Wolverine and Chiefs

[Matt Wiser]

The new day begins:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX, 16 February, 1988. 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major-Matt Wiser walked over from 335th Officer Country to the Squadron's HQ. He glanced at the sky, and though there were still stars visible, the first faint hint of dawn appeared to the east. Now, will today be like yesterday, with Ivan's ground and air attack half-hearted, or would they be more prepared. Whatever happened, his squadron would be ready. All because of whoever decided that Chebrikov would do the world a favor by pushing up daises, and had missed his target. So that bastard decided to lash out, though they hadn't been real busy in terms of flying until the afternoon. Still, it could be a repeat of PRAIRIE FIRE, where in the first three days they had flown six or seven sorties a day, and had been so tired at the end of the third day people had to be lifted out of their cockpits. The same had gone for PRAIRIE FIRE II a few weeks later, he recalled.

When he got to the Squadron HQ, the bullet holes and other scars were still there. He had told Colonel Purcell, the base commander, his idea that scars such as those should be left, for when the war ended and the base resumed its Air Training Command mission, that reminders of the price of being unprepared for war should be there for the ATC people to take notice. Purcell, to his surprise, had been very welcome to the idea. He smiled at that as he came in and found 1st Lt. Kyle Potter, the night-shift SDO. “Kyle,” the CO said.

“Boss,” Potter replied. He had had some good news, as his pilot's case of the flu had improved, and two or three days from now, both would be back in the air. And this SDO shift could go to somebody else. “They had a second wave at the UK, AFN said. They missed Buckingham Palace again, and had a missile come down in the Thames across from Parliament. One did take out a building close to 10 Downing Street, though.”

“What kind?”

“CNN said it was the UK's equivalent of the IRS.”

“Well...maybe Dave Gledhill and his friends will have something to say about that,” Guru noted. “Anything happen on the East Coast?”

“Not yet,” said Potter. “And before you ask, the XO's in.” He nodded at the CO's office.

Guru nodded approval. “Good. Now, when your shift ends, Kyle? Find something to eat, then find your bunk. You'll be back flying in a couple days or so.”

“Doc told me.”

The CO nodded again, then said, “Good. Just remember this, though: you're not missing out on anything because you're grounded.”

“You've told me that before, Boss.”

“And I'm glad you remember that, Kyle. Part of being a CO is to give out reminders like this. Learned that from Colonel Rivers, when I was pissed about being grounded with a cold last March. Goalie, too,” Guru said, recalling their grounding due to colds, and both his and Goalie's frustration with being grounded.

“Thanks, Boss.”

“Anytime.” Guru then went to his office, and found Mark Ellis, the XO, waiting with clipboard in hand. “Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Boss,” the XO said, handing Guru a steaming cup of hot cocoa. “Got the usual here.”

“Lay it on me,” Guru said, starting to down the hot chocolate.

Ellis nodded. “First off: Morning Reports for MAG-11 and then Tenth Air Force.” He handed the CO his clipboard.

Guru signed the reports, then asked, “Weather?”

“Good flying weather here and down south for two days. Then we get another storm coming in.”

“For which we can be grateful,” a voice from the office door said. It was Goalie. “For the usual reasons.”

Guru nodded as she came in with a pair of steaming cups of hot chocolate, and handed one to Guru. “Catching up on paperwork, maintenance, and sleep.”

“Among other things,” Goalie said, a coy expression on her face.

“And other things,” nodded Guru. “What's next?”

“Supply requisitions,” said Ellis. “Most of it's the usual.”

The CO scanned the papers. Mostly things for aircraft like brake fluid, hydraulic fluid, brake shoes, avionic components like radar parts, and so on. Then something caught his eye. “Prestone?”

“Spring will be here before we know it, Boss,” the XO reminded him. Having that coolant for their trucks and Hummers could only be a good thing.

Guru nodded as he went down further on the list. He found another piece of paper. “And someone's confused us with a medical unit again.”

“What?” Goalie said. “Again?”

“Again,” Guru nodded. “Among other things, there's some wound dressings, sulfa, and even some Benadryl.”

“What are we going to do with allergy meds?” Asked Goalie.

“Glad I don't have to worry about that,” said Guru. “But there are people in the squadron who do. Mark, have Doc go through this stuff and see if there's anything he can use.”

“And after that?” Ellis asked.

“Have Ross deliver it to the nearest civilian hospital. A donation from the squadron.”

“Got you.”

“Anything else?” The CO wanted to know.

“Guess you heard about that attack on London?” Goalie asked. “Looks like Chebrikov doesn't want to give up just yet.”

Ellis nodded. “He's still pissed that somebody tried to get him to push up daisies, and he's out for revenge.”

“Both of you are right,” Guru said. “Some folks serve the world best by leaving it, and he's definitely at the top of that list.” He looked at both of them. “And he's still lashing out.”

Goalie nodded. “That he is. And if yesterday's any guide, we're going to be busy.”

“Not PRAIRIE FIRE busy,” Ellis said. “Hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” the CO agreed. “Anything else?” Both heads shook no. He glanced at the clock on his office wall, which read 0550. “Let's go eat.”


When the trio arrived at the Officer's Mess Tent, the usual crowd was already there, and they found Colonel Brady chatting with Erica and Colonel Hardegen. “Morning, Major,” Brady said. “Just offered our guest here a ride with the Marines.”

“Did you-” Guru started to say.

“Did I say 'no thanks' ?” Erica replied. “No. Colonel Hardegen offered to fly me, and I couldn't turn him down.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Mark Ellis asked.

“Yep, because I'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon. Going up to Oklahoma City and then Tulsa.”

Guru and the others nodded. Those two were the largest cities, apart from Fort Worth, that had been liberated, and were starting the process of getting back to some resemblance of normality. Both had another thing going for them: there had hardly been any fighting as PRAIRIE FIRE went, and both cities had each fallen to a coup de main. Both had fallen so quickly the local KGB, or DGI in Tulsa's case, along with the PSD, had just managed to escape with their skins, leaving their archives behind intact. Those papers were now being used to identify and arrest collaborators and locate mass graves. More than one TV commentator or Op-ed writer had said that the war-crimes people would be pretty busy with all that material. “So, one more day in paradise,” Goalie said.

“You could say that,” said Erica. “That PAO who goes with me on these things wants me to go down to a few towns that have been liberated. Bowie, Decatur, Jacksboro, Mineral Wells, Graham. Maybe this afternoon, but he left it up to me. I might go to the first three, just to make him happy.”

“Ah,” Guru said as Kara came up. “Morning, Kara. Ready to earn your flight pay today?”

“And give back forty-five cents of each dollar to Uncle Sam on April 15th,” she laughed. “Hear the latest on the news?”

Guru nodded. “More cruise missiles aimed at London. They blew up the head office for the UK's counterpart to the IRS.”

Dave Gledhill heard that as he came up. “Heard that also on the BBC Shortwave. So some people on this side of the pond and over there are actually going to be thanking Ivan for that.”

“Getting back at the Tax Man?” Brady asked.

“Something like that,” Gledhill grinned. “Even if we still have to pay.”

“Even if,” Guru said. “Anyone know about Philly or Ottawa?”

Brady shook his head. “Not yet, Major. We'll know soon enough. Even if Ivan was supposed to to do a simultaneous time-on-target shoot. Besides, we got our corner of the war to worry about.”

People nodded, then Colonel Hardegen said, “We getting a PRAIRIE FIRE day, Colonel?”

“Hope not, because we flew six or seven missions a day each for the first three days,” Brady replied. “And people were so tired,” he nodded at Guru and the other 335th people, “aircrew were being lifted out of their cockpits. Those first three days were all-out.”

Guru then said, “They were, Colonel. Day Four we had to stand down for crew rest and let the maintenance folks take care of the birds. Then it was back at it.”

“That it was, Major. We're still on the ATO for now. If Ivan's ground troops move forward, though? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Right then, the Marine Mess Officer came out of the tent and flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's ready, people!”


After breakfast, Guru went to the squadron's Ops Office. There, he found Capt. Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, waiting. He already had mission packets all set to go, and was waiting for the flight leads to come. “Morning, Boss.”

“Morning, Don,” Guru said. “What's on the agenda this fine morning?”

“Ask, and ye shall receive, Boss,” Van Loan said. He handed the CO a mission packet. “For what it's worth, there's two other packages from this squadron going after airfields.”

The CO opened the packet and scanned the Frag Order. Then he scowled at the Ops Officer. “You are shitting me. I've been there several times, and so have you.”

“I shit thee not, Boss-man.” Van Loan replied. “Somebody thinks that the FOLs for Ivan's CAS birds need to be hit. Today.”

“And with Chebrikov still pissed that someone tried to take him all the way out, this shouldn't be a surprise,” Guru observed. “Okay, Dave Golen's coming, and so are the Brits.”

IDF Major Dave Golen came in right after that. “Guru,” he said to the CO. “And Ops,” nodding at Van Loan. He saw the CO looking at him. “Let me guess: I'm coming with you.”

“That you are,” Guru said. He handed his IDF “Observer” the Frag Order. “And it's a place we're all familiar with.”

“Again?” Golen asked as he read the order. “When?”

“Get your people to the briefing room we use in ten.”

“Will do.”

“Be careful, Boss,” Van Loan said as the CO turned to leave himself. “Don't want to be XO just yet.”

“And we all don't want Kara as Ops,” Van Loan added as the object of the conversation came in.

Kara went into her fake “livid” mode. “Major, I resent that!”

Guru laughed. “Well, we all know paperwork's not your strong suit.” He paused, then added, “Get our flight together with Dave Gledhill's element. Briefing room in ten.”

His wingmate nodded. “On it and I'm gone.” She headed on out.

“Okay, Don,” Guru said as he turned to leave. “You be careful your own self. Don't want to have Kara as Ops just right now.”

“Always, Boss,” Van Loan said. “Good Luck.”

“You too,” the CO said, then he went to the squadron's briefing room. When he got there, he found the squadron's mascot, Buddy, sitting patiently outside. He smiled, then opened the door for the dog, who went in and found a place to curl up and nap. Just like Roscoe back in the day at Korat, Guru thought. Then he saw his flight waiting. “All right, people. Hold onto your breakfast, because they gave us an airfield straight out of the gate.”

“Which one?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“Stephenville Regional,” Guru said, opening the mission packet. Photos, maps,and the strike order came out. “I know, we've hit it quite a few times, but with this push, they don't want Ivan's CAS birds to have any working FOLs. For a while, anyway.”

“Boss, this is too much like Southeast Asia,” Hoser said. “You've said that yourself. We strike, they repair, then we hit it again.”

Guru nodded. “I didn't say it; you did. Anyway, here's how we get there: We hit the tankers at Track SHELL, west of Mineral Wells. Then we get down low, cross the I-20, then pick up State Highway 16, then find the Leon River.”

“Boundary for the East Germans and the Soviets,” Brainiac noted.

“It is that,” said the CO. “Going on, we follow the river to Proctor Lake, then turn east. Find the town of Purves on F.M. 219. Go northeast to Alexander on Highway 6, and keep going northeast. There's a hill south of Stephenville east of F.M 914 that's on a straight line from Alexander. That's the IP and pop-up point. Climb to attack altitude, make your runs, then get your asses north. Pick up your wingmates, then get to the I-20. We then hit the tankers and come on home.”

“And two hours after that, we do it all over again somewhere else,” Goalie observed. It wasn't a question.

Guru nodded. “That's about it.” He then picked up an SR-71 photo that showed the airport-and several aircraft on the ramp. “Kara? You and I each have a dozen Rockeyes. I'll take the north ramp area-the prewar one, while you take the south. Kill anything on the ramp.”

“Will do,” Kara said.

“Sweaty?” Guru said, seeing he had his second element lead's attention. “You've got six Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117Rs. Take the hangars west of the ramp area.”

“The ones they build out of wood, sheet metal, and roofing tin?” Sweaty asked. Seeing the CO nod, she added, “They'll rebuild those by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I know, Sweaty,” said Guru. “They want them gone anyway. And you might just get a Frogfoot or a Hind in those.” Sweaty nodded, then he went on. “Hoser? You and Dave Golen have the same target and the same ordnance as Sweaty. The Runway's yours.”

Hoser and Dave looked at the photos. “How do you want it?” Hoser asked.

The IDF Major thought for a moment. “I'll take the south part of the runway.”

“And I'll get the north,” Hoser said. They shook on it.

“Fair enough,” Guru nodded. “Flossy? You and Jang get the best for last.” He looked at Dave's wingmate. “Fuel dump's yours.” He tapped a camouflage-netted area east of the runway.

“Same ordnance as the others?” Flossy asked.

“It is.”

“We'll take it out,” Flossy said, and Jang nodded.

“Good,” Guru said. “Now, defenses,” he went on, and saw he had everybody's attention. “MiGs are at TSTC still, both -21s and -23s. And that also includes Libyans.”

“They replace what we culled out on BOLO II?” Kara asked.

“Nothing here to say that,” Guru admitted. “So assume they've gotten at least some. MiG-23s are also at Temple Regional, while there is a regiment each of -23s and -29s at Gray AAF, Fort Hood.”

“Where's the Flankers?” Dave Gledhill asked.

“Good question,” Kara said.

The CO checked the intel summary. “Bergstrom is still Flankertown.”

“Nice,” said Gledhill. The RAF was still hoping for at least one fight with Su-27s. Even with the admonition that nobody in an F-4 should hassle with a Flanker.

“Now, Ground Defenses,” Guru added. “This is still the East German Army-level HQ, so expect SA-4s. The field proper has two batteries of 57-mm, one southwest of the field, another northeast. Then there's several 23-mm around the field, and expect MANPADS as well.”

“Lovely,” Brainiac said. “And this is just the first round.”

“It is that,” KT said. “We still on the ATO?”

“For now,” Guru said. “We'll find out if and when they pull us into CAS. Other than the listed air-to-ground, we've got four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, full load of twenty-mm, ALQ-119, and two wing tanks”

“For us,” Dave Gledhilll added. “Four AIM-9Ls, four Sky Flash, wing tanks, and SUU-23.”

The CO nodded. “We're Mustang Flight on this one. Anything else?” He asked as an Ops NCO arrived to collect the briefing material.

“Yeah,” Jang nodded. “Buddy's still asleep.” That could only be a good thing, everyone knew.

Guru nodded. “Let him sleep. If that's it, 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. “Ready?” He asked.

“Let's go do it,” Goalie replied. “Just as long as they keep us off the CAS shift today.”

Guru nodded as they headed out the door. “You and me both.”

The Sun was just starting to come up as they got to 512's revetment, where the rest of the flight had gathered to get the CO's final instructions. “Usual on the radio, Boss?” Sweaty asked.

Guru nodded. “It is that,” he said.” That meant call signs between them, and mission code to other parties such as AWACS.

“And if we don't get CAS,” Hoser asked, “Just three more after this one?”

“That depends on Tenth Air Force and Comrade Chebrikov,” the CO reminded them. “I know, it's not our bread and butter, and we do get our share of 'Attaboys' for doing it, but...”

The crews understood what was left unsaid. If the call comes, we take it. “Maybe somebody in Moscow told him they went forward yesterday and got burned,” Sweaty said.

“And have your will probated and sins confessed before doing so,” Preacher added, and everyone nodded at how accurate the ex-seminarian turned WSO was.

Guru nodded. “You got it. Okay, time to go to work. Usual bailout areas apply.” That was anyplace rural and away from roads. “Any other questions?” Heads shook no. Then Guru clapped his hands for emphasis. “Time to hit it. Let's go. Meet up at ten grand overhead.”

The crews went to mount their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, and found 512 ready to go. Their crew chief was waiting. “Major, Captain,” Sergeant Crowley said. “Five-twelve's ready to rock this morning.” He snapped a salute, which both crew returned.

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said as he and Goalie did their preflight walk-around. The CO then signed for the aircraft, then both of them mounted the aircraft and got strapped in. They plugged in their headsets and donned helmets, then began the cockpit preflight.

As they went through the Checklist, Goalie asked, “How soon do you think they'll move us into CAS? And Ejection Seats?”

“Noon, my bet,” Guru said. “Armed top and bottom, and check yours.”

“I'll take that bet,” replied Goalie. “Arnie's all set.” She meant the ARN-101 DMAS system.

“Roger that,” said Guru. “Backup INS?”


“Set as well. Checklist complete and ready for engine start.”

“That we are,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both J-79 engines were up and running. When the warmup was finished, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“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,” Guru called. “Mustang Lead rolling.” He then gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The wheel chocks were pulled away, then Guru released the brakes and began taxiing out of the revetment. When he cleared it, Crowley snapped a salute, which Guru and Goalie both returned. As they taxied to the runway, the rest of the flight fell in behind them.

When Guru got 512 to the holding area, he found a Marine four-ship of F/A-18s ahead of him, and he knew that it was Colonel Brady in the lead Hornet. The MAG-11 CO was dual-qualified in both the F-4S and the F/A-18, and it wasn't unusual to see him going out. The Marines' armorers pulled the weapon safeties, then the four-ship taxied onto the runway. A minute later, the four Hornets rolled down the runway and into the air. Then it was his flight's turn.

After taxiing into the holding area, armorers from the 335th pulled the weapons safeties from their own aircraft. Once they cleared, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-zero for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, with Kara following in 520. A final check, then he and Goalie glanced over to 520, where Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. All set over there. Then he made another call. “Tower, Mustang Lead ready for takeoff.”

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

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” she replied, adding, “Canopy coming down.” She closed and locked her canopy.

Guru did the same, and glanced over to 520. Their canopies were down and locked. All was ready. “Then let's go.” He firewalled the throttle, released the brakes, and 512, with 520 right with them, thundered down the runway and into the air.

The rest of the flight followed by pairs, meeting up at FL 100. There, they formed up and headed south for the tankers.

[jemhouston]

Until you put boots on the ground, you don't own it. Which is why the same airfields keep getting bombed.

[Poohbah]

Until you put boots on the ground, you don't own it. Which is why the same airfields keep getting bombed.

The time Roberta's platoon grabbed an entire airfield in a ten-minute coup de main--the first warning a Blinder doing an emergency landing received was when the crewdogs realized that was a Wolverine breaching vehicle rolling up after they got out of the bird. Didn't even have time to wipe the KEYMAT.

[jemhouston]

Until you put boots on the ground, you don't own it. Which is why the same airfields keep getting bombed.

The time Roberta's platoon grabbed an entire airfield in a ten-minute coup de main--the first warning a Blinder doing an emergency landing received was when the crewdogs realized that was a Wolverine breaching vehicle rolling up after they got out of the bird. Didn't even have time to wipe the KEYMAT.

How embarrassing. I hope nobody shot it up.

[Wolfman]

Until you put boots on the ground, you don't own it. Which is why the same airfields keep getting bombed.

The time Roberta's platoon grabbed an entire airfield in a ten-minute coup de main--the first warning a Blinder doing an emergency landing received was when the crewdogs realized that was a Wolverine breaching vehicle rolling up after they got out of the bird. Didn't even have time to wipe the KEYMAT.

How embarrassing. I hope nobody shot it up.

I think it was sent to Edwards AFB intact…

[Matt Wiser]

Guys, I have had RL be a bear the last couple of weeks, but the next segment is in prep.

[jemhouston]

Sometimes you get the bear, other times the bear gets you.

[Wolfman]

Sometimes you get the bear, other times the bear gets you.

Race Bannon in The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest, though I forget which episode…

[jemhouston]

Sometimes you get the bear, other times the bear gets you.

Race Bannon in The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest, though I forget which episode…

Also Riker in ST:TNG Data's Day.

[Wolfman]

Sometimes you get the bear, other times the bear gets you.

Race Bannon in The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest, though I forget which episode…

Also Riker in ST:TNG Data's Day.

That’s where I first heard it! I’d forgotten about that!

[Matt Wiser]

After a longer than intended delay-due to RL and some writer's block...


Over North-Central Texas, 0745 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight was headed low, having come off the tankers and crossed the FEBA south of I-20. When they had hit the tankers, the AF F-4s hooked up with a flight of KC-10s, while the two RAF crews were pleased to join up with their own Tristar. After that, and a final check, it was time to get down into the weeds or as close to the weeds as possible.

Now, coming in at 450 Feet AGL, they were in enemy territory, with the pilots and GIBs maintaining their visual scanning, checking their instruments, and keeping an eye on the all-important EW display. All the while, the northern part of the Texas Hill Country flew by below them.

In 512, Guru was focused on flying while having his head on a swivel. Lessons learned at the RTU and over the past two and a half years of war were not forgotten. He checked his EW display. So far, all clear. Good. No Mainstay radar coming. Yet. “Goalie, anything?”

“One minute forty-five to Proctor Lake,” his GIB replied. She, too, was checking not just her instruments, but also looking outside, and checking that EW display. “EW still clear.”

“For now,” Guru said as he picked up the Leon River and turned slightly left to pick up, then follow, the river. A quick glance to the right still showed State Route 16, along with Kara in 520 right with him on his right wing. Then a strobe appeared on the EW display, along with the SEARCH warning light. Guru frowned beneath his oxygen mask. “Mainstay's up.”

“Lovely,” said Goalie. She then checked the radar. “Sky's clear.”

“Roger that,” replied Guru, then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

An AWACS controller got back to him right away. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Zero-nine-zero for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-one-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven five for seventy. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-two-zero for sixty-five. Low and climbing. Fifth threat bearing Two-four-zero for eighty. Medium, closing.”

Guru let out a breath behind his oxygen mask. That many? Ivan's up to something. “Roger, Crystal Palace. Say Bogey Dope.”

“Mustang, Crystal Palace. First threats are Floggers. Second threats are Frogfoots. Third threats are Flankers, fourth are Fishbeds, and fifth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that, Crystal Palace. Mustang Lead copies.”

Goalie had heard the conversation. “Honored?”

“They cared enough to send up their very best,” Guru replied. Except for the Su-25s.

“They did. One minute to Lake Proctor.”

“Copy.”

The Texas Hill Country flew by as first, the town of DeLeon flew past, as they overflew State Route 6. Much to the crews' disappointment, no military traffic appeared on the highway, but... who knew later on in the morning, if armed reconnaissance came up on the schedule. Then the river gave way to the lake.

“Lake in sight,” Guru called.

“Copy that, turn on my mark,” said Goalie as she checked the DMAS system.

“Call it.”

“Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put the aircraft into a hard left turn, before steadying on a easterly heading. They were now headed into the East Germans' rear area as they overflew the small town of Proctor and U.S. 67.

Below, two separate patrols were rendezvousing at the Proctor Market. One was made up of Soviets from a Rear-Area Protection Division, with a platoon of old T-54s and equally old BTR-152s, while the other was composed of East Germans out of the Frontier Troops who were part of the East Germans' own Rear-Area Protection Forces. They, too, had tanks and APCs just as old-T-54s and BTR-152s, but the difference between the two was age. The East Germans were mostly young reservists, while the Soviets' average age was forty.

The two commanders met outside the market, and inside, some locals were wondering what was going on. Unknown to most of the locals, Mike Walker, the owner of the store, was involved with Resistance activities, and though he was under suspicion by the local PSD due to having a relative who was a Texas Ranger, so far, they had nothing on him. Though the activity outside did attract his attention, as he noted the two commanders seemingly having an argument.

Both commanders were, for the Soviet lieutenant and his EG counterpart were both under orders to patrol U.S. 67, and though heated, both were restrained-for now. Then shouts came, as eight F-4 Phantoms came from the direction of the lake and thundered overhead, heading northeast. It happened so fast that no one had time to either man a machine gun or get a shoulder-fired missile ready. Both officers exchanged worried glances, then resumed arguing. They did agree on one thing: where those F-4s were headed and who they were going to attack was none of their concern.

“Steady on,” Guru called. “How long to Purves?”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied. “Still that Mainstay out there,” she added after a glance at her own EW display. “And no fighter radars.”

“I'll take that,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller on the converted 707 replied. “First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-zero-zero for seventy-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-zero for eighty. Medium, going away. Fourth threat bearing Two-three-five for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Mustang, First threats are Floggers, second are Flankers. Third threats are Fishbeds, and fourth are Fulcrums. Frogfoots have dropped off scope.”

Lovely, Guru thought. Had the Su-25s landed at Stephenville? Maybe they'd find out. “Roger that, Crystal Palace.”

“Where'd the Frogfoots go?” Goalie asked. “Fifteen seconds to Purves.”

“A very good question,” Guru replied as Purves, more a collection of ruins than a town, appeared directly ahead. “Turn coming up.”

“Roger that. In five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned onto a northeasterly heading for the next checkpoint. “Call it.”

“Alexander in fifteen seconds,” Goalie advised. “Watch for bad guys on Highway 6.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied.

“Alexander coming up.”

The little town-this one a few buildings and a general store, appeared, and so did a convoy on Highway 6. “Not their turn,” Guru said wistfully as they gave the locals-and the enemy, whether Soviets or East Germans, a morning air show.

“Maybe later,” Goalie said. “IP in forty-five.”


At the Country Store in Alexander, an East German Major of Transport Troops was checking his map. His convoy was moving towards Dublin, along this Highway 6, with supplies and some replacements for the 9th Panzer Division. His mix of GAZ, Zil, and Ural trucks, with some captured vehicles as well as a couple of BTR-152s fitted with ZU-23 AA guns was a ripe target for either a bandit attack or an Imperialist air strike, and the sooner he got to Dublin, the better. Though he didn't speak English, his second-in-command did, and when the store's proprietor came out, the Captain told the local to keep his distance.

Right after that was some shouting, as eight Fascist F-4s thundered right overhead. Where were the air guards? That was a concern to the Major, for the first warning of the aircraft was a shout from a soldier as the aircraft came by five seconds later. No one had time to open up with the ZU-23s, let alone get a Strela shoulder-fired missile up and ready. Turning his back on the local, the Major thundered at his men, ordering them to increase their vigilance against aircraft. For the next time, the aircraft coming in might be attacking them....

“Roger, IP in Forty-five,” Guru called. “Set 'em up.” Then he turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Copy. All in one,” Goalie said as she worked the armament controls.

“Roger that.” Then Guru got on the radio. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by.”

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

“All set,” Goalie said, tightening her shoulder straps as well. “Everything in one.”

Then a hill appeared right in front of them. That was the IP. Just as long as the East Germans didn't set up any flak or MANPADS shooters on that hill.... “IP Ahead.” Guru said.

“Copy,” Goalie replied. “Pull in five, four, three, two, one, PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, putting 512 into a climb. As he did, with the others matching the climb, everyone's threat receivers lit up. A brief roll to the left revealed Stephenville and the airport as some AAA began to open up. “Target at Eleven.”

“Ready,” Goalie said.

“Flight, Lead. Target in sight, and on me.” Guru then rolled in on his attack run.


At the airport, the Soviet base commander was having a fit. He had been in the job only a week, after one of his predecessors had been killed in an air strike, and the man he had just succeeded had been wounded in another. The harried Deputy Commander had told the SAF Colonel that strikes were a common occurrence, and that the defenses had suffered quite a bit. The 23-mm, 37-mm, and 57-mm guns that were manned by Army personnel or V-PVO had been hit, while the V-75 (SA-2) site had been knocked out in the fall, and someone had decided not to return it to operational status. Then the East Germans gave out their own share of headaches, flatly refusing to place any of their 2K11 Krug (SA-4 Ganef) batteries or their own AA guns anywhere near the field, even though their own aircraft and helicopters used it. Only after a blast from Front Headquarters had gotten them to place one of the latter-and that was a 23-mm site. From talking to a SAF liaison officer with the East Germans, he got the impression that their fraternal allies were trying to defend what was important to them, and to conserve resources for the spring and the expected American offensives that would be coming.

Those were the least of his worries right now. For with these attacks that Moscow had ordered, air activity had picked up, and the field was starting to get busy. Right now there were eight Su-25 Rooks (Frogfoots) on the ramp, with several others having just refueled before going north, along with several Mi-24 attack helicopters and both An-24 and L-410 transports. The aircraft were fueling and the helicopters were being turned around for more combat missions when the Colonel saw the AA guns turn to the south, and people were pointing skyward in that direction. Smoke clouds with specks at their heads appeared, and were coming closer. Air attack! “TAKE COVER! AIR ATTACK!” The Colonel shouted, then he jumped into a trench.

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled 512 in on the bomb run. As he came in, he saw the gunners beginning to react, with 23-mm, 37-mm, and some 57-mm fire coming up, and even a couple of MANPADS, either SA-7 or SA-14. No matter, for the SAMs weren't guiding, and simply flew past. The flak gunners, though, were aiming well, but not good enough. As 512 went through the flak, Guru saw the North Ramp, and several Su-25s parked on it. You're mine, he thought as he centered his pipper on the aircraft. “Steady.. Steady....NOW!” He hit his pickle button, sending his dozen Rockeye CBUs down onto the Frogfoots below. Guru then pulled up and away, jinking as he did, and not giving the flak gunners or anyone with a shoulder-fired missile an easy target, and even gave the East Germans and the locals an air show, thundering over Stephenville as he made his egress. Once clear of the town, he made his call. “Lead's off target.”

“Bozhe Moi!” The Base Commander shouted to no one in particular. Though not his first time under air attack, he was impressed at how hard the American aircraft pressed home the attack, and watched from the trench as Guru's F-4 came in and put down its CBUs. The Colonel watched helplessly as CBU bomblets exploded among the Rooks like so many firecrackers, then several of the Rooks exploded as the bomblets set off fuel and ordnance. Shaking his head, the Colonel first started to get out of the trench, but someone pulled him back in as the AA guns turned back south and resumed firing.

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

“How many?” Guru asked as he jinked to avoid an SA-7, then saw another one fly by below the aircraft.

“Several! And two are pretty big!”

“Righteous, as Preacher would say,” the CO said as he headed north.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she brought 520 down on its bomb run. She saw the CO's run, and the secondaries that followed his CBU drop on the Su-25s. Though she noticed two Frogfoots that had escaped the carnage begin to taxi, she ignored them, concentrating on her bomb run on the South Ramp. There, three transports-two An-24s and an L-410, were sitting out on the ramp, along with at least two Mi-8 Hip helos and what looked like a Beech King Air. Time to make you go away, Franz, Kara thought as she lined up the two An-24s in her pipper, hoping to cover most of the ramp with her CBUs. Kara, too, ignored the flak and centered the An-24s. “And...And...Steady....HACK!” She hit her pickle button and released her dozen Rockeyes onto the South Ramp. Kara then pulled clear, jinking as she did, and like the CO, overflew the town on her way out. Then she gave her call. “Two off target.”


The SAF Colonel ducked even further down as he heard Kara's F-4 come in. He heard the Rockeyes going off, and then two more explosions as something evidently blew up. The Colonel poked his head out of the trench to see two An-24s burning brightly, the L-410 missing a wing and also burning, along with the two Mi-8s and some PSD swine's Beechcraft. He shook his head again, then, seeing the AA guns swivel back south, ducked back into the trench. These Americans were nothing but persistent.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted as 512 pulled clear. “And there's secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she jinked right, then left, seeing two SA-7s fly past her right wing, and another fly below the wing.

“Good and big!”

“Franz just had a morning wakeup call,” Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask as she spotted the CO's smoke trails, then formed up with 512.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. She saw Kara's run, noting the secondaries that resulted, then centered the hangars in her pipper. Sweaty, too, saw the flak and ignored it, but also noticed the two Frogfoots approaching the south end of the Runway. Those are Hoser's, she thought. Ignoring two SA-7s that came up, unguided, she lined up the hangars in her pipper, selecting the largest one. “And.. Steady...And... HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, with six Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117Rs coming off the racks. She then pulled up and clear, jinking as she did to give the flak gunners a bad shot, and the MANPADS an even worse shot. Like the CO and Kara, Sweaty egressed over the town, giving the East Germans a shock, and the locals a shot in the arm. Once clear of the town, she, too, made the call. “Three's off target.”


“This isn't happening,” the Base Commander muttered as he heard the rumble of Sweaty's F-4,f followed by the bombs going off. Some of them sounded close, then a larger explosion came as something inside one of the hangars disagreed with a bomb hit, sending pieces of hangar and aircraft flying in all directions. Some of that landed in the trench, and the Colonel watched in shock as one of his officers had his skull split open by a large piece of metal. The man was clearly done for, and all the Colonel could do was shake his head. It could've been me, he knew. Then the AA guns began firing again, and he ducked back down. How many Americans were coming? That thought entered his mind as someone fired a Strela-2 (SA-7) missile.

“SHACK!” Preacher shouted in Sweaty's back seat. “Good hits back there!”

“Any secondaries?” Sweaty wanted to know. She jinked left, saw an SA-7 fly past on the right, then jinked right, and saw another fly past high and to the left.

“A couple, and they're righteously good!” Said the ex-seminarian turned WSO.

“Fine with me,” Sweaty said as she spotted the CO and Kara up ahead.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw his element lead's run, and at least two hangars blown apart, as he got ready to line up the Northern part of the runway. Hoser, too, ignored the flak as it came up at him, and watched as a pair of SA-7s bracketed his aircraft, one passing left, the other right. As he lined up the runway, the two Frogfoots caught his attention as they began to roll. Not today, Ivan... “And...Steady....And...NOW!” He hit the pickle button and sent his own Mark-82s and M-117s onto the runway. Hoser then pulled away, jinking as he did, and, like the others, going out over the town. As he did, he watched as the rooftop gunners finally began to react, wildly spraying machine-gun and 23-mm fire. Once clear of town, Hoser made his call. “Four's off target.”


In the trench, the Colonel heard Hoser's run, then the CRUMP as the bombs went off. He poked his head up long enough to see the F-4 pulling away, and bombs exploding across from the ramp area. The runway, the Colonel thought right away. He then heard the two Rooks abort their takeoff roll, then came an explosion. Either a delayed-action bomb or one of the Rooks had crashed into a bomb crater. The Colonel shook his head, and just as he stood up in the trench, the AA guns swiveled back south. He ducked back into the trench. Just how many Americans were coming? That was the unspoken question he-and everyone else on the base, was now wondering.


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted from the back seat. “And we got a Frogfoot!”

“You sure?” Hoser asked as he banked left and thundered over Downtown Stephenville, jinking as he did and drawing some flak as well as a couple of SA-7 shots.

“Sure as I'm back here,” KT replied. “He had a big fireball.”

“Good enough,” Hoser said as he picked up Sweaty and moved to catch up with his element lead.


Dave Golen then went next. “Five in hot!” he called as he took his F-4 down onto the target. He saw Hoser's run, and the two Su-25s. The IDF Major smiled beneath his oxygen mask as the lead Frogfoot crashed into a bomb crater just left behind by Hoser's run and the Russian fireballed, leaving his wingman stuck on the runway. You're mine, Dave thought as he angled his run to not only catch most of the southern part of the runway, but the now-parked Su-25. Ignoring the flak, and two or three MANPADS shot his way but not guiding, Dave lined up the runway in his pipper. “And. Steady on....Steady....and NOW!” He hit his pickle button, releasing his six Mark-82s and M-117s onto the runway. Dave then pulled up and jinked right, then left, before going out over Downtown, just as Hoser had done. When the IDF Major cleared the town, he gave his call. “Five off safe.”

“Sookin Sin!” The Colonel shouted in the trench. Son of a bitch. These Americans were nothing but persistent, and stubborn. He heard Dave's run, followed by the bombs going off, and a larger explosion that could only be that second Su-25. The AA fire continued, even after the F-4 flew past, and the Colonel stood up in the trench. More bombs on the runway, he knew. As he looked around, he saw the AA guns swivel back again....Another American was coming in, and the Colonel ducked back into the trench.


“BULLSEYE!” Oz shouted. “And we got the other Frogfoot!”

“You sure?” Dave asked as he jinked left, and an SA-7 flew past his right wing, then another flew by below that wing. Jinking right, another missile flew by on the left.

“Big fireball, and that wasn't the runway.”

“Sounds good,” Dave said as he spotted Sweaty's element up ahead.


“Six is in!” Flossy called as she took 1569 down on her bomb run. She, too, ignored the flak as she picked out the fuel dump, and saw Dave Golen's F-4 pull up. A smile came beneath her oxygen mask as the runway became a few craters, and she had the added satisfaction of seeing an Su-25 that had been stuck on the runway go up. Flossy saw the fuel dump, and lined up the drums and bladders of fuel in her pipper, along with an SA-7 that crossed her path a hundred feet or so below. Not today, Franz, she thought. “And...And... HACK!” Flossy hit the pickle button, and her Mark-82s and M-117s came off the racks. She then pulled up and applied power, thundering over Stephenville as she did, and jinking along the way. After she cleared the town, Flossy made her call. “Six off target.”

“Nyet!” the Colonel shouted to no one in particular. This time, he watched helplessly as Flossy's F-4 came in and planted its bombs on the fuel dump east of the runway. Multiple fireballs followed as the bombs went off, with sympathetic detonations coming as fire spread to other tanks and drums, along with several fuel trucks parked in the dump. He then saw two more F-4s thunder overhead, but these two didn't attack. Either fighter cover or reconnaissance, he thought. No matter, the Americans had already done enough for the day, and the morning was only just getting started! He found his deputy and started issuing orders for first-aid and firefighting parties to go out, and for engineers to start filling in the bomb craters in the runway. What a morning this is turning out to be, he thought as he started trying to get some order in this madhouse.

“SHACK!” Jang yelled over the IC. “And we've got big secondaries!”

“How big?” Flossy asked as she jinked to avoid an SA-7 coming head-on, then watched as another came by on her right, with another flying by harmlessly below. Then they felt a slight thump, as if something had exploded close by. Flossy checked her instrument panel and found no warning lights on.

“Big and bigger!” Jang said. “Did you feel that?”

“Yeah, I did. No warning lights on, no change in engine temp,” Flossy said as she picked up Dave Golen, and got in with him in Combat Spread.


In 512, Guru and Goalie heard the calls. After Flossy's, Goalie said. “Six in and out.”

“Now we fly for ourselves,” Guru agreed. “One-seven and One-eight, get your asses clear and north,” he called Dave Gledhill's element.

“On our way, Lead,” Paul Jackson, Gledhill's pilot, replied.

Guru nodded, then looked to the left. All clear, then the right, where he saw 520 right with him in Combat Spread. “Kara's with us,” he said. “Sweaty?”

“On your six, and I brought Hoser with me,” Sweaty called back.

“Roger that. Dave Golen?”

“On Sweaty's six, and Flossy's here.”

“Copy all.” Then Guru called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller responded. “First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-five-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-eight-zero for eighty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-four-zero for ninety. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. “Any bogey dope?”

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

“Roger, Crystal Palace.”

“One minute to the fence,” Goalie advised. That meant the FLOT and I-20.

“Got it,” Guru said. They were coming out roughly along the divisional boundary between the East German 9th Panzer Division and the 11th Motor-Rifle Division, and the East Germans were surprised to see eight F-4s coming from behind them. None of the East German AAA or SAM shooters were able to warm up their radar-guided weapons, let alone get a shot off. Then the twin ribbons of the Interstate appeared.

“Fence coming up,” Goalie said.

“I see it,” said Guru. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.”

The flight acknowledged the call as they flew over the Interstate, and began climbing to altitude. As they did, the Mainstay's radar went off their RWRs. “No more Mainstay,” said Goalie.

“For now,” Guru spat. Somebody needs to do something really bad to those, he thought. And the sooner the better.

After climbing to altitude, the flight headed for the tanker track and their post-strike refueling. They drank enough fuel to get to Sheppard and have a reserve, then headed home.

When the flight arrived at Sheppard, they were third in the pattern, behind a Marine four-ship of Hornets and the Westbound C-141 Shuttle. When it was their turn, the flight came in and landed, then taxied away from Runway 35R.

Guru led the taxi into the squadron's dispersal, and to the disappointment of those watching, no fingers were held up to signal MiG kills. And as usual, the News Crew was filming. “You know, I really do need to ask Ms. Wendt something,” Guru said as 512 passed the crew.

“What's that?” Goalie asked.

“Do they really get their pay docked if they don't shoot anything every day?” The crew had shot enough footage of aircraft taxiing out and back that documentaries about the war would have stock footage for a hundred years, it seemed.

The GIB let out a laugh. “Either that, or their assignment editor down in Sydney probably told them 'Shoot what you can, even on a slow day.'”

Guru shared the laugh as they taxied into 512's revetment, and the ground crew was waiting. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, gave them the “Stop” signal, then the ground crew replaced the chocks around the wheels.

Guru and Goalie did their usual post-flight checks and popped their canopies. As he took off his helmet, Guru said, “One and done,” just as the ground crew put up the crew ladders.

“And how many more?” Goalie asked as she did the same. “Hoping we stay tied to the ATO today.”

“No arguing that, but..” Guru said after climbing down from the aircraft. “Chebrikov's still pissed that somebody tried to get him pushing up daisies. So...”

“So we get shifted to CAS sometime today,” Goalie finished.

“Probably,” Guru nodded as Sergeant Crowley brought their bush hats and bottles of water for him and Goalie. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“Major, Captain,” Crowley said as both took the water. “How'd it go, and how's my bird?”

“Five-twelve's still truckin',” Guru said. “Whatever you're doing? Don't change a thing, and that's an order.” The CO then downed half the bottle.

“As for what we did?” Goalie asked after she downed most of hers. “Tore up an airfield and some Su-25s on the ramp.”

The CC was beaming. “Shit hot! Uh. Sir, Ma'am, you know what I mean.”

“You can use that kind of French on the ramp anytime,” Guru reminded his Crew Chief. “Just get her turned around for the next one. It won't be too long.”

Crowley smiled. “Yes, sir! All right, people! Let's get this bird prepped and ready!” And the ground crew went right to work.

When Guru and Goalie got to the entrance to the revetment, Kara and Brainiac were there. “Kara, Brainiac,” the CO nodded. “Those gunners were alert. As soon as I roll in, they start shooting.”

“Not arguing that,” Kara said. “No radar-guided stuff, but they were persistent. Got a couple of transports, and get this: a Beech King Air, too.”

“What?”

“A Beech King Air, or a captured C-12,” said Kara.

“That's a first,” Goalie nodded.

“Hey,” Brainiac said. “Doesn't the PSD use those to fly people around?”

Guru nodded, as did the others. “They do.”

“Then we made some PSD slug take some AT,” joked Hoser. “Alternative Transportation.” He held out his right thumb as if he was hitchhiking, and everyone laughed as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser,and KT arrived.

“What's so damned funny?” Sweaty asked. Hoser repeated his jibe, and they joined in the laughter.

“How'd it go, Sweaty?” Guru asked.

“Boss, tore up those hangars, but I'm betting any amount of money that they've got the wood frames, sheet metal, and roofing tin already lined up. Those hangars will be back up this time tomorrow.”

“And the cycle repeats,” Preacher added. “Just like in Vietnam.”

Guru winced. The History Major that he was had read up a lot on the air war in Southeast Asia. “You said it this time, I didn't. But yeah. Just like the NVA. I don't like it any more than you guys do. But..... Until we start moving forward again..”

“I know,” Sweaty said as Hoser came up along with Dave Gledhill and his two crews.

“Boss,” Hoser said. “Got the runway, and a Frogfoot crashed into a crater.”

“Good for him,” Dave Gledhill said. “Nothing for us, but they were really shooting at you guys.”

“East Germans,” Sweaty spat.

“Where's Dave and Flossy?” Guru asked. Then his Crew Chief came up with a Walkie-talkie. “Sergeant?”

Crowley said, “Major, Major Golen and Captain Jenkins want you at 1569's revetment. They said you're going to want to see what they found.”

“They say what?” Asked the CO.

“No, sir, other than you'll have to see it.”

Guru nodded, then said to the crews. “Let's go.”

When they got to the revetment, a small crowd, including Colonel Brady, the MAG-11 CO, was there. “What happened?” Guru asked.

“Major,” Brady said as Dave Golen, Oz, Flossy, and Jang came up. “You'll want to see this.” A Marine EOD tech was there as well. “Show the Major.”

“Yes, sir,” the Staff Sergeant said. He laid out a 23-mm shell that had been opened. “It was a dud, and I checked it. Turns out there wasn't any explosive.”

Guru was incredulous. “No explosive?”

“No, sir.” The Sergeant showed him what he found. “This rolled up piece of paper was in it.”

Brady looked at the paper. “Let's see.”

After it was unrolled, the paper read “I'm sorry, but this is all we can do for you now.”

There was silence for a moment, then Flossy said, “Looks like I got a friend somewhere.”

“We all do, Captain,” Brady said. “I'll take this to Colonel Dennis and the S-2 shop.” Lt. Col. Gene Dennis was the MAG-11 Intel Officer. “He'll look at it, then send it to some folks who can tell us where the paper was made, where the round was made, and then the nationality of whoever wrote this.”

“This ever happen before?” Dave Golen asked.

Goalie nodded. “Heard this at the Academy: a B-17 came back from Germany in 1943 with an unexploded 30-mm round in it. They opened the round up and found a note. Just like this one.”

“Back then, somebody took a big chance with the Gestapo,” said Guru. “And now...”

“The KGB or somebody just as nasty,” Kara finished.

“Yeah.”

Brady nodded. “Okay, people! Let's get back in the groove. We still have missions to fly.”

As the crowd broke up, Guru found Flossy. “Your bird?”

She shook her head. “Crew Chief wants to be sure about the engine. Pull it, check, and reinstall. If it needs work...” Left unsaid was a new engine being put in.

“And that's most of the morning,” said the CO. He knew from firsthand experience that kind of situation. “Okay. Guru turned to Kara. “You're the Assistant Ops Officer. Any birds fresh out of maintenance?”

“Just one,” Kara said. “It's 659. Frank's old bird.”

Guru looked at Flossy. “It's yours until 1569 comes out of BDR. Any problems?”

Flossy had an evil smile. “Just let me and Jang have our pictures taken next to the bird and his name. And send them to that bastard when he's doing his long course in Leavenworth.”

“One can hope,” Kara said. She, too, had many issues with the departed and unlamented Major Carson. As did Goalie and just about everyone in the squadron.

“Okay,” Guru said. “Let's go debrief with Sin, get some food, and you, Flossy, need your new bird prepped and ready. Then in an hour or two, we're back at it.”

Heads nodded, then Dave Golen said. “You heard him.”

The crews then headed to the squadron office, and the debrief. For it wouldn't be long until the next mission in the ATO came.

[jemhouston]

Nice thing to read while Israeli is shooting at the Iranians.

[Matt Wiser]

Folks, the next segment is in preparation.

[Matt Wiser]

An interesting incident in between missions:

335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX. 0920 Hours Central War Time:


In the CO's Office, Major Matt Wiser was going over some paperwork. At times, the CO felt that he was fighting two wars; one with the Soviets and their lackeys, and another one with the AF bureaucrats. At least the frivolous crap is out of the way, he thought. Having a good exec helped, for Mark filtered out the wheat from the chaff, leaving only the important stuff for the CO's attention and handling the rest himself. Just as I did for Colonel Rivers, Guru thought, as memories of being XO himself came back.

Guru had finished what was pending when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, came in. “Boss, got something for you. The two BDR birds from yesterday? They'll be up by Noon.”

“Good,” Guru nodded. “And Flossy's bird?” He was referring to 1569.

The Ops Officer shook his head. “Crew Chief decided to pull the suspect engine.”

“And they're doing an engine swap?” Guru asked. He saw Van Loan nod, then asked, “When do they think it'll be ready?”

“Noon, earliest, is what Kev O'Donnell told me.” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the Squadron's Maintenance Officer. “And let me guess: you want me to tell him to expedite.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Guru said. “And I know Flossy and Jang took 657 up on a check ride just after we debriefed.”

“With Dave Golen riding shotgun.” Guru had signed off on that when Golen mentioned the possibility of Flossy getting caught by a Red fighter sweep or strike escort. Having a wingman on even a check ride was a good idea...

“Yep,” said Van Loan. “They should be back in twenty or so. Then we can get them turned around for the next one in the ATO.”

Guru nodded. “Speaking of which, when do we get our next one?”

“Should be in about twenty or thirty minutes,” replied the Ops Officer.

“Good.” Guru started to say something else when the wail of air raid sirens started to howl.

“What the hell?” Van Loan said as the CO got up. Instead of putting on a helmet, the CO grabbed his bush hat and binoculars. “Boss, should you be doing that?”

Guru let out a grin. “Didn't bother General Olds when the siren sounded a couple of times.” He ran outside and found a CSP Hummer with a .50 Cal mounted on top and traversing to the south, while a couple of CSPs were shouldering Stingers. He also wasn't surprised to see Jana Wendt and her news crew disdaining the shelters and getting everything on film. Then Goalie showed up.

“Emulating General Olds?” She asked.

“Why not?” He never went down below when the siren sounded while he was here,” Guru replied. Then an I-HAWK SAM launch got everyone's attention. “Jarheads are on the ball.”

“Looks like it,” Goalie agreed, then a fireball to the south showed the Marines had scored. “That's a kill.”

Chief Ross came over, surprised at seeing his CO disregarding the alarm. “Major, shouldn't you and the Captains be going down below?”

Guru shook his head. “General Olds didn't run, Chief.” Then he jerked his left thumb in the direction of the news crew. “And they're not running, either.”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Ross answered. Then another I-HAWK launched, tracking towards an unseen aircraft off to the south, followed by a fireball. “Radio's saying six, now four-coming in, sir. Four were high, two still coming in low.”

The three aircrew looked at each other, then Kara came out with a pair of binoculars of her own. “What's the scoop?”

“Four were coming in high, then they ate HAWKs. Two still coming in, and two low.” Goalie said.

Kara raised her own field glasses. “Tally two medium,” she announced. “Looks like Fulcrums. Twin rudder configuration.”

MiG-29s? Guru wondered. Well, then. He raised his own glasses and spotted the MiGs. “Confirmed twin rudder.” He thought for a moment they might be Su-27s, but the bandits turned, and the shorter nose betrayed their identity. “Tally two Fulcrums.”

Then Kara called it. “Boss, two bandits down low. Single tail. I think they're Fencers.”

“Got 'em,” Guru said. “Two coming in-wait.” He watched as one Fencer suddenly broke left. The other continued on course. “One just broke to his left.” Then the CO was surprised to see an F-4 charging in after the leader. “Who's that?”


In 657, Flossy and Jang had been coming back from their check flight when AWACS called to ask if they had hot ordnance. Replying in the affirmative, they were vectored in, along with Dave Golen and Oz, who in this instance, were flying as wingmates. Dave had thought it a good idea to have a wingmate along, even on a check flight, “just in case” MiGs came north on a sweep, a recon flight was encountered, or an actual strike. That foresight had paid off, and they had seen two MiG-29s eat I-HAWK, then both F-4s charged in after the Fencers, blowing past the two Fulcrums as they did.

“Lead, Two,” Dave called. “One's breaking.”

“Two, Lead,” Flossy called “He's yours. I'm on the lead.”

In the back seat, Jang was working the radar controls, trying to lock the Su-24 up for a Sparrow shot. “No joy. Too much ground clutter.”

“Shit!” Flossy replied. She then turned her selector switch to HEAT, arming her two Sidewinders. “Going heat.” The Sidewinder's growl came through her headset, then it got really loud. Missile lock... “FOX TWO!” Flossy squeezed the trigger and sent an AIM-9P4 after the Fencer. The missile shot ahead, then jerked left, then right, before flying up the left engine, exploding it and blowing the port horizontal stabilizer off the aircraft.

To the two Soviet aircrew, the mission had gone to hell fast, for not only had I-HAWKS shot down two of their escorts, but their wingman had broken away, warning of Crows incoming. Enemy fighters! But they had their mission, and bored in towards Sheppard AFB. The RSO (Reconnaissance Systems Officer) turned on the cameras. Suddenly, just as they approached the base, a large BANG came, then numerous warning lights came on the instrument panel. The pilot and RSO looked at each other, then the pilot jettisoned the canopy before both ejected.

“SPLASH!” Flossy yelled over the radio. “Two chutes.” She then pulled up and overflew the base, IFF on and hoping she didn't draw any friendly fire.

“Good kill!” Dave Golen replied. He had chased the wingman, but noted that this fellow was good. The Russian took the Fencer down low-really low, and Golen couldn't get a good tone on his Sidewinders, while Oz couldn't lock up the bandit for a Sparrow due to ground clutter and the Su-24 actively jamming them. The Fencer then jettisoned both wing tanks and went to burner, and Dave had to break off as there were still two MiG-29s in the area.


Guru and the others watched the whole thing. He was relieved when the CSPs ID'd the F-4 closing on the Fencer, and they held their fire, both machine-gun and Stinger. Then a Sidewinder shot away from the F-4 and smashed into the tail of the Su-24, and the crew ejected. The crewers looked at each other, then Goalie said, “We going to get 'em?”

“Why not?” Guru said, watching as the Su-24 crashed somewhere on the base and a fireball erupted just as Capt. Ryan Blanchard arrived with a Hummer and two more CSPs. “Ryan, mind if we come along? Let's go get those guys.”

Not willing to argue with the CO, Blanchard simply nodded. “Hop in!”

Guru, Goalie, Kara, Van Loan, and the News Crew jumped into the back, and Blanchard took off after the descending parachutes. A block away, they found one of the Soviet airmen just as he touched down onto the street. Ryan got out, handing her M-16 to the CO, while the other CSPs pointed their M-16s at the Russian. “Anyone know Russian?” Blanchard asked as the news people started filming.

“A few words,” Kara said. “Mostly from movies, but I do know this one.” She took out her own .45 and pointed it at the Russian. “STOI!”

Hearing her, the Russian turned to see several armed Americans pointing rifles and pistols at him. Saying nothing, he kept his hands visible as Guru, Kara, Ryan, and two CSPs approached. “Speak English?” Ryan asked.

“Some,” the Russian replied.

“This may sound like a cliché, but for you, this war's over.” Ryan said as she covered the Russian while the CSPs searched him, finding a Makarov pistol and a survival knife, relieving him of those items while also cutting him out of his chute. “What's your name?”

“Major Anatol Vorshinov, Soviet Air Force,” the Russian said.

“Well, Major,” said Guru. “You'll be quite safe with us until we can turn you over to the proper authorities who deal with Prisoners of War. And be glad you and your crewman came down here instead of in Wichita Falls.”

“Why is that?” Vorshinov replied as they walked him to the Hummer.

“Simple: the occupation around here was pretty harsh,” Guru explained. “People around here are pretty angry about losing friends or relatives to your reprisals, or just plain 'disappeared', things like that.”

“They're in more of a mood to introduce you to a telephone pole or a lamp post instead of turning you over to the military,” Ryan added as they got into the Hummer, with the news crew still filming.

“I see...” Vorshinov said. Clearly, he was fortunate to have been captured by the American military. For the local population was still quite hostile to the Socialist Forces, his briefings had told him, and it was far better for him to surrender to the U.S. Military than it was to be caught by the bandits and counterrevolutionaries who called themselves the American Resistance. Not to mention angry elements among the local population. He then noted the gold oak leaves on the male officer who talked to him. “And you are?”

“Major Matt Wiser, 335th TFS CO.” Guru put out his hand, and the Russian shook it.

The Hummer pulled up to the squadron offices, and everyone got out. Mark Ellis, the XO, came out of the building. “Boss, what happened? I land just before the fun starts, and now you're bringing in a real live Russian pilot.”

“Beats running to the shelter,” Guru said. “Any word on who got the Fencer?”

“Flossy,” the XO said. “She was bringing 657 back from the check ride when AWACS vectored her and Dave Golen onto the bandits.” The rumble of F-4s coming in interrupted Ellis, then he went on. “She and Jang'll be here in a few.”

A grin came over Guru. Turning to the Russian, he asked, “Major, how'd you like to meet the pilot who shot you down?”

“Since it seems I don't have a choice,” said Major Vorshinov. “I wouldn't mind that at all.”

Several minutes later, a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup arrived with Flossy, Jang, Dave Golen, and Oz. They piled out to find several 335th aircrew and CSPs gathered around a Russian airman. Flossy decided to break the ice. “Boss, if I'm going to get more, I need a few more check flights.”


“Maybe,” Guru quipped. “That's what, eight for you now?

“I'm tied with you, it seems.”

“So it seems. Oh, introductions are in order, Major Vorshinov, meet Captain Sandi Jenkins and First Lieutenant Chloe Winters. They're the crew who knocked down your aircraft.”

“Major,” Flossy said politely, putting out her hand.

“Captain,” Voroshinov said, shaking her hand and doing the same with Jang. “I take it 'Flossy' is your call sign?”

“It is,” she grinned.

“And 'Jang'?”

Jang grinned. “Just another non-guy,” she quipped.

The Russian thought for a moment, then said, “I see.. Well, then. You clearly had a better morning than I did.”

“Clearly,” Guru said. He then went over to Ryan Blanchard. “Any word on the other crewman?”

“RAF Rockapes found him,” she said. “They're sending him to MAG-11 right now.”

Guru nodded. “All right, get him up there. See to it personally, Ryan. Turn him over to Colonel Dennis at MAG-11 Intel.”

“Will do.”

Guru then went over to the Russian, who was still incredulous over the sight of female aircrew. “Major, you look like you've just seen a bunch of ghosts.”

The Russian just shook his head. “Clearly the Zampolit was wrong. He keeps repeating the Party Line about how desperate you are to have women serving in combat. I would love to tell him that he is mistaken.”

“You can tell him that when this war's done,” Kara said.

“However long that is,” Guru added. “Major, Captain Blanchard and a couple of her CSPs are going to take you to the Marines. You'll be a guest of the Corps for a few days before going off to whichever POW Camp they ship you to.”

“I see. Well, then.” The Russian put out his hand. “The best of luck to you, Major. Not for your side, but for you, personally.”

Guru put out his hand and shook it. “Likewise.”


After Ryan Blanchard left with two CSPs and the Russian, the crowd broke up. Guru took Van Loan aside and said, “Check up on the next mission.”

“On it, Boss.” The Ops Officer said, going back to the Ops Area.

“Major, that went better than I expected,” Ms. Wendt said after the crew stopped filming.

“A lot better than if he'd bailed out over Downtown Wichita Falls,” Mark Ellis said.

“He's right, Ms. Wendt,” the CO said. “You'd be covering a necktie party instead.”

“Fancy term for a 'lynching',” Oz added.

“Expecting folks around here to suddenly develop warm feelings to the bad guys is wishful thinking,” Guru noted. And folks in Colorado, New Mexico, and the other states, too, he thought.

Ms. Wendt nodded. “Having been around here for a while? I know that feeling. But it felt like something out of World War I instead. One of the Marines I talked to said that 'People get ornery when the bad guys bail out,' or words to that effect.”

Heads nodded at that. “They do,” Goalie said.

“And my old Resistance pals would be wondering how to get rid of him where he bleeds the most, lives the longest, and screams the loudest,” Guru added.

Then the Ops Officer came back out. “Boss, got your mission, and a couple of others, too,” Van Loan said.

“Back in the game, people!” Guru said. He turned to Goalie and Kara. “Round everybody up. Briefing Room in ten, and get Dave Gledhill's people.”

“You got it,” Goalie said as she and Kara went off to collect their flight.

“We going with them?” Dave Golen asked, and he saw Van Loan nod.

A couple minutes later, Guru and Dave were in the Ops Office. “Boss, here you go,” Van Loan said, handing the CO a packet.

Guru opened it and found the FRAGO. “Been here a few times, but it's been a while.”

Dave checked his and compared his target location with the CO's. “Close enough. Want us to go along?”

“Might as well, Dave.” Guru said. “Bring Flossy, Jang, and Oz to the briefing room with you.”

“On my way,” the IDF Major said. He then headed on out.

“Thanks, Don,” said Guru. “You have a good one yourself.”

“Take care your own self,” Van Loan replied. “Don't want to be XO just yet, and we all know Kara doesn't want to be Ops.”

Guru nodded. “Then let's take your own advice. Anything happens to you, Kara's still Ops.”

“Yeah.”

Guru went to the Briefing Room and found Buddy, the squadron's mascot, sitting outside, waiting. He opened the door and the dog went in, found a place to curl up, and fell asleep. “People, that was an interesting morning, but we're back in the game.”

“Where we heading to now?” Sweaty asked.

“Southwest of Dublin,” Guru said. “It's a helo dispersal field and get this: it's not East German, even though it's their sector.”

Kara asked, “Then who?”

“Libyans,” Guru replied. “And yeah, they were with the Nicaraguans, but not anymore. Says here it's a mix of Hinds and Hips.”

“So how do we get there, and what do we hit?” Hoser asked.

“The former comes first,” said the CO. “Hit Tanker Track SHELL over Mineral Wells, then get down low and follow the Brazos. All the way until we get to Lake Whitney. Turn left three-quarters of the way down the lake for a 270 heading past Meridan, Stay on that heading until U.S. 281 and the town of Olin. Keep going west until you pick up F.M. 1710. Turn north, keeping the road to the right, until we come to a lake. It's man-made, and the coordinates are 31-96-89 North, 98-32-48 West. That's the IP. Pop up, and the target is at the intersection of F.M. 332 and F.M. 333. North side. Egress is simple: keep going northwest until you hit State Road 16 and the Leon River. Climb back to altitude, hit the tankers, and come on home.”

“And who has what and hits what?” Kara wanted to know.

“See this runway?” Guru tapped on the photo-which looked to be an RF-4C image. “Helos are parked on both sides, and I'll take those. You get the runway.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kara said, looking at Brainiac, who nodded.

“Sweaty?” The CO went on, tapping an area northeast of the runway. “Fuel trucks and drums. Make those go up, if you please.”

“Can do,” Sweaty said, and Preacher nodded agreement.

“Hoser? Southeast corner has their munitions storage.” Guru pointed to several revetments with truck tracks going in and out. “Do something about those.”

Hoser looked at the photo, and then the CO. “We'll take 'em out.”

“Do that,” Guru said. “Everyone's got the same load. Six Mark-82 Snakeyes underwing and six M-117Rs centerline, with the usual air-to-air load.” Guru meant four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, two wing tanks, full gun load, and an ALQ-119 ECM pod. He turned to Dave Golen. “You guys have your own target, right?”

“That's right. Intersection of F.M. 1702 and F.M. 332. Photos have some trucks, and a lot of tank tracks and some tanks in there as well.” Dave said. “We've got the same ordnance load you do.”

“Good. Just go in once Hoser makes his 'off target' call,” said Guru. He saw Golen and Flossy nod, then went on. “Okay,defenses,” and he noticed that he had everybody's attention. “This is an East German Divisional Rear, so expect just about anything. They do have SA-6, and expect ZU-23s and maybe 37-mm or possible 57-mm near the target areas. With MANPADS as a bonus.”

“MiGs?” Kara asked.

“Nearest MiGs are at Brownwood Regional, both East German and Soviet, and they are still MiG-21s and -23s,” said Guru. “With Fulcrums at Goodfellow to the southwest, and also Floggers.” Meaning both MiG-29s and MiG-23s. “Otherwise, the threat is the same as this morning.”

“TARCAP as usual?” Dave Gledhill wanted to know. Another scrap with MiG-29s was something the RAF was looking for.

Guru nodded. “Climb to altitude once we get to the IP, and do bad things to party-crashers.”

“Right,” Gledhill said. “We've got four AIM-9Ls, four Sky Flash, full load for the SUU-20 pods, and two wing tanks.

“Sounds good,” Guru nodded. “Rescue: bailout areas are still unchanged. Anyplace rural and away from roads. Jolly Green has done pretty good in that area, especially at night. Any questions?”

“Two more after this one?” Sweaty asked.

“We can hope,” Guru said. “But remember that Chebrikov is still pissed that someone tried to get him to push up daises, and he's still probably going to lash out. And if that happens..”

“Half a day of PRAIRIE FIRE, Day One,” Preacher quipped.

“Hope not,” said Kara.

“Not blaming you,” Guru said. “But if we get that call, we do it. I don't like CAS any more than you do, but that's how it is.” He looked around. “Anything else?”

Jang nodded in Buddy's direction. “Buddy's still asleep.”

“Let him sleep,” said the CO when an Ops NCO arrived to collect the briefing materials. “We're still Mustang, and Dave Golen? You two might just as well be Five and Six again.” Both Dave and Flossy nodded at that. “Let's gear up, and I'll see you at 512.”


After gearing up, Guru left the Men's Locker Room and found Goalie waiting. “Some downtime,” he quipped.

“When's the last time that happened? Talking to a Russian pilot, I mean.” Goalie asked. “Wasn't it that divert to Grand Junction?” She was referring to a divert due to battle damage and some intel folks brought in a live MiG-25 pilot to the airport cafe while they were having lunch. A short, but pleasant, chat resulted.

“Now that you mention it, yeah,” Guru said as they went out the door. “At least they're better off than if either the local Resistance or Lori Sheppard's people caught him.” He smiled grimly at that remark.

“Deciding how to get rid of him so that he bleeds the most, screams the loudest, and lives the longest.”

“Then here, the locals would introduce him to a telephone pole or lamp post,” Guru said. “It took Major Barzanian and that CWO to convince them not to do that. Mostly.”

Goalie nodded. “The one who gave Kara a run for her money in the nympho department.”

“That's right,” said Guru as they got to 512's revetment. There, everyone in the flight was gathered around the entrance. “All right, gather 'round.” It was time for his final instructions.

“Usual on the radio?” Kara asked. That meant mission code to AWACS and other interested parties, but call signs between each other.

“That's right.”

“Got it,” Hoser said.

“Anything else?” Guru asked.

Dave Gledhill grinned. “MiG-29s? We can handle those if they show up.

“Did it once before,” Karen McKay added. “First day flying, that.”

Guru nodded. He and Sweaty both had MiG-29s in their kill sheet. “Just be careful of what you ask for, because you might just get it,” he reminded them. “Anything else?”

KT asked, “Two more after this one, right?”

“Hopefully,” Guru said. “Just remember that Chebrikov is still pissed that somebody tried to give him an express elevator ride straight to hell, so no telling what's going down this afternoon. Be ready to get pulled from the ATO and onto CAS.”

“Had to ask.”

Guru nodded again. “Don't blame you,” he said sympathetically. “Any other questions?” Heads shook no. “All right, see you at ten grand.” He clapped his hands for emphasis. “Let's hit it.”

The crews broke up and headed to their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and found the ground crew just finished. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting. “Major, Captain,” Crowley said as he snapped a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to rock and kick some more Commie ass.”

Both crew returned the salute. “Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. They did the usual preflight walk-around, then Guru signed for the aircraft. Then both of them mounted the aircraft and got into their seats. Then came the cockpit preflight.

“Still thinking CAS by noon?” Goalie asked as they went through the checklist.

“Maybe,” Guru replied. “Arnie?” He meant the ARN-101 DMAS system.

“Arnie's set, and so is the backup INS,” replied Goalie. “But it's coming sometime today.”

“Even money bet,” Guru said.

“A bet Kara would take,” she replied. “Ejection seats?”

“She would,” agreed Guru. “Armed top and bottom; check yours.”

Goalie nodded in the back seat. “Mine's ready. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

Guru then gave the thumbs-up to Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running. When the warm-up was finished, it was time to call the tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Roger, Mustang Lead,” 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,” said Guru. He gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley. The ground crew pulled away the wheel chocks, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, and 512 taxied out of the revetment. When the F-4 cleared it, Crowley snapped a salute, which Guru and Goalie returned. Guru then taxied to the Runway, noting that the rest of the flight was right behind him. When he got to the holding area, a Marine flight of F-4s from VMFA-333 was ahead of him, and on the runway was a C-130. The Herky-bird rolled down the runway and into the air, then the Marines taxied onto the runway.

The CO's flight taxied into the holding area, and there the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Once they got clear, it was time. “Tower,” Guru called. “Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. Winds are Two-six-five for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied onto the runway, and Kara in 520 followed him, tucking in on his right wing. A quick final check, then it was time. “Ready?”

“Ready back here,” Goalie called, tightening her shoulder straps.

“Tower, Mustang Lead. Request 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 the canopy down, then closing and locking it. Goalie did the same, and a quick glance by both saw 520's crew had followed suit. Both crews exchanged thumbs-ups, then it was time. “Ready?”

Goalie said, “All set. We've got somewhere to be.”

“And so we do,” 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, then Dave and Flossy's, with the RAF element following. Mustang Flight then formed up at FL 100 before heading south for the tankers.

[Matt Wiser]

Flossy and Jang's kill, photographed from the east side of the base.

[jemhouston]

Nice work on the I-Hawk crew

[Wolfman]

Flossy and Jang's kill, photographed from the east side of the base.

That FENCER has been turned into a good FENCER…

[Matt Wiser]

Fellows, the next segment is in prep.

[Matt Wiser]

And here we go:



Over North-Central Texas: 1015 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight was running down low, having just cleared both the Granbury Bridge and the Lake Granbury Dam, following along the east side of the Brazos. The refueling at the tanker track had gone off smoothly, with the RAF this time using their own Tristar, while the AF birds had topped up from KC-10s. Then they had gotten low, crossing into enemy territory east of the Brazos River and clear of the I-20 bridges and the Army pukes running the I-HAWK site there, who seemed to always take the position of “Shoot them down and we'll sort it out later.”

Now, following the river, but on the east bank in the Nicaraguan II Corps Sector, the strike flight kept the river in sight, as the Nicaraguan gunners stayed quiet. The East Germans on the west side, though, were another matter. Every time, the flak batteries on the west side of the river opened up. The Nicaraguans' enthusiasm for the war had been considerably reduced after PRAIRIE FIRE, while the East Germans were still very much in the fight, as if the past Summer and Fall meant nothing.

In 512's front seat, Guru had his eyes out the cockpit, then on his instruments, then back out. All those lessons drummed into his head back at the RTU prewar never stopped coming back. “That's the Granbury Dam.”

“Got it,” Goalie said. “Glen Rose Bridge in thirty seconds.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He took a look at his EW display. “Still clear for now.”

“Not even the Mainstay?”

“Not even.” Guru said. That converted Il-76 Ivan had turned into an AWACS of sorts had given them all sorts of trouble. Even though MiG encounters directed by the Mainstay's controllers were rare, they also talked to air-defense units on the ground to give raid warning.

“Bridge coming up,” Goalie advised.

“Got it,” Guru said as the U.S. 67 bridge over the Brazos came into view. Though the flight was staying to the East side of the river at all possible, sometimes the twists and turns of the river meant blowing over the West bank and then back across. When they got to the bridge, the East Germans, as usual, opened up, while the Nicaraguan gunners stayed quiet. This time, there was no military traffic crossing the bridge either way.

“Nobody using the bridge right now,” Goalie observed as the flight blew past the bridge.

“Too bad,” Guru said. If they had been on armed reconnaissance, catching a convoy or a armored column on the bridge would've been worth the effort. “And that's also too bad,” Guru added as he checked his EW display. The SEARCH light was on, and so was a strobe.

“Mainstay again,” Goalie said. It wasn't a question.

“Again,” Guru replied. Time to call the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

An AWACS controller came back right away. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing One-one-seven for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-five-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-eight-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing two-three-five for ninety-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. “Say bogey dope.”

“Mustang, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “First and second threats are Fishbeds. Third are Floggers, and fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that.”

The strike birds cut across part of the Nicaraguan sector before picking up the Brazospoint bridge, and that marked the end of the Nicaraguan sector and the beginning of the Libyan. As they approached the bridge, the flak gunners opened up, as usual, hardly aiming and spraying wildly as if the practice would be outlawed in the next five minutes.

“Libyans again,” Guru noted.

“Thought they went to the East German sector,” Goalie said as they blew by the bridge.

“Not all of 'em,” Guru said. “Lake Whitney in when?”

“Thirty seconds,” she called back. That meant the State Route 174 Bridge, which meant the northern tip of the lake.

“Copy that,” said Guru.

After cutting across a bend in the river, Mustang Flight stayed right down the middle of the river. Then the Highway 174 bridge appeared, with flak opening up from both sides. “Lead, two,” Kara called. “Flak dead ahead.”

“Roger, Two. I see it,” replied Guru. “Just go right down the middle.”

Eight F-4s simply blew right over the bridge, and like the Granbury and Glen Rose Bridges, no traffic was on the bridge. Then the lake opened up.

“Forty seconds to turn point,” Goalie advised.

“Got it,” Guru said. “Call it.”

“Copy,” said Goalie.

As the strike flight thundered down the Lake, multiple pairs of eyes were watching, unknown to the crews. Some were locals fishing to supplement the rations the occupying authorities issued, while others were Soviet, East German, and even Libyan soldiers hoping to add some variety to their army-issued rations, while others had more lethal interests in mind. For several resistance groups and their SF advisors used some boat-only campgrounds as hideouts, and they watched as the F-4s thundered past. The locals and the Resistance knew that there was light at the end of the tunnel, while the soldiers thought about the lines their political officers had been saying, about the “Socialist Forces controlling the air.” That was a bunch of horseshit, many of them felt. But they kept that opinion to themselves.

“Turn point coming?” Guru asked.

“In ten,” Goalie advised. “Calling in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned right, taking the F-4 onto a course of Two-seven-zero, and the rest of the flight followed. After he steadied on the new heading, he asked Goalie. “How far to Olin?” That was their next turn point.

Goalie checked Arnie as well as the chart she used as a backup. “Thirty-four miles. Two minutes.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for sixty. Medium, going away. Second Threat bearing One-six-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-four for seventy. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing two-four-five for seventy-five. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

The controller called back. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers. Fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied.

“No Flankers?” Goalie asked.

“Good question,” Guru said. “If they're on the ground, I'll be happy with that.”

“Same here,” said Goalie. “One minute thirty to turn.”

Guru nodded in the front seat. “Copy that.”

First State Route 6 appeared, with no traffic, then State Route 22 appeared again, for they had overflown it just after the turn at Lake Whitney. Unlike the other roads, there was some military traffic, as some armor was moving north. The strike flight simply blew on by as they headed due west.


Unknown to the strike crews, the Soviets down below were quite frightened by the aircraft. For they were soldiers from the 232nd Rear-Area Protection Division from Kiev, and the unit, much to the despair of its officers, was in sad shape. For they only had either BTR-152 or BTR-60A APCs, all open-topped, towed artillery pieces from the Great Patriotic War, with M-30 122-mm howitzers at Regiment, the same at Division along with some 152-mm D-1 howitzers, old 37-mm AA guns, and BM-14 MRLs dated 1951. Their tank situation was just as bad, with T-54s that had left the factory in 1952! Everyone at Division and the three regiments knew that if they faced Americans out of, say the 1st Cavalry or 23rd Infantry Divisions, they would be swatted away like so many flies, and many of the soldiers were either overage reservists with an average age of 45, or young soldiers fresh out of training in the USSR.

The company that Guru's F-4s had overflown was commanded by a Senior Lieutenant who had been called up from his secondary school teaching job in a Kiev suburb, and the man was thoroughly disaffected with where he was, and what his men were doing here, so far from home. Morale was so bad that the Lieutenant knew that if push came to shove, and the Division went up against the U.S. Army, his men would either take to their heels or would surrender to the first Americans who arrived.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of aircraft, and several soldiers panic-firing their AKMs at the aircraft, who were there and gone in a flash, or so it seemed. He and his sergeants soon had things under control, and as the company reformed and headed north on its patrol, the Lieutenant wondered what else the morning would bring. For the bandits and counterrevolutionaries who called themselves the American Resistance were in the area, and everyone, both occupiers and occupied, knew it.

“Too bad about the convoy,” Guru said. “If we were doing armed recon...”

“Not their turn today,” Goalie replied. “One minute to turn.”


Mustang Flight kept on course, and as they approached U.S. 281 and what the map said was the town of Olin, more traffic appeared on the highway. Two convoys, in fact, one looked to be going north, the other south. But that wasn't their mission, not today.


Below, the two convoys passed each other, and both convoy commanders had a scare as Mustang Flight blew by overhead. The northbound convoy was Libyan, and the convoy commander was headed to Dublin, then the helicopter field that had been established. The personnel in the convoy were a mix of Air Force and Army, with the Air Force personnel being extra pilots, maintenance crews and armorers, while the Army was bringing a company for additional security, along with some extra ZU-23 AA guns to bolster the air defense.

The southbound convoy was East German, made up of a battalion of Frontier Troops serving in the rear-area protection role. These East Germans were more ideological than those serving in regular combat units, and were more content to go on patrol than their counterparts in Soviet Army Rear-Area Protection Divisions, who, it seemed, were more content to stay where they were and keep roads open just by sitting at a crossroads or in a small town.

When Mustang Flight blew by overhead, both commanders suddenly grew afraid, for if the Fascist Aircraft overhead were on an armed reconnaissance mission, they could easily turn around and attack. The Libyan Captain in that convoy and the East German Major in that one both breathed a huge sigh of relief, then both convoys went on their way. Where the aircraft they had encountered were going and who they intended to attack was none of their concern.


“Those guys are lucky,” Guru said.

“One of these days,” Goalie replied. “Thirty seconds to turn.”

“Call it.”

“Roger that,” said Goalie. “Turn in ten... Five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned north, heading for the IP. “Set 'em up,” he said.

“On it,” Goalie replied. She worked the armament controls, setting up the ordnance for release.
“All set. Everything in one.”

“All right,” Guru replied. “And the lake's coming up.” He got on the radio. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by.” Guru then turned on his ALQ-119 ECM Pod.

“Pull in five, four, three, two, one.... PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and 512 began to climb. As the Phantom climbed, the target began to appear. “Target in sight,” he said.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied.

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

The CO had a look around, checking for flak or SAMs. Nothing yet. Good. “Ready?”

“All set back here,” Goalie advised as she tightened her shoulder straps.

Guru did the same, then smiled beneath his oxygen mask as he began to roll in. “Let's go.”


At the airfield, A Libyan Air Force Captain was actually glad to be where he was. For the Libyans had been previously in the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, and both Libyans and Nicaraguans had more often than not been at each other's throats. The Libyans resented the Nicaraguans for being less than enthusiastic about the war, while the Nicaraguans despised the Libyans for being too zealous, and when the Libyans launched their R-17 missiles from firing sites in the Corps sector, American aircraft came in on missile hunts, and if they failed to find any, put bombs onto the Nicaraguans instead. The fact that the Libyans often didn't inform the Nicaraguan Corps Commander of their intentions, along with a lack of coordination, had led to a number of unpleasant incidents, and on at least two occasions, or so the rumor mill had it, outright fire-fights between Libyans and Nicaraguans. Things were so bad that a Soviet Motor-Rifle Regiment had to move in to keep the two ostensible allies apart and prevent them from killing each other.

Now, the 1305th Helicopter Squadron had moved from the Nicaraguan sector to the East Germans' and the Germans actually welcomed the Libyans. Whether that welcome was genuine or not remained to be seen, but the East Germans had shown the Libyans several possible base areas for either a primary base or as dispersal fields, and the Captain had chosen this field as a primary base, while choosing several other locations as dispersal sites. While half of his unit was coming by road, the other half had gone ahead to prepare the field, and the helicopters had only flown in the previous day. At least the air defenses are in place, the Captain felt, and for now, they were East German-manned. Two batteries of ZU-23s, a battery of 37-mm guns, along with a nearby Kub (SA-6) site, would have to do, along with soldiers carrying Strela-3 (SA-14) shoulder-fired SAMs.

The Captain, who had been in North America since 1986, was hoping things would be better here in the Germans' sector. Back in the Nicaraguan sector, American air strikes had been common, and his squadron had taken losses. But thanks to Colonel Qaddafi back home, and his presumed haggling with the Soviets, the squadron was at full strength. Now, would the Socialist Forces move north come Spring, or would the Americans drive them further south? That was in his mind as he started to walk back to his tent, which doubled as his office. Four Mi-25s had just started to turn over to go out on an armed reconnaissance mission when shouts, followed by anti-aircraft fire, drew his attention as he saw men pointing south. Several specks in the southern sky grew larger, with smoke trails behind them. Air Attack! “AIR RAID! TAKE COVER!” He shouted before jumping into a hole that had been intended to be a latrine, but when he shouted his orders, several others jumped into it...

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 down on his bomb run. As he came in, the AAA opened up, sending tracers and puffs of flak into the air. Guru ignored the flak, seeing several Hinds in the process of warming up for takeoff. Too bad, Qaddafi, he thought. Your guys are in for it today. He adjusted his aim, putting the Helos in his pipper. A pair of smoke trails flew past, indicating SA-7s or better, but they didn't guide. “Steady....Steady.... And.. HACK!” The CO hit his pickle button, sending his Mark-82s and M-117s down onto the Libyan Helos below. He then pulled up and away, clearing the target and heading northwest. Once clear, he gave his call. “Lead's off target.”

“Allah!” the Libyan Captain said as he watched Guru's F-4 come in. A professional airman, he couldn't help but admire the persistence of the F-4 pilot as the big Phantom came in, seemingly untouched by the anti-aircraft fire, then release its bombs. Unfortunately for the Captain, several bombs landed among the Mi-25s that were warming up for takeoff, and at least two became fireballs, while the other two were tossed aside or flipped over by the bomb blasts. Another fireball signaled the end of a fuel tank truck, and he winced. “This isn't happening,” he muttered to himself. He thought for a moment, then stayed in his hole. For he knew American strike aircraft didn't attack alone.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from the back seat. “We got secondaries, and you got two Hinds!”

“On the ground or just taking off?” Guru asked as he jinked right, then left. Unknown to him, an SA-7 or SA-14 flew past his right wing just after jinking left.

“Can't tell, but they're fireballs,” Goalie added, just as a “6” appeared on her RWR display.

“Got an SA-6.”

“I see it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Watch for SA-6 near the target.” He then got down even lower, leveling out at 300 feet AGL and headed for the Leon River.


“Two in hot!” Kara called. She took 520 in on her bomb run, and she heard the SA-6 warning. Double checking to make sure her ALQ-119 pod was on, she went down on the target, wishing for a Shrike antiradar missile. Making a note to ask the CO if they could get some, she watched as he pulled out of his run, and several parked helos erupted in fireballs or were tossed aside. Angling her own run to cover the runway as well as some of the remaining parked helos-Hips maybe, she ignored the flak. As Kara got lower, she saw a Hip's rotor blades start to turn. Not now, boy... She lined up the runway and got ready.. “And...And... Steady... NOW!” Kara hit her own pickle button, putting her own Mark-82s and M-117s down onto the Libyans. She then pulled up and away, jinking like the CO, and watching as an SA-6, either unguided or in optical mode, flew astern of her aircraft. She then cleared the area, and it was time for her own call. “Two's off target.”


In his hole, the Libyan Captain winced as he heard Kara's F-4 come in, then came the thundering roar as the F-4 flew overhead, then came the bomb blasts. Two additional explosions meant helicopters had gone up, and he raised his head out of the hole to take a look. Two of the squadron's Mi-8s were torn apart and blazing, while another had been flipped on its right side. He started to get out of the hole when he saw the AA guns turn back south. Instinctively, the Captain got back inside. More Americans coming.

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

“How good?” Kara asked as she jinked right, then left, avoiding an SA-7 on the right, then another that passed above the F-4.

“Big and good!You got a helo along with the runway.”

“Suits me,” Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. She jinked right one more time, then steadied on course northwest to pick up the CO's bird.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. She and Preacher saw the fireballs erupt from the first two strikes, along with bomb blasts on the runway. Smiling beneath her own mask, Sweaty ignored the flak as she went down on the northeast corner of the field, and easily picked out the fuel dump. Some 23-mm tracers flew by, while some 37-mm puffs appeared, but the gunners down below were shooting wide. Two SA-7-type missiles flew past, but Sweaty ignored the fire, concentrating on the bomb run. The fuel trucks grew larger in her pipper as she got closer. “Steady.....And.... THEY'RE OFF!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, releasing her bombs, then she pulled up and away, getting clear of the target and like the CO and Kara, jinking as she did. When she got clear, she called out, “Three's off target.”


“This can't be happening,” the Libyan Captain muttered as Sweaty's F-4 came in. He heard the roar of the two J-79 engines, then the bomb blasts. Several more detonations followed, and he wondered what had been hit. Poking his head up out of the hole again, he saw several clouds of black smoke and he knew. A pit formed in his stomach as he realize his fuel dump had just gone up, and several additional secondary explosions added to that pit. The Captain then saw the AA guns swing back south, and he ducked back inside. Just how many Americans were coming, he wondered.

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher yelled. “We got the fuel dump!”

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as an SA-7 flew past on her right, just after jinking left, then another. Then came what she thought was an SA-6, but nothing on the RWR. Optically-aimed, she knew. The missile flew by her six, but didn't explode.

“Good and big!”

“Good enough,” Sweaty replied. Another SA-7 flew overhead about a hundred feet above, then she decided to get down a little lower. Sweaty dropped to 300 feet AGL, then headed northwest. It wasn't long until she picked up Kara's bird, and in the distance, the CO's.

“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his own run. He saw his element lead's pass, and the fireballs erupting in her wake, and knew the fuel dump had gone up. Hoser spotted his own target, the munitions storage area, and picked out the revetments. He, too, ignored the flak coming up, and even an optically-aimed SA-6 that flew above his aircraft, but he concentrated on the bomb run. The revetments and a couple of trucks grew larger, as he approached the release point. “And... And.... BOMBS GONE!” Hoser mashed his pickle button, and his dozen bombs came off the aircraft. He quickly pulled up and away, jinking like the others, as he cleared the target. He and KT watched as an SA-7 flew by their left wing, then another, before jinking right. Then he called, “Four's off safe.”

“Mother of Allah!” Said the Captain as he heard Hoser's F-4 make its run. He heard the big Phantom, then the bombs as they went off, and then came a number of secondary explosions, which seemed to ignite more. That told him all he needed to know, that his own ordnance storage had just gone up. He poked his head up, and a couple more explosions merely confirmed it, along with a dud S-8 rocket that had been blasted clear of a revetment and landed close by. The Captain winced at the narrow escape, and started to get out of the hole when someone, he didn't know who, pulled him back in. Then came the sounds of more AA fire.

“SHACK!” KT called. “Multiple secondaries back there!”

“What kind?” Hoser asked as he dodged an SA-7, then had an SA-6 fly past on the right about a couple of hundred feet above.

“Righteous and big, as Preacher would say,” KT said.

“Sounds good,” Hoser replied. He, too, headed northwest, and he didn't need long to pick up Sweaty's bird ahead of him.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called as he went in on his run. Though not targeted on the helo field, the IDF Major saw the smoke and flame coming from it, and was glad that his own target, just to the north, was not obscured. He saw tracks leading off the two roads, and where the prestrike photos had shown, several vehicles and camouflage netting. Either a fueling point or a damaged vehicle collection and repair shop. No matter. And the flak sites at the helo field, along with a couple of ZU-23s at this field, kept shooting, he saw. Ignoring the flak, he lined up on the western side of the target, and saw several trucks grow larger in his pipper. You're mine, Franz, he thought. “Steady...And.. Steady....NOW!” Dave hit his pickle button, and sent his bombs down onto the East Germans-or Libyans-below. He then pulled up and away, and like the others, was jinking as he did. As he accelerated away, dodging at least one SA-7, he called, “Five off target.”

“What the...” the Libyan Captain asked as he watched Dave's F-4 come in. At first, he wondered if the pilot was off his target, then bomb blasts and secondary explosions reminded him. The East Germans had a vehicle collection and repair facility north of his field, he remembered now. And that F-4 had hit it. The Captain stood straight up in the hole, and got ready to get up when the AA guns turned back south. Another one was coming.. “Not again.”

“SHACK!” Oz shouted from the back seat. “And there's secondaries!”

“What kind?” Dave asked as he jinked left, then right, then left, dodging a couple of SA-7s and even saw an SA-4 fly by a couple hundred feet or so overhead.

“Good ones!” The half-Aussie WSO replied.

“Fine with that,” Dave said as he headed northwest and a meetup with the CO.


“Six is in!” Flossy called as she took 657 in on the bomb run. Whatever bad things she thought or said about Frank, at least his ground crew kept the plane in good shape, she thought. She saw her element lead pulling clear, and the bomb blasts he left in his wake, and smiled beneath her oxygen mask. My turn. She, too ignored the flak coming up from both locations, and concentrated on her bomb run. A couple of SA-7s and even an SA-6 came up, but flew harmlessly by as 657 closed in. Several trucks and what looked like tanks grew larger in her pipper, as did several others that Dave's bombs had either blown apart or tossed aside. “And...And... THEY'RE OFF!” Flossy shouted as she pickled off her bombs. She then pulled away, and like the others, jinking as she did. When she got clear, she called, “Six off target.”

“Allah be merciful,” the Libyan said as Flossy came in on her run. He watched the bomb release, and knew this time the East Germans were the target. Bomb blasts and secondary explosions in the F-4's wake followed, and he just shook his head. Two more F-4s appeared, but they flew by without coming in to attack. Reconnaissance, perhaps? Not his concern. The Captain then began shouting orders. It seemed a tall order to get some control of this chaos, but it had to be done.”

“GOOD HITS!” Jang shouted in 657's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Flossy asked as she jinked right and an SA-7 flew past on her left. She then jinked left, then right again.

“Got a couple,” Jang called back.

“As long as we get some,” Flossy said. She then headed northwest, and it was easy to pick up her element lead.

In 512, Guru heard the calls. “Six in and out,” he said. “One-seven and one-eight, get your asses clear and headed out,.”

“Roger, Lead,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson called. “We're on our way.”

“Now we fly for ourselves,” Goalie said.

“You got it,” Guru replied. “Two, you with me?”

Kara came up alongside. “Right with you, Lead.”

Just then, AWACS made a call no one wanted to hear. “Mustang Flight, Crystal Palace. Bandits, Bandits. Blue Bandits inbound. Two-four-five for Twenty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Hello,” Guru said over the IC. A chance to even up with Kara was coming. “Two, Lead. Drop tanks and fight's on.” He then jettisoned his empty underwing tanks, and saw Kara on his right wing.

“Roger that!” Kara replied as she did the same, keeping wing on the CO.

Both F-4s turned to meet the threat. As did Sweaty and Hoser, who, without even calling, dropped their tanks and turned into the threat.

However, it was Dave Golen and Flossy, along with the RAF, who got there first. They, too, heard the call from AWACS, and dropped their own tanks. Both closed with the MiGs, and both Dave and Flossy, their birds equipped with Combat Tree, soon had ID. “Bandits are Fishbeds,” Jang confirmed from 657's back seat.

“Got it,” Dave Golen said as Oz also had confirmation, and it showed on his radar repeater.

In One-seven, Paul Jackson asked Dave Gledhill, “Can you lock one up?”

“Working,” Gledhill replied. Then he had it. A full system lock. “I've got one.”

Jackson squeezed his trigger. “Mustang One-Seven engaged. FOX ONE!” A Sky Flash missile, followed by another, dropped from the fuselage and streaked away after one of the MiG-21s.


Both MiGs were East Germans out of Brownwood Regional, and they had just taken off on a patrol when the call came from the A-50 radar plane, and also from a ground radar. Enemy aircraft to the Northeast. Close and engage. The two from JFG-1 closed in, and though the Americans were not on radar as they were low, the A-50 controller guided them in. Then the East German Major saw the smoke trails. F-4 Phantoms, and the Amis were closing. All of a sudden, his RWR lit up He looked around, and as he glanced right, saw two white smoke trails closing with his aircraft. The Major felt the impact, then was suddenly surrounded by fire... A scream, then the plane fireballed....

“SPLASH ONE!” Jackson called as the MiG-21 fireballed. The first Sky Flash speared the MiG just behind the cockpit, and the second missile smashed into what was left of the bandit. There was no chute.

“Good shot, Paul,” Gledhill said. “Where's the wingman?”

“Good question,” Jackson said as he and Karen McKay had the merge, looking for the MiG wingman.

Dave Golen found him as he and Flossy came into the fight. They watched as the lead MiG fireballed, and picked up the wingman as he broke left, then turned right. “One-six has tally on a Fishbed, low.” He turned onto the MiG-21 and armed his Sidewinders, then called Flossy. “Cover me, Flossy.”

“I got you,” Flossy replied.

Dave Golen then centered his pipper on the MiG, and the missile seeker growled low, then went really loud as the MiG turned left again, trying to pick up the RAF F-4Js. “Nice try, whoever you are,” he said as the tone signaled lock. “FOX TWO!” An AIM-9P4 shot off the left inboard rail, and streaked towards the MiG-21. Both he and Oz watched as the missile flew up the MiG's tailpipe and exploded. The Fishbed's tail blew apart, then the whole plane blew apart as the fuel tanks blew. “One-five has a splash!”

Just then, 512 and 520 came in, just to see the MiG fireball. “Too late again,” Guru said.

“Always next time,” Goalie said, glancing to their right and seeing Kara. “She's probably right pissed now.”

“Don't blame her.”

In 520, Kara was seething. “Not again..” They had been too late once more. She slammed her left fist on her thigh.

“Can't get them all, and you know it,” Brainiac said.

Kara heard that, then took a deep breath and calmed down. Not now, she knew. “Yeah.” Then she called the CO. “Lead, Two. Got here too late.” She didn't add “again.”

“You and me both,” Guru replied. He called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead, Splash two Blue Bandits. No chutes.”

“Roger, Mustang, Fulcrums closing. Bearing Two-four-zero for fifty-five. Medium.”

“Copy that. We are RTB.” Then Guru called the others. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's get the hell out of here.”

The flight reformed, and got back down low. They picked up the Leon River and flew between that and Highway 16, the boundary between the East Germans to the East, and the Soviet 32nd Army to the West, then they followed Highway 16 north.

“How far to the Fence?” Guru asked Goalie.

“One minute,” she replied. A quick glance at the RWR showed the Mainstay's radar still there. “And the Mainstay's still up.”

“For now,” Guru said, a tone of disgust in his voice. Somebody really, really, needed to do something to make those go away. For good. Immediately. If not sooner..

“Fence coming up,” Goalie advised. That meant the I-20.

Twin ribbons of concrete appeared ahead. “I see it,” said Guru. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.”

Mustang Flight crossed the Interstate, and a few seconds after doing so, the Mainstay signals dropped off the RWR. “And no more Mainstay,” said Goalie.

“He'll be back,” Guru said as he began to climb.

Mustang Flight then climbed to altitude to meet up with the tankers. Once they reached the tanker track, the USAF birds hooked up with several KC-10s, while the RAF found their Tristar available again. Then the flight headed for Sheppard.

After reaching Sheppard, the flight had to wait in the pattern while two Marine flights, along with a westbound C-141 and a C-130, went in ahead of them. Upon landing, the birds taxied back to their dispersal, and this time, much to the pleasure of those watching along the flight line, the victorious crews held up fingers to signal MiG kills.

As 512 taxied back to the squadron's dispersal, Guru and Goalie saw the news crew at it again, filming as the F-4s taxied past. “When this is over?” Guru said. “There's going to be documentaries that won't hurt for stock footage.”

“Maybe their bosses in Sydney told them to film, even on a slow day,” Goalie commented.

Guru shook his head at that. Then they taxied into the dispersal area, and he soon found 512's revetment. He followed his Crew Chief's signals, and after stopping, the ground crew came out to put the wheel chocks in place, then he got the “Shut Down” signal.

After shutting down, and going through the post-flight checklist, the ground crew brought the crew ladders. The crew climbed down, and after a post-flight walk-around, Sergeant Crowley came up with two bottles of water. “Major, Captain? How's my bird?” Crew Chiefs always reminded crews that they merely “Borrowed” the aircraft, even if their names were painted first on the aircraft.

“Five-twelve's still truckin', Sergeant,” Guru said. “No problems or issues.”

Crowley was pleased as that as he saw the CO and his GIB down half of the offered water. “Kick some ass out there, sir?”

Guru nodded. “Tore up a Libyan chopper field, and two crews got MiGs. Sorry, Mike, but we weren't one of 'em.”

“Don't worry about that, Major,” Crowley replied. “I'll be painting a new red star or two on her soon enough.”

“You will,” Goalie said. She, too, wanted that title of Double Ace, even if she was a back-seater.

Guru nodded. “That you will.” He looked at 512. “Okay, Mike, break's over. Get her prepped and ready for the next one. When that's done? You guys get yourselves some chow. That's an order.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. He turned to the ground crew, already busy checking the aircraft. “You heard the Major! Let's get this bird prepped for another one!”

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

“Saw you guys tear up some choppers,” Kara said. “One of them looked to be just airborne, but I couldn't tell.”

“Same here,” Brainiac added.

Guru nodded. “We couldn't either. But I'm not claiming a kill on a helo that may or may not have been five feet off the ground when a bomb landed on top of it.”

“And we were in the wrong place,” Kara said “Again.” She was referring to the MiG engagement, and everyone knew it.

“Can't get them all,” Sweaty said as she, Preacher, Hoser, and KT arrived. Followed by Dave Golen, Oz, Flossy, and Jang. “Boss, the fuel dump and ordnance storage went up-big time.”

Heads nodded, then Guru said, “Speaking of getting one? Good work, Dave. That's what? Seven for you here?”

“I think so,” the IDF Major said. “One more and I'll be tied with you.”

“Maybe,” Guru grinned. “Or Goalie and I will get one and we'll be tied with Kara.”

“Oh, boy,” Kara said. She really wanted that tenth kill to be the first double ace in the squadron. If not the whole USAF..

A Marine Hummer arrived, followed by a Dodge Crew-Cab. Colonel Brady came out of the Hummer, and the crews could tell he had had a busy morning, as his own flight suit was a little sweaty. “Major? How'd it go out there?”

“Tore up a Libyan helo field and some choppers,” Guru said, sketching a salute, which Brady returned. “And we got two MiG-killer crews.”

“Good to hear,” Brady said. “And who were the MiGs?”

Dave Golen said it. “East Germans, sir.”

“And they paid for it,” Dave Gledhill said. “They forgot a MiG-21 can't handle an F-4 down low.”

Brady nodded. “My wingman this morning taught that lesson, only in an F/A-18. Now, I've got some news, and it's either good or bad, depending on your point of view.” He looked at Karen McKay. “Flight Lieutenant?” He saw her nod. “Intel had a look at your gun-camera film from yesterday.”

McKay was starting to smile. Maybe she was tied with the crazy one. “Sir?”

“Sorry, Flight Lieutenant. Your helo kill wasn't on it. Intel only gave you a probable.”

“Shit!” McKay said. She then went to a garbage can next to 512's revetment and kicked it. “Sir.”

Brady nodded. “Don't worry. There are a number of times when that kind of attitude and language are appropriate on the flight line. This is one of 'em.”

“Yes, sir,” McKay replied, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.

“Well, sir,” Guru said. “We shouldn't have that problem with the two just now, but we've also got plenty of eyeballs on 'em.”

Brady nodded. “Good to know, Major. Now, I did want to pass on something else, and you all need to know this: There's a lot of activity east of Dallas and through that strip in Southern Arkansas that Ivan still controls. So count on CAS sometime this afternoon.”

The crews nodded, even though CAS was something they all despised. That was supposed to be an A-4, A-7, or A-10 mission. Even though the squadron had gotten plenty of “attaboys and girls” for some of their CAS work. “Four missions this afternoon instead of two?” Sweaty asked. “Sir.”

“For what it's worth,” Brady said. “I asked the same thing ten minutes ago from Tenth Air Force Ops, and they told me to expect it.”

“Well, sir,” Guru replied. “That's good to know.” He would pass the word to the rest of the squadron to expect a busy afternoon. One more busy than usual.

Brady nodded. “It is. Now, I think your Chief Ross-” He pointed at the Crew-Cab with Ross next to it. “Needs to take you people back to get debriefed. Do that, get some food, and maybe some rest. Because we'll probably be pretty busy come afternoon.”

“You heard him,” Guru said.

“Just as long as nobody's being lifted out of the cockpit because we're dead tired,” said Kara.

“I'll second that,” Dave Golen said.

“Amen,” Guru added.

“Noted,” Major,” Brady said. He, too, wanted no part of something like that as he, too, had been lifted out of a cockpit on Day three of PRAIRIE FIRE I. “Just be prepared for it.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “Okay, people. Let's go debrief, get some food, and rest up. Like the Colonel said, we're going to be busy this afternoon.”

[clancyphile]

Great to see an update.

One question: Was it Golen or Flossy who got that second Fishbed? The callsign was One-Six...