GIB to have this guy's old mount, 657. Goalie? Stand up!”

Goalie stood up, and there were howls of laughter at the thought of the two-who everyone knew that the despised and departed Major Carson had hated, now flying his former aircraft. “I do appreciate the irony, though,” she laughed.

“That's not all! Captain Thrace is going to take our picture of the two of us standing next to that bird, which still has his name painted on the canopy rail, and at the appropriate time, we'll send him a print.”

“While he's doing a long course at Leavenworth, in a six-by-nine?” Flossy asked. She had very good reason to want him locked away, and everyone in the squadron knew it.

“One can hope,” Kerry Collins said, not hiding his own loathing for his former superior in name only.

“It may be a while, but one way or another, he'll get that photo,” Guru said. “And there's one more thing. Sundown gave the Club Officer-who reports to the Air Base Group-hell for not granting Buddy a Club Card. So now, Buddy's got one.”

“ARF!”

“Nobody can take that away from you, kid, and nobody can take you away from us. So just as Roscoe had free access at Korat all those years ago, Buddy's got free range here,” Guru said. “And that's it, sir.”

Brady smiled. “And you can be assured that Buddy won't be the only mascot for long on this base, Major,” he said. “Got a few minutes left until Twelve-Hour, so drink up!”

Colonel Hardegen came over and watched as Kara defeated VMFA-314's Exec, just in time for the bell to ring. “Twelve-hour now in effect!” Doc Waters shouted.

“She as good as they say?” Hardegen asked.

“Your money's good as the next guy's-or girl's, Colonel,” Kara grinned.

“Not tonight, Captain, but one of these days,” Hardegen said. “I've got more miles than you do, so it'll be interesting.”

Guru came up. “Be warned, sir. People who issue challenges wind up regretting them, and out $50.00. Or more.”

“And who hasn't?”

“Uusally those with stars on their shoulders: General Tanner, General Olds, and General Yeager, in that order.”

“We'll see, Major,” Hardegen said. “Captain,” he nodded at Kara, then went to join Colonel Brady.

“He bluffing?” Sweaty asked. She'd overheard the whole thing.

“I do like spending Colonels' money,” Kara grinned. She had defeated Colonel Brady once.

“We'll find out soon enough,” said Guru.

With Twelve-Hour, people switched to nonalcoholic drinks, and things went on until 2100, when one of the Navy Flight Surgeons rang the bar bell. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!”

The crews on the flight schedule headed off to their tents, for it wouldn't be long until 0430 and Aircrew Wakeup. And another day of flying would be on the agenda.