Wolverine and Chiefs

[Johnnie Lyle]

A little bit of context here:

There is a 335th Squadron policy that goes back to the early days of the war, and it's also based on Israeli experience in 1973: if doing CAS, you limit yourself to one run only, expending all of your ordnance in one pass, unless the threat level dictates otherwise. Not only are you in range of divisional level assets such as SA-6, SA-8, and SA-11, but you're also at risk from regimental level threats, such as SA-9. SA-13, and either ZSU-23-4 or ZSU-30/SA-19. At battalion and below, it's heavy machine guns on APCs and tanks, plus MANPADS and small-arms fire.

You are low and fast, and attract the attention of everybody (enemy and friendly) with a gun, and a bullet in the right place can bring down a multimillion-dollar aircraft and force the crew to take a Martin-Baker ride. If lucky, they're rescued. If unlucky, KIA, and very unlucky, POW.... One pass minimizes the risk to aircraft and aircrew, and if you have to go back, do a turnaround, and come back to do this again? So be it.

It's not just this squadron: many other fast-mover outfits do the same thing, unless they're dedicated to the CAS mission (A-10, A-7, and A-4 squadrons). Even the Marines, who pride themselves on CAS, limit themselves to one run only in high-threat areas. Now, if the Army or Marines requesting CAS can take out any hostile air-defense assets, it gives a clearer run to the target, and eases the surface-to-air threat. FACs do make that request regularly, it should be pointed out.

One run just makes it easier for aircraft and aircrew, and as Poobah pointed out, people tend to get ornery when they've just been bombed.

It’s logical, but it’s equally logical that the guys and gals on the ground who are in the thick of things would prefer more to take the heat off. Doubly so when aircraft can put more of a hurt on the Bear at, frankly, a lower cost in lives than a mech or tank battalion doing it. That’s cold comfort to aircrew who don’t come home or squadron COs who have to write the letters, but preferable to the company or battalion COs on the ground who have to write fewer letters that way.

Splitting that baby is why generals get the big bucks.

[Matt Wiser]

That's the attitude of the I-HAWK site at the I-20 bridges over the Brazos. They have a reputation for shooting first and only then checking if the blip they engage has a valid IFF reading.

And Guru and Goalie have come back twice from CAS runs with unexploded SA-7s in their afterburner cans. No desire to repeat the experience, thanks very much. While another crew came back after a run-in with ZSU-30-2 and the only reason they were able to is because there were some dud rounds. The bird needed a new nose radome, a new backseater's canopy, and some other work done...

And the WSO probably needed to change his/her underwear...

Before getting sloppy drunk to try and forget almost getting killed.

[Johnnie Lyle]

That's the attitude of the I-HAWK site at the I-20 bridges over the Brazos. They have a reputation for shooting first and only then checking if the blip they engage has a valid IFF reading.

And Guru and Goalie have come back twice from CAS runs with unexploded SA-7s in their afterburner cans. No desire to repeat the experience, thanks very much. While another crew came back after a run-in with ZSU-30-2 and the only reason they were able to is because there were some dud rounds. The bird needed a new nose radome, a new backseater's canopy, and some other work done...

And the WSO probably needed to change his/her underwear...

Before getting sloppy drunk to try and forget almost getting killed.

Who got drunker, the WSO or the pilot?

The WSO almost died, but the pilot almost lost their WSO. Unless the pilot was a complete psychopath, it’s hard to say which had greater need of booze.

[Matt Wiser]

It was Firefly and Rabbit. Firefly bringing that bird back not only earned him a DFC, but General Yeager (who saw his bird after landing) recruited him for the F-20 program after seeing the shot-up bird and hearing his story.

[Johnnie Lyle]

It was Firefly and Rabbit. Firefly bringing that bird back not only earned him a DFC, but General Yeager (who saw his bird after landing) recruited him for the F-20 program after seeing the shot-up bird and hearing his story.

Single seaters, right?

If so, that makes total sense.

[Matt Wiser]

General Yeager wanted combat veterans for the F-20 program, and seeing a crew bring back a shot-up bird made him decide that he'd best try to recruit the pilot. And he succeeded.

[Johnnie Lyle]

General Yeager wanted combat veterans for the F-20 program, and seeing a crew bring back a shot-up bird made him decide that he'd best try to recruit the pilot. And he succeeded.

Not quite my point.

From personal experience, it’s one thing to risk your life. It’s a very different thing to send people into danger, knowing they’re risking their lives based in large part upon their faith in you.

Having that pounded home by nearly losing your WSO could easily shake your confidence completely or push you to a situation where the only life you’re willing to risk is your own. So it’s 100% reasonable for a pilot in that situation to choose to move to single seaters.

[Poohbah]

General Yeager wanted combat veterans for the F-20 program, and seeing a crew bring back a shot-up bird made him decide that he'd best try to recruit the pilot. And he succeeded.

Not quite my point.

From personal experience, it’s one thing to risk your life. It’s a very different thing to send people into danger, knowing they’re risking their lives based in large part upon their faith in you.

Having that pounded home by nearly losing your WSO could easily shake your confidence completely or push you to a situation where the only life you’re willing to risk is your own. So it’s 100% reasonable for a pilot in that situation to choose to move to single seaters.

Also have to remember that the airplane is moving at roughly 1,000 feet per second, the WSO is only four or five feet behind the pilot, and literally milliseconds determined what happened next.

It makes you think.

[Johnnie Lyle]

General Yeager wanted combat veterans for the F-20 program, and seeing a crew bring back a shot-up bird made him decide that he'd best try to recruit the pilot. And he succeeded.

Not quite my point.

From personal experience, it’s one thing to risk your life. It’s a very different thing to send people into danger, knowing they’re risking their lives based in large part upon their faith in you.

Having that pounded home by nearly losing your WSO could easily shake your confidence completely or push you to a situation where the only life you’re willing to risk is your own. So it’s 100% reasonable for a pilot in that situation to choose to move to single seaters.

Also have to remember that the airplane is moving at roughly 1,000 feet per second, the WSO is only four or five feet behind the pilot, and literally milliseconds determined what happened next.

It makes you think.

Yeah, but that fucks you up very differently. Plus, by definition, you don’t have to live with it if they kill you.

You do if your people get killed due to decisions you made.

[Poohbah]

Not quite my point.

From personal experience, it’s one thing to risk your life. It’s a very different thing to send people into danger, knowing they’re risking their lives based in large part upon their faith in you.

Having that pounded home by nearly losing your WSO could easily shake your confidence completely or push you to a situation where the only life you’re willing to risk is your own. So it’s 100% reasonable for a pilot in that situation to choose to move to single seaters.

Also have to remember that the airplane is moving at roughly 1,000 feet per second, the WSO is only four or five feet behind the pilot, and literally milliseconds determined what happened next.

It makes you think.

Yeah, but that fucks you up very differently. Plus, by definition, you don’t have to live with it if they kill you.

You do if your people get killed due to decisions you made.

Trust me, thinking on it does fuck you up, and it does so all the worse the longer the war goes on. "Why did I roll the hard six all those times, when so many others rolled boxcars?"

You end up either getting a massive case of survivor's guilt (bad enough) or a major case of megalomania ("The Hand of God is on me, for I am destined to . . . ").

The outer limits of the latter start at "I am the Hand of God" (or worse, "I am the Left Hand of the Devil") and, in one memorable case, went all the way to "Yahweh is my handservant" in the officer's club tent one fine evening.

Second Lieutenant Natalie Brooks led off the response with, "DON'T YOU BLASPHEME IN HERE! DON'T YOU BLASPHEME IN HERE!"

By the time those nice young men in their clean white coats came to take him away, hee-hee, ha-ha, ho-ho, we'd gone through the Blues Brothers, multiple rounds of Monty Python (I contributed "I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition" with predictable results), a heartfelt sing-along of "Dead Puppies," a scholarly discussion about how that Catch-22 was some catch, and generally indulged our pent-up stress and gibbering lunacy.

After which, we proceeded to drink beer. Never mentioned that particular lunatic again for the rest of the evening.

[jemhouston]

Sometimes the only proper response to an insane situation is insanity.

I haven't looked at it for a while, but at one point, there were four or five theories on why some cracked during the war, just after, or only slightly. All theories had some case that fit it, others fitted other theories, and some that were completely outside the box. If I remember right, what worried all the medical community were the oddball cases were people who were just on the edge at war's start seemed to get more stable.

After the war, one self-described prewar nutjob who tested more stable at the end went into the field. About fifteen years, he wrote a book. I think it was called "Insane to sane, how WW3 made me sane." I did search the title, but no hits. This was a guy in combat arms, I think mech infantry, with one Silver Star.

[Johnnie Lyle]

Also have to remember that the airplane is moving at roughly 1,000 feet per second, the WSO is only four or five feet behind the pilot, and literally milliseconds determined what happened next.

It makes you think.

Yeah, but that fucks you up very differently. Plus, by definition, you don’t have to live with it if they kill you.

You do if your people get killed due to decisions you made.

Trust me, thinking on it does fuck you up, and it does so all the worse the longer the war goes on. "Why did I roll the hard six all those times, when so many others rolled boxcars?"

You end up either getting a massive case of survivor's guilt (bad enough) or a major case of megalomania ("The Hand of God is on me, for I am destined to . . . ").

The outer limits of the latter start at "I am the Hand of God" (or worse, "I am the Left Hand of the Devil") and, in one memorable case, went all the way to "Yahweh is my handservant" in the officer's club tent one fine evening.

Second Lieutenant Natalie Brooks led off the response with, "DON'T YOU BLASPHEME IN HERE! DON'T YOU BLASPHEME IN HERE!"

By the time those nice young men in their clean white coats came to take him away, hee-hee, ha-ha, ho-ho, we'd gone through the Blues Brothers, multiple rounds of Monty Python (I contributed "I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition" with predictable results), a heartfelt sing-along of "Dead Puppies," a scholarly discussion about how that Catch-22 was some catch, and generally indulged our pent-up stress and gibbering lunacy.

After which, we proceeded to drink beer. Never mentioned that particular lunatic again for the rest of the evening.

Which is why I said it fucks you up differently.

[Matt Wiser]

Next chapter: and Erica's rally gets a deserved flyover..

Over North-Central Texas: 1445 Hours Central War Time:


Chevy Flight was orbiting in the pattern, as usual when they came in on a CAS run. After topping up from the tankers-and the RAF had been able to use their own Tristar-Lead had checked in with the AWACS. Crystal Palace directed them to Hillsboro, the EC-130 ABCCC, and the controller, after receiving the check-in call, told Lead to “Get in line at 24,000 and wait your turn.”

In 512's front seat, Guru was frowning underneath his oxygen mask. The check-in had been fifteen minutes earlier, and they were still in the holding pattern, now at FL 110. Though a glance above them from time to time revealed other aircraft-F-4s, Hornets, A-7s, all in the same situation he was. “Hurry up and wait,” he muttered on the IC.

“As usual,” Goalie replied. She had been scanning the area visually, and saw fireballs erupting both in the air as either someone lost a dogfight or ran into a SAM, and on the ground, as tanks and other armor took fatal hits and exploded. She, too, noted their current altitude, and then checked her own EW display. “Got some radars down there,” she said.

Guru noted them on his own repeater as well. Besides the usual air-search radars, there was at least one SA-6 off to the west, and another to the east, along with several air-to-air radars as well, but the MiGs were off to the south. Then a familiar-and despised-signal came up. “Mainstay again.”

“After what we did to those Fencers, somebody's got to do the same to those Mainstays,” Goalie complained.

“Again, you're preaching to the choir,” replied Guru. He, too, had wanted those Mainstays taken out, But apart from one getting splashed by an F-14, none of them had been...neutralized. He hoped somebody, somewhere, was working on doing just that.

Then the controller riding on Hillsboro came on. “Chevy Lead, Hillsboro. Descend to Fight Level One-zero-zero and continue to hold.”

“More of the same,” Guru muttered as he began his descent. “Flight, Lead. Follow me down to Ten grand.”

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

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “What's taking those guys so long? We can't stay up here all day.”

“Not the only one thinking that,” Guru replied as he looked around. Down below, he saw another F-4 flight-this one Marines, and below the Jarheads, a four-ship of A-7s. They looked like they were from VA-135, as they were in Navy tactical grey, not the SEA or Euro 1 the AF Corsairs had. Then the A-7s must've been given a FAC, for they broke out of the pattern and headed southeast.

After that, the controller on Hillsboro called. “Chevy Lead, drop to Fl 90 and continue to hold.”

One more, Guru thought. “Roger, Hillsboro.” Then he called the Flight. “Flight, Lead. Drop to Nine Grand and continue holding.”

“Roger, Lead,” the replies came.

Guru saw the Marines break off and follow the Navy southeast, and he knew it would soon be their turn. Then the call came from the EC-130.

“Chevy Lead, Hillsboro. Contact Nail Four-seven for tasking.”

“Roger, Hillsboro,” Guru called back. “Nail Four-seven, Chevy Lead. How copy?”

“Chevy, Nail,” the FAC riding in the back of an A-7K replied. “Good to hear you, and state your aircraft and ordnance.”

“Nail, Chevy Flight is four Foxtrot-Fours. Six Echoes with antiarmor Rockeyes, and two Juliets loaded for air-to-air,” Guru said. “Any Red air around?”

The FAC came back. “Chevy, Nail. Negative on fixed-wing, but helos have been around. Can you have your Juliets take some out?”

“Roger that, Nail,” Guru replied. “Say target.”

“Chevy, target is mixed tanks and APCs, west of Kokomo, vicinity F.M. 310 and 312.”

“Roger, Nail. Can you mark the target and say threat?”

The FAC replied. “That's affirmative, Chevy. Threat is AAA and MANPADS. How many runs can you give?”

Beneath his oxygen mask, Guru winced. How many times do they have to ask us? “Nail, Chevy. One run only. South to North.”

“Chevy, Nail. Your call. Marking the target.” Then the A-7K rolled in and fired four rockets, which exploded among the Soviet armor in their WP Smoke. As the A-7 pulled away, it drew tracers and a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, none of which connected. “That's the target.”

“Roger that, Nail. Chevy Flight, Lead. Time for us to go to work.One-seven and One-eight, go in and kill any Red Air.”

Paul Jackson replied, “Roger, Lead,” as the two RAF F-4Js shot on ahead, searching for bandits.

“Roger,” Guru said. “Rest of you, on me. Switches on, music on, and let's go in.”

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

Behind Guru, in 512's back seat, Goalie worked the armament controls. “All set here,” she replied. As usual, one pass and all of their ordnance in one go.

Guru replied, “Copy that,” as he turned on their ALQ-119 ECM pod and brought 512 in a descending 180, bringing the flight behind the Soviets. “Ready?”

“As I'll ever be,” Goalie replied, tightening her shoulder straps.

“Then let's go,” Guru said as he rolled in on the bomb run.


Down below, just west and northwest of the crossroads called Kokomo, the Commander of the 983rd MRR was having a fit, of the angry and professional kind. The orders he had received from the Divisional Comamnder had his regiment pass through the 979th MRR after the latter had been roughly handled by air attack, and as he did, the Colonel saw the carnage that had been inflicted on the sister regiment by American air attack. Roughly an hour of such strikes had left the 979th a shattered remnant, and to the Colonel's fury, the Divisional Commander had ordered his regiment to pass through and continue the advance. His regiment, like the others in the 253rd MRD, had few veteran soldiers, and was mostly made up of reservists from Tiblisi and the surrounding area in Soviet Georgia. The Colonel cursed whoever in the Ministry of Defense had sent him to this regiment, with boys just out of training and reservists in their late twenties and early thirties who barely remembered their training, and a unit that had equipment that would have been first-class. In 1968 instead of 1988, he reminded himself.

Now, the regiment had passed the crossroads, and was advancing up along two roads. The Americans are somewhere to the north, he had been told. Exactly where, the Divisional Commander hadn't been specific in the briefing the four regimental commanders had been given, and to top matters, the division lacked adequate maps, something the Divisional Commander had stressed that his commanders always have if at all possible. No, what they had here was a map of the local area, obtained from a local store, and reproduced in the division headquarters, with the Soviets' grid system overlaid on top.

There was one other thing on the Colonel's mind. His opposite number had told him of the air strikes that had laid waste his regiment, with F-4s, A-7s, and some attack helicopters working along the right flank. Where was the Air Force, he had asked, and there had been no answer. Not even from his own Air Force laision officer, who had been unsuccessful in getting air cover. A request to Division for clarification had not been answered, and the Colonel suspected that the 253rd' MRD's status as a mobilization-only unit said a lot. Well, we'll show them. Not just the Americans, but also the blockheads at 32nd Army.

The Colonel was following up in his regimental command APC, a BTR-50PU, when shouts over the radio, and the regimental AA battery's BTR-152s, which mounted ZU-23s, began to fire. He stood up in the hatch to see and saw smoke trails coming in from the south. American F-4s, from what his fellow commander had told him... He shouted into his throat microphone, “DISPERSE! AIR ATTACK!”


Guru rolled in on 512's bomb run. “Lead's in hot!” he called as he took the big Phantom down onto the Russians below. As he lined up some tanks and APCs in his pipper, he saw them begin to disperse, especially those on the roads. Ignoring the tracers and some SA-7s that were starting to come up, Guru picked out some tanks and APCs just west of a ranch pond. You'll do, he thought as the armor grew larger in the pipper. “Steady... Steady.... And... HACK!” The CO hit the pickle button, sending his dozen Rockeyes down onto the Russians below. He then pulled up and away to the northwest, jinking as he did. Once clear, Guru made his call. “Lead off target.”

The Colonel watched helplessly as Guru's F-4 came in. This was his first time under air attack, and he watched, seemingly fixated, as the Phantom came in. The Colonel silently groaned as the F-4 released its bombs, and he watched as the Cluster Bombs opened, showering elements of his First Battalion with their deadly bomblets. To the Colonel, it looked like several thousand fireworks going off on the ground, punctuated by fireballs as vehicles took hits and exploded. Angry, he got on the radio to First Battalion's commander, ordering his battalion forward. There was no answer. He then heard some shouting outside his APC, and looked up again. Another F-4 was coming in...


“SHACK!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as he jinked left, and an SA-7 flew by on the right.

“Mulitple and good!” Goalie replied. She, too, saw the SA-7 fly past.

Guru banked north, and as he did, called, “Good enough.”


“Two's in!” Kara called as she took 520 down on its run. She saw the CO's run, and the multiple secondaries going off, and decided that a column just east of that deserved her attention. She, too, saw and ignored the tracers coming up, as she lined up a dozen or so APCs in her pipper, and they, too, were trying to disperse. A grim smile came to her beneath her oxygen mask as she thought, Not today, Ivan. Not now... “Steady... And... And... NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, releasing her dozen Rockeyes. Once shorn of the ordnance, she pulled clear, following the CO out, and jinking all the way. When she was clear, Kara called, “Two's off safe.”

The F-4 thundered over the Colonel's APC and he watched as Kara's F-4 made its run. He saw the CBUs come off, and the aircraft pull up and away. Again, the CBUs looked like firecrackers going off as they detonated, and several fireballs added to that as either tanks or APCs exploded. The Colonel winced, even as two shoulder-fired SAMs followed the F-4 out, but neither one connected. Then some tapping on his leg got his attention. It was his Zampolit.

“Comrade Colonel, shouldn't we take cover?”

For once, the Party man was right. “Right, Comrade Major,” the Colonel replied, ignoring the man's title. He called the driver on the intercom. “There's some trees off to the left. Get in among them.”

“Comrade Commander!” the driver replied.

“We'll get in those trees, then we'll get out and find cover,” the Colonel said. He then glanced back to the south. “More coming!”


In 520's back seat, Brainiac shouted, “GOOD HITS!”

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as she jinked twice, and both times, SA-7s flew by.

“Good ones!”

“Fine with me,” replied Kara as she picked up the CO's bird and headed to catch up with him.


'Three in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. As she did, she, too, drew the tracers, with both machine-gun fire and 23-mm coming up at her, just like the CO and Kara. Sweaty saw some APCs moving off one of the roads, and decided that it was their turn. She adjusted her course, and lined them up in her pipper,even as a couple of them found some trees. No way, Ivan, she thought. “And...And... And... THEY'RE OFF!” Sweaty shouted as she hit the pickle button. A dozen Rockeyes came off the aircraft, and she pulled up and away. As usual, Sweaty began jinking after bomb release, to give any AAA gunners and SAM shooters a harder time. When she cleared the target area, it was time. “Three's off.”


The Colonel was shouting into his throat mike, ordering his battalions to continue dispersing, and yet, keep going north. Now buttoned up, he didn't hear or see Sweaty's F-4 come in as the BTR-50PU got in among the little grove of trees. Only the thunder of the aircraft as it passed overhead got his attention-and that of everyone else in the vehicle. Explosions went off all around them, then two BANGs in rapid succession came as bomblets struck the vehicle and it began to burn. “OUT!” The Colonel shouted, Everyone, crew and staff, leapt out of the now burning APC as another BTR-this one a -60 exploded right behind them. The Colonel simply flattened himself on the ground as bomblets still went off, and he saw the Zampolit get on the ground to find cover for himself, only to land on a bomblet, and the man simply erupted in a cloud of dirt and bloody scraps of flesh. Shaking his head, the Colonel saw yet another F-4 coming in...


“SHACK!” Preacher shouted in Sweaty's back seat. “And we've got some secondaries!”

“How many?” Sweaty wanted to know as she headed out, following Kara and the CO. She, too, watched as an SA-7 flew by, this time on the left. One of these days, somebody's going to get lucky and score with one of those. But not today...

“Several, and two of 'em were big.”

“Good enough,” Sweaty smiled beneath her oxygen mask. She then spotted the lead element, and headed to join them.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He watched his element lead come in, and noted the secondaries Sweaty had left behind. As he came down, Hoser saw a battalion's worth of APCs still untouched to the east of the road, and selected them as his target. He, too, drew SA-7s and tracers as he came in, but ignored them, lining up his target for the bomb run. Your turn, he thought. He lined up the APCs in his pipper, and a company's worth of vehicles filled it. “And.. And.. HACK!” Hoser hit the bomb release, sending his dozen Rockeyes onto the Russians below. As he pulled up and clear, Hoser began jinking, like the others. When clear, it was his turn to call in. “Four's off safe.”


The Colonel was still prone on the ground, but he lifted his head to see a fourth F-4 come in. To him, it looked like Third Battalion was the object of attention, but with his APC now burning, he had no way to find out for sure. The Colonel winced as the F-4 thundered in and released its bombs, and saw they were again CBUs. The aircraft pulled up as hundreds of explosions ripped the area where Third Battalion was, and several fireballs resulted. He shook his head, mentally cursing whoever had tapped him for this assignment. The Colonel then saw his tank battalion moving up, and another F-4 coming down. Not again...


“BULLSEYE!” KT shouted as Hoser pulled clear. “There's secondaries back there!”

“What kind?” Hoser asked as an SA-7 flew by on the right, then another passed beneath the aircraft.

“Good ones!”

“Good enough,” Hoser agreed as he looked for, then found, his element lead.


“Five in!” Dave Golen called as he came on his run. The IDF Major saw the CBUs going off as Hoser pulled off his run, and the smoke clouds and fires where the others in the flight had made their mark. He came down and noticed a battalion's worth of tanks, just south of the crossroads, and saw they had not been hit yet. Golen selected them as his target, and as he came in, he, too, drew tracers and a couple of SA-7s. Ignoring the ground fire, he picked out the middle company-ten tanks-as his target. You are mine, Ivan, he thought as the tanks grew larger in his pipper. Were they T-55s? They looked to be, from his Yom Kippur War days, but no matter. “And.. Steady.. And.. NOW!” Golen hit his pickle button, and once again, a dozen Rockeyes came off an F-4 onto the Russians below. He pulled up and clear, jinking like the others as he did so. When clear, it was time to call. “Five off target.”

“Sookin sin!” the Colonel muttered to himself. Son of a bitch. He watched helplessly as Golen's F-4 came in, and this time, it was his tank battalion's turn. The Colonel saw the F-4 release its bombs, and this time, though helpless to do anything, was fascinated as the CBUs landed among the T-55s. Several of the tanks fireballed, while a few others were disabled as they ran over CBU bomblets, or had bomblets land on their engine decks and they caught fire. Their crews bailed out, only to get caught as some of the bomblets exploded. Yet, at least a dozen of the tanks moved clear, and one of them was the battalion command tank. The Colonel waved, and someone must have noticed him, for two of the T-55s headed his way. Then his heart froze as another F-4 came down...


“BULLSEYE!” Oz shouted. “Got some secondaries!”

“How many?” Dave asked as he cleared the area, and saw one SA-7 fly past on his left.

“Several, and they're nice and good!”

“I'll take those,” Golen replied as he picked up Sweaty's element visually.


“Six is in!” That was Flossy's call as she took 1569 down on the bomb run. She saw what her element lead had done, ripping up some tanks, and as she came in, noticed some artillery pieces setting up to the south of the crossroads, behind the armor. Regimental artillery, she knew from experience, and those things needed killing . As Flossy came in, she noted one battery already set up, and that one became her target. No matter what kind of guns they were, they were going away, she thought. Time to go up, Ivan... She, too, drew tracer fire and a couple of SA-7s, but ignored the ground fire as she lined up for bomb release. Time to go away, she thought. “Steady.. Steady....NOW!” Flossy hit her pickle button, and her Rockeyes came off the aircraft. She then pulled up and clear, jinking as she did, and drawing more tracer fire and a couple more SA-7s in doing so. She then pulled clear, calling. “Six off safe.”

“Not again,” the Colonel said as Flossy's F-4 came in on his artillery battalion's positions. He groaned as the CBUs came off, and the Phantom thundered overhead, and the CBUs left in its wake exploded among the one battery already set up to fire, and another that was just getting set to do so. Multiple explosions followed as the CBUs went off, then several large sympathetic detonations followed as ammunition trucks, or ammunition stockpiled near the guns, went off, and all that was left seemed to be rubbish blowing in the wind. This has been a bitch of a day, he thought as two T-55s, along with some engineer vehicles, pulled up. The tank battalion commander motioned to the engineers, who carefully got a path cleared for the Colonel and the other survivors to get clear.

“Comrade Colonel,” the Major said.

“Enough small talk,” the Colonel spat. “Is your radio working?”

The man, taken aback, stammered, “Yes.. .Yes... Comrade Colonel.”

“Good. Get me the Regiment's main command post, and then I need to get with Division. We need reinforcements, and if the Americans counterattack before they get here, we're in for it.”


It was Jang's turn to shout from 1569's rear seat. “GOOD HITS!”

“Secondaries?” Flossy asked as an SA-7 flew overhead.

“Mulitple, big, and good,” Jang replied. “In no particular order.”

“Good enough,” Flossy said as she cleared the area, and found her element lead, joining up with him.


After Flossy's bird had cleared, both of the RAF F-4Js were still orbiting. They were waiting for Lead to tell them to haul out when Flight Lt. Karen McKay picked up something. “Got a helo here,” she called, taking her Phantom down after the target. “Looks like a Hoplite.” That meant an Mi-2, a helo the Soviets often used for reconnaissance or to ferry senior officers around. She lined up the little helo in her pipper, and too close for a Sidewinder shot, armed her SUU-23 gun pod. McKay squeezed the trigger, and a two-second burst, 120 rounds of 20-mm HEI and API shredded the little helo, which fireballed on impact with some Texas farmland. “SPLASH!”

“She's passed the wild and crazy one,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson observed.

“And seeing that one's expression would be good to see,” Dave Gledhill noted. That made Karen a double ace, and maybe the RAF's first. But the kill had to be confirmed....


In 512, Guru and Goalie heard that. “Looks like Karen McKay's now Top Gun,” Guru said. “One-seven and One-eight, Get your asses headed north, and good shooting, One-eight.”

“Kara's going to be jealous,” Goalie said, glancing to their right and seeing 520 right with them in Combat Spread.

“Save it for later,” Guru reminded her. “Sweaty, you with me?”

“Right behind you, and I've got Hoser,” Sweaty called back.

“One-five and One-six behind Sweaty,” Dave Golen added.

“Roger that.” Guru then called the FAC. “Nail, Chevy Lead. We are Winchester and are RTB at this time.”

“Copy, Chevy, I give you guys a four-decimal zero. All bombs on target,” Nail replied.

“Roger, Nail,” Guru said. “Hillsboro, Chevy Lead. We are clear and RTB.”

“Roger, Chevy,” the EC-130 controller said. “Clear to RTB.”


The eight F-4s formed up and headed north. They found the tankers and drank some fuel, then headed back to Sheppard. As they approached Sheppard, Guru remembered that Ms. Mason was at the Downtown Rally. “That PAO who babysits Erica is going to be pissed at us if somebody doesn't overly that rally,” he noted.

“Thought you weren't going out of the way to do it,” Goalie reminded him.

Guru nodded up front. “I know, but we're almost there, and somebody's going to be asking why we didn't comply with what that PAO requested.” Though he knew that Colonel Brady didn't like that request, but had asked that if anyone was close by when the rally was underway, to go ahead and buzz it.

“Lead, two,” Kara called. “We buzzing that rally?”

“Might just as well,” Guru said. “Let's do it. Flight, Lead, we're buzzing that Downtown Rally. Follow me.” He then put 512 into a shallow dive, leveling out at five hundred feet AGL, He picked up the Wichita Falls Skyline, made a right turn, and headed for Downtown. The CO then picked up the park. “There it is.”


At the rally, there had already been several speakers, and to both Ranger Walker's and Chief Sisco's relief, there hadn't been much in the way of “happy fire.” Though both of them wondered if that was going to change after Ms.Mason gave her talk.

Erica had been going over her notes, and trying to stay calm. She was getting used to this, but still, getting up and speaking to a large crowd was still something she was getting used to. But she was a lot less nervous than she had been at previous events elsewhere. Her thoughts were interrupted by the new Mayor of Wichita Falls, a prewar City Councilman who had gone underground, evaded capture, and had, with Ranger Walker's help, maintained a shadow city government under the noses of the occupiers. “Let's give a big Texas welcome to one of the two surviving Wolverines from Colorado, Ms. Erica Mason!”

“You're up,” the PAO said.

“I know,” Erica said, nodding. She took a deep breath, then walked up to the Podium. Erica shook hands with the Mayor, adjusted the mike, then said, “Thanks for that welcome, and it's good to be here. Now, you may not know it, but Wichita Falls and my hometown of Calumet have the same problems. How to rebuild, how to get on with our lives, and do what we can for the war effort. If my friends and relatives can in a little town, you people can too.” Applause followed, then just as she started to speak, she saw them. “And here comes the Air Force.”


“Here we go,” Guru said. “Watch for 'Happy fire'.”

“On it,” Goalie said.

“Two, Lead,” Guru called Kara. “Watch for me pulling up. When I do, you follow.”

“Roger that,”


The lead element overflew the park, then as they cleared the rally, both F-4s pulled up and then rolled away to the southeast. They were followed by six more, who did the exact same maneuver. After the last two were clear, Erica said, “Well, they say that's the sound of freedom. At least that's what somebody told me at the air base.” She meant Sheppard, but didn't mention the base by name. “Now I know what they meant.” There was some laughter, then she went on with her remarks.

After reforming, Guru contacted the tower, and received landing instructions. They were third in the pattern, and when it was their turn, the flight came in on Runway 35L by pairs. As they taxied back to the squadron's dispersal, those watching on the edge of the runway were looking for fingers up to signal kills, as no one had done a victory roll. To everybody's surprise, they saw Karen McKay hold up a finger, and the crews swore they could hear the cheering.

“Karen's going to get into Kara tonight,” Guru said as he found 512's revetment. “You can bet any amount of money on that.”

“If they can confirm it,” Goalie pointed out. “Did they get it on camera?”

“Good question.”

Guru taxied into the revetment, and after getting the “Stop” signal from his Crew Chief, the ground crew put the chocks into place, then the “Shut Down” signal came. He and Goalie then went through the post-flight checklist, while the ground crew brought the crew ladders and put them into place. Then they took off their helmets before climbing out of the cockpits, and did a quick post-flight walkaround before Sergeant Crowley “Four and done,” the CO said, taking a bottle of water from the Crew Chief.

“And what, time for one more?” Goalie said as she downed half a bottle of water.

Guru nodded as he did the same. “Two if they decide to press it,” he said.

Sergeant Crowley then asked, “Major, Captain? How's my bird?” The Crew Chief always considered the aircraft “his” even if it was the CO's name on the side and he did the flying. Aircrew always “Borrowed” the aircraft, the CC felt. An attitude that was common all over the Air Force.

“She's still truckin', Sarge,” Gurus nodded, then he downed the rest of the water. “No problems or issues.”

“And we made some armor go away,” Goalie added. She looked around and saw no sign yet of the ordnance people. “No ordnance guys yet?”

“They're on their way, Sir, Ma'am,” Crowley replied. “No idea what they have for you.”

Guru nodded. It was still a busy day. “Then don't waste anymore time talking to us,” the CO said. “Get her prepped.”

Crowley beamed. “Yes, sir!” He turned to the ground crew. “All right, you heard the Major! Let's get this bird prepped and ready!”

While the ground crew went to work, Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, and found Kara, Brainiac, Sweaty, and Preacher already there. “Well, that was a good one,”the CO said. “Ripped up some armor.”

“Tanks and APCs,” Kara said as Hoser,and KT, along with Dave Golen, Oz, Flossy, and Jang arrived. “But there was no heavy flak or SAMs.”

Heads nodded at that. “That's weird,” Flossy said.

“It is,” Dave Golen said. “Maybe Sin Licon can enlighten us.”

“Maybe,” Guru said as the RAF crews came over. “Dave,” he said. “Looks like you've got the Top Gun on the base right with you.”

Kara scowled. “For now,” she said.

“Down, Girl,” Guru said firmly as Karen McKay came over. “What was it?”

“Hoplite,” McKay replied. “Two-second burst from the gun pod.

“But..” Dave Gledhill added, “We didn't see it crash. Paul and I were out of position. We were facing away when she called the shot and the splash.”

Kara smiled at that. “No witnesses, so you'd better hope it's on film.”

Guru nodded. “If Sin Licon and your own Intel can't confirm it...”

“Then it's just a probable,” Kara finished. She was liking the sound of that.

“Save it for the debrief,” Guru said. He saw the ordnance people arriving with trailers loaded with Rockeyes. “They're getting set. Come on: let's debrief, get some food inside our bellies, and we're back at it in a half-hour, forty-five, tops.”

After getting back to the squadron's office area, Sin Licon was found at a picnic table, debriefing outside with his RAF counterpart. The debriefing was pretty straightforward, though the Intel did pass on that they had been hitting a Mobilization-only formation, which explained the lack of heavy SAMs or any radar-guided flak like 57-mm or worse, ZSU-23s. When it came to the kill Karen Mckay claimed, though...

“Sorry, Flight Lieutenant,” Sin said. “Without witnesses, and with the gun-camera film not yet developed...”

“It's just a probable?” McKay asked.

“Afraid so,” the RAF Intel added. “Even by our own rules, it's a probable, but since we're with Tenth Air Force, we have to go by what they say.”

“How long on the film?” Dave Gledhill asked.

“It's at MAG-11 right now,” Sin replied. “Depending on their backlog, you may have to wait until sometime tomorrow. Morning, earliest, I'd bet.”

Karen shook her head. “Damn it.”

“Drown your sorrows tonight,” Guru said. “Been there, done that three times. I've got probables I know went down, but the Intel people-” he shot a glance at Sin, “Won't credit them. Yet.”

“Sorry, Major, but that's how it is.” Sin replied sympathetically.


After the debrief, the crews got something to eat, and as people came back, compared experiences over the course of the afternoon. Some of the Russians, they found further west, were more better equipped, but so far, none of Guru's squadron had been hit. But one Navy A-7 had gone down north of the front lines with the pilot rescued, and a Marine F-4 had come back with an unexploded SA-7 or SA-14 in its afterburner cans.

They had been back about forty minutes when an Ops NCO came over. “Major, your flight's good to go.” He handed the CO the frag order.

“Now?” The CO asked. Guru scanned it. More CAS. Lovely.

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Chevy Flight?” Guru said. “Finish up what you're eating, hit the latrines, and meet up at 512.”

Goalie and Sweaty grabbed their helmets. “Time to fly?” Sweaty asked.

“It is that.”

“You heard him,” Dave Golen said.

They finished their business, then went to 512's revetment. Guru saw the F-4 was loaded just like the last one, with the Rockeyes. “Okay, people! This might or might not be our last one today. And there's no guarantees that the people we hit earlier are the same ones we hit on this one. Assume anyone we strike is a Cat One Soviet and they're equipped accordingly. NO complacency, understood?”

“You got it, Major,” Kara replied. Whenever someone used his rank, that meant the CO was serious, and they understood it.

“Good. We fly this one like it's the first. Any other questions?”

Flossy asked, “Time for one more after this one?”

“Maybe,” replied the CO. “No guarantees, though. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay, let's hit it. Form up at ten grand, for we've got somewhere to be and bad guys to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, they found 512 locked and cocked, with a dozen Rockeyes in addition to their usual air-to-air load. “Major, Captain?” Sergeant Crowley said, snapping a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to go.”

Both crew returned the salute, and Guru said, “Thanks, Sarge.” He and Goalie then did the usual walk-around, before the CO signed for the aircraft. Then they mounted the bird, and got themselves strapped into their seats. After putting on their helmets and plugging in their headsets and oxygen masks, it was time for the preflight check.

They ran through it, and Goalie asked, “You ready to call it a day after this one?”

“Love to,” Guru said. “But if they ask for one more, they get one more,” the CO added. “Arnie?” That meant the ARN-101 DMAS nav system.

“All set,” Goalie replied. “Chebrikov had to pick today to lash out because somebody tried to whack him. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, check yours,” said Guru. “And he probably did it on impulse, like the failed art student in the Wolf's Lair.”

Goalie said, “I'd take that bet.” She made a final check. “Preflight finished and ready for engine start.”

“It is and we are,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Crowley, who followed with the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the warm-up was finished, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Chevy Flight with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A controller replied at once. “Chevy Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Chevy Lead rolling.” Guru gave the “Chocks'” signal to his Crew Chief, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away, and Guru taxied out. After clearing the revetment, Crowley snapped a salute, as usual, which both Guru and Goalie returned.

Guru taxied to Runway 35L, and the rest of the flight was right behind him. When they arrived at the holding area, a Marine flight of four Hornets and another with four VMFA-333 F-4s were ahead of him. The Hornets waited for a C-141 to come in and land, and after the big Starlifter cleared the runway, the Hornets rolled down the runway and into the air. Then the flight of Shamrocks taxied into the holding area, where armorers removed their weapon safeties. After the Marines taxied, it was Chevy Flight's turn.

There, their squadron armorers removed their weapon safeties, while the Marine F-4s thundered down the runway and into the air. Then it was time.

“Tower, Chevy Lead. Requesting taxi for takeoff,” Guru called the tower.

“Chevy Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-nine for ten.”

“Roger, Tower. Chevy Lead taxiing for takeoff.” Guru then taxied onto the runway, with Kara in 520 right with him. She pulled up alongside to the right, and both crews engaged in a final check. Then it was time. “Tower, Chevy Lead requesting clear for takeoff,” Guru called.

As usual, the Tower didn't reply by radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, closing and locking his canopy. Goalie did the same, and a quick glance over at 520 showed Kara and Brainiac had done the same. They then exchanged thumbs-ups. “Ready?” He asked Goalie.

“Ready, because we have someplace to be.”

“That we do.” He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. The rest of the flight followed at thirty-second intervals, before forming up at FL 100 and heading for the tanker track.

[Poohbah]

CAS: Same stuff, different day.

[Wolfman]

CAS: Same stuff, different day.

No kidding…

[Matt Wiser]

CAS: Same stuff, different day.

Which is why the squadron despises it.

[Bernard Woolley]

Sucks to be a Soviet mobilisation unit!

[Poohbah]

Sucks to be a Soviet mobilisation unit!

Especially because, by 1988, most American units have a very high population of meat-eaters.

[jemhouston]

Sucks to be a Soviet mobilisation unit!

Especially because, by 1988, most American units have a very high population of meat-eaters.

And the Soviets are wearing T-Bone underwear.

[Wolfman]

Sucks to be a Soviet mobilisation unit!

Their name is cannon fodder.