Repost: Yeager's Arrival

[Matt Wiser]

Part XIX: Third mission of the day...


Over Central Texas, 1325 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was headed south, having just passed the U.S. 377 bridge at Granbury. The pre-strike refueling had gone off without a hitch, and so had the initial penetration into enemy territory. The strike flight had encountered flak, this time from both sides of the Brazos, which was unusual, but given that somebody had just hit the Granbury Municipal Airport. unknown to any of the aircrews.... and so the flak gunners were still on edge-both East German and Nicaraguan.

“Somebody's got them worked up,” Guru said as the bridge disappeared behind them.

“No kidding!” Goalie shot back. “Who scheduled us to go past there right after a strike?”

“See what I can do about that,” Guru replied. “Flak ahead at the Dam.” He was referring to the Lake Granbury Dam up ahead. “How far to the Glen Rose Bridge?” That meant U.S. 67.

“One minute,” Goalie said. “And flak at One,” she called. Sure enough, 23-mm and 57-mm fire began to come up. This time, there were no radars guiding the guns, and the strike flight easily avoided the ground fire. “We're clear.”

“Copy that.” Guru then called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

A controller replied at once. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing One-six-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for seventy-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing Two-zero-two for ninety. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” said Guru. “Glen Rose coming up.”

This time, the flak only came from the west side, as the East Germans opened fire, but the Nicaraguan gunners stayed quiet. “And they're behind us,” Goalie said as the bridge flew by. “Thirty seconds to the next bridge.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. His head was on a swivel, checking outside the aircraft for threats, then glancing at his instruments, and then at his EW display. Sure enough, there was an air-search radar, but far away. “Mainstay again.”

“How many of those do they have?”

“Need to ask Sin that when we debrief,” Guru replied. “Brazospoint bridge coming up.”

“Got it,” Goalie said. “Flak at One,” she called, as flak came up again from the East German side of the Brazos. In a flash, they were past the bridge. “One minute to the 114 Bridge.” She meant the State Route 114 bridge. And once they got there, the flak would be from both sides, as the Libyans were on the east side of the river.

“Copy,” Guru called. He glanced at his fuel gauges. These low-level runs ate up a lot of gas. Well, that's why they made tankers, he knew.

The strike flight maintained its southerly course, following the river where possible. Pilots and GIBs were focused, the former watching out of the cockpit and scanning their instruments, while the GIBs handled the navigation. “Bridge dead ahead,” Goalie called. “And so's flak.”

“Got it,” Guru said. Sure enough, the gunners on both sides of the river were shooting, and more intense than usual. For there was a convoy crossing the bridge, and there were even tracers coming from some of the vehicles. “Too bad...”

“What?”

“Convoy on the bridge. Not their turn to die,” he said calmly.”

Goalie chuckled. “Maybe next time,” she said as the bridge, with the convoy, flew past. “One minute thirty to the turn point.”

“Roger that.”

The river soon turned into Lake Whitney, and the F-4s dropped a hundred feet lower. They weren't exactly skimming the lake, but the lower, the better. The fact there were no power lines crossing the lake helped. And much to the crews' surprise, there were some boats on the lake. Locals were fishing, to supplement the rationed food allowed by the occupiers, and even some Soviet soldiers, looking for some fresh food instead of Red Army fare, and all were surprised to see four F-4s coming in low over the lake.

“Got some boat traffic,” Guru noted. “Turn in when?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie said. “Stand by....and five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a hard right turn, and lined up on a 270 heading. “Meridian in when?”

“One minute ten,” Goalie confirmed.

Guru checked to his right. Kara in 520 was still there, tucked in at the Five O'clock position. He glanced to his left, and found Sweaty and Hoser also there. Good. “Still got the air-search radar.”

“Mainstay?” Goalie asked. “Thirty seconds,” she added. That meant Meridian.

“Probably,” replied Guru. “Meridian in sight, and no flak.”


In Meridian's City Hall, The Nicaraguan garrison commander was actually pleased with how things were going. Though a Soviet motor-rifle division had passed through, headed north, and another Soviet division was due in later, heading to the west side of Lake Whitney to rest and refit, things were calm. Even with the KGB and MVD troops, he was surprised to find. As for that PSD swine, well, the man seemed to think that the garrison should have known him by sight, but.....his fault for not being quick to show his ID after curfew when a sentry stopped him. No great loss, the Major felt, and even the Mayor, who he knew was likely biding his time until the U.S. Army returned, actually agreed with him.

Then, a very loud rumble got his attention. He went to his office window and looked outside. Sure enough, more Yanqui aircraft flew by overhead, and to his amusement, the MVD troops, isntead of manning whatever air-defense weapons they had, ran to the shelters. He had heard from a Russian counterpart that the MVD troops weren't known for their smarts, and the Nicaraguan was finding out that this was largely correct. Not even some cheers from the local population didn't bother him as he went back to his desk.

“No flak,” Guru noted.

“Not this time,” Goalie said. “Hico next up. One minute twenty-five.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. Time to call the AWACS again. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-eight for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-one for sixty-five. Medium, closing,” the controller replied.

“Roger, Crystal Palace.”

Just like the last time they were down here, the strike flight generally followed State Route 6, There wasn't much traffic on the road, meaning military traffic, as convoys or armored columns would likely be using towns to hide in during the day. It wasn't long before Hico came into view.

“Hico coming up.” Guru said. “No flak so far.”

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Stand by to turn.”

Then some tracer fire came up. “Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Flak at Eleven.”

“I see it, Two,” replied Guru. “Stand by to turn.”

Goalie started the count. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a sharp turn to the right, and picked up State Route 220, ignoring the light flak as he did so. The rest of the flight made the turn with him, and they lined up along the highway. “How long to IP?”

“Forty-five seconds.” Goalie reported. “Set'em up?” She meant the armament control panel. Though the pilot had a panel, the GIB did as well.

“Good girl,” Guru said.

She worked the armmament controls, setting up things so that all of the bombs would be released in one pass. “You're set.” Goalie called. “IP coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and time to pull.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, as did Sweaty and Hoser.

“Pull in...three, two, one, NOW!” Goalie said.

Guru pulled back on the stick, and as he did, the F-4 climbed, and more radars appeared on his RWR. He went wings level and then lowered the nose slightly to pick up the target. As he did, he was amazed at what he found. “Holy....there's no C3 site. But a whole damned regiment, looks like.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Goalie said.

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “Looks like our target just changed. Drop on the armor down below.”

In 520, Kara saw the sight and grinned. “Copy, Lead.” Their turn to die today, she thought.

“All set?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” she replied.

“Then let's go.”


At the U.S. 67/Route 220 intersection, the battered 254th Guards Motor-rifle Regiment was gathered. The regiment had been roughly handled in its first engagement in America, and many of the regiment's leaders had been killed or wounded. And, the acting regimental commander, a major who had been commanding the regiment's third battalion noted, as this regiment went, so did the division, the 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division.

Though the division had benefited from six months' training in at its home station in Estonia prior to deploying to Cuba, where it had gone through further training before arriving in Texas, the reality of combat was that the Americans had not gotten complacent after Wichita-which many of the Division's officers had heard horror stories about-but that they were more than ready for a fight after their Summer Offensive.

Now, the Major hoped, now that they had been pulled out of the line, the regiment-and the rest of the division, would be able to refit, reconstitute, and get ready to return to the front. And maybe, he could find a way to get rid of his Zampolit while they were at it. The man was on his nerves, upset that so many Party members and Komsomol organizers had been killed or wounded. Clearly, in their first action, the most enthuisisatic Communists had led the way, and the Party man was not pleased that their enthusaism had led to high casualties.

That's his problem, the Major thought as he climbed down from his command vehicle, a BTR-70, and called his Chief of Staff over. That officer, a Captain, had the same job in Second Battalion, but from First? No officer higher than Senior Lieutenant had come out of the action in one piece, and those above that young officer were either dead or in the hospital. Just as the Chief came to him, the Regiment's Sergeant-Major, the Major's old one from Third Battalion, yelled, “Air Alarm!”

“What?”

“Enemy aircraft, Comrade Commander! Get down!”

The two officers jumped into a just-dug slit trench, as the air alarm sounded.


Guru rolled in on his attack run. “Lead's in hot!” he called. As he came down on the unexpected target, he noticed some tanks that appeared to be laagered up, just north of the 67-220 intersection. Your turn now, Ivan. Or is it Franz? No matter, he thought. Guru noticed some light flak coming up, and it looked like unguided 23-mm with some heavy machine-gun tracers mixed in. Ignoring that, and a MANPADS that flew past 512, he lined up the tanks in his pipper. “Steady...And...Steady....And....NOW!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing his dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes down on the tanks below. He then applied full power, and began jinking to avoid any flak or missiles coming his way. “Lead's off safe.”

“Damn!” the Major yelled as the bombs exploded to the north. He felt the concussion, even in the trench. Though he'd been attacked from the air before, as well as fighting off the Americans over the past two days, still....He glanced up and took a quick look. Several T-72s were damaged, at least one had been flipped over by a near hit, and one had taken a direct hit and been blown apart. Then he got back down, for he'd learned the hard way over the past three days that American aircraft didn't attack alone.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “Got some secondaries.”

“How many?” Guru asked as a missile, maybe an SA-13, flew past him on the left as he jinked right.

“Got a couple.”

“We'll take 'em,” he replied as he headed north, eyes open for those damned basketball-sized tracers.


“Two's in!” Kara called. She came down on 520's bomb run, and she saw the CO's run in, and some secondaries as he pulled away. As she came in, Kara noticed what looked like artillery pieces and their prime movers down below, just southeast of the intersection. Regimental artillery? You'll do. She lined up the guns in her pipper.....”And....And...HACK!” Kara hit the pickle button, sending her dozen Mark-82s down on the guns. She then pulled level, applied power, and headed north, jinking as she did so. “Two's off target.”


The Major heard Kara's F-4 fly over, then the bombs went off in the plane's wake. Then several additional explosions came, and he knew that the regimental artillery had been hit. He wanted to take a look for himself, believing only two aircraft had come in, but seeing several tank commanders and soldiers turn their weapons back to the south told him otherwise. More American aircraft were coming in., so he ducked back into the trench.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac yelled from 520's back seat. “Loads of secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as a missile flew below the aircraft as she jinked. She, too, was watching for large tracers....

“Enough!”

“Have to take that,” she quipped as Kara headed north and picked up the CO as she did so.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. She saw the effects of Kara's bombs going off, and noted the light flak coming back up. No ZSU-30s? Good. She picked out several APCs clustered together just to the north of the intersection, to the left of where the CO had laid his bombs on some tanks. Your turn to die, Sweaty said to herself as she lined them up in her pipper. “And....And....HACK!” Another dozen Mark-82s were released upon the Soviet regiment, then Sweaty applied full power and began jinking as she headed north, not seeing an SA-14 fly past her left wing. “Three off target.”

“Sookin sin!” the Major said aloud to himself as Sweaty's F-4 came over. . Son of a bitch. These Yankees were determined. Though he'd seen several American aircraft fall to air-defense systems over the past two days, the Americans had systematically gone after those assets. And now.....all his regiment had for air defense were the air defense platoons in the battalions, and a handful of ZU-23s operated by regimental artillery, and also the headquarters company, along with a single Strela-10 launcher. And they were nearly out of missiles. He glanced at where the F-4 had deposited its bombs, and saw that they had landed on Second Battalion's position. Several BTR-70s were either flipped upside down, tossed aside like toys, or, in at least one case, had taken direct hits from bombs, and were now so many pieces of rubbish flying in the wind. Shaking his head, he ducked down again as more anti-aircraft fire opened up. How many Yankee aircraft were coming?

“SHACK!” Preacher said. “We've got secondaries!”

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid flak. “Good ones?”

“You just answered your own question,” replied Preacher. He glanced to the right and saw a missile-a MANPADS, he thought, fly over them by about fifty feet.

“Then let's get the hell north,” Sweaty said as she headed for the Brazos.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came down on his run. He, too, ignored the flak as he went down on the regiment, and saw what looked like some supply vehicles at the Route 220/F.M. 197/F.M. 199 intersection, just south of U.S. 67. Nice...and you'll do, he thought as he lined the trucks up in his pipper. “Steady...” Hoser called as the flak came up. “And....and....HACK!” He hit his pickle button, and released his bombs. Another dozen Snakeyes fell onto the Russians down below. Hoser pulled wings level, applying power as he did so, and began jinking. “Four's off target,” he called.

“Damn it!” The Major shouted as Hoser's aircraft right over him, and explosions sounded in its wake. Fortunately, none were too close, and after the American had cleared the area, he and his Chief of Staff got out of the trench and surveyed the area. Howls of agony came from the tank battalion and Second battalion, as the wounded literally screamed for attention. Secondary explosions continued from where a battery of D-30 howitzers had been parked, and that meant the regimental artillery was now down to a handful of men and a couple of guns-if that. And smoke to the south meant the regiment's supply column had been hit. Shaking his head, he turned to the Chief of Staff and began issuing orders. Time to get this madhouse back in some kind of order.

“SHACK!” KT yelled. “We have secondaries!”

“What kind?” Hoser asked as he tried to pick up Sweaty as he jinked.

“Big ones!”

“I'll take those,” he said as he eyeballed his element leader. Hoser, too, kept an eye for those tracers. He and KT had been shot down once, and that was enough for the both of them, thank you very much.


“Hoser's off,” Goalie said in 512's back seat. “Four in and out.”

“Not until we're across the fence,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a game on.” He was watching for those tracers.....”Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller replied at once. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-seven-five for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for fifty. Medium, closing.”

“Copy, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope.” Guru was asking for ID on the bandits.

“Corvette, Crystal Palace. Initial threats are Floggers. Second threats are Fishbeds.” That meant MiG-23s and MiG-21s.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He did some calculations in his head. “How long to the Fence?” He asked Goalie.

“Two minutes,” was the reply.

“Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Can you have a welcoming committee for the bandits?” Guru asked the AWACS.

“Roger that, Corvette. We'll have some friends waiting for 'em. Cowboy Two-one, Crystal Palace. Threats bearing one-eight-zero for forty-five. Medium, closing. Kill. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm and fire.”

“Cowboy Two-one, Roger,” an F-15 flight lead called.

In 512, Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Those MiGs get a wall of Eagles.”

“Their lucky day,” Goalie said. “One minute thirty to the Fence,” she called as the Brazos River appeared.

Guru banked left to follow the river, then the U.S. 377 bridge at Granbury appeared. As usual, the East German gunners opened fire, but this time, the Nicaraguans stayed quiet.

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-eight-zero for twenty-five. Medium, closing,” the AWACS controller warned.

“Eagles coming?” Guru asked the controller, not bothering with mission code right then.

“Corvette Lead, that's affirmative.”

Then the F-15s appeared overhead, heading south. And “Fox one” calls came as the Eagles engaged the MiG-23s.

“Crossing the fence.....now,” Guru said as I-20 appeared. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He turned on his IFF transponder, and the rest of the flight did the same. Those Army air-defense pukes liked to shoot first and argue afterwards, especially the I-HAWK crews. And the I-20 bridges over the Brazos had an I-HAWK battery close by....

“Eagles had some fun,” Kara called. She had been listening in on the fight. The F-15s engaged the MiG-23s, killing three, and as the survivor turned for home, the MiG-21s came in. Two of those were splashed before the F-15s had to break off for fuel.

“Maybe next time,” Guru said.

“Guess so,” Kara replied.

The flight climbed back to cruising altitude, and met up with the tankers. As they took on fuel, they saw two more F-4Es and an RF-4C join up on another tanker cell, and that meant Dave and Flossy had brought Athena and Helo back. The Photo-Phantom turned west for Cannon AFB after refueling, while the fighters headed for Sheppard.

When they got to Sheppard, both flights had to wait, as outbound flights and an inbound C-141 had priority. Then they were cleared in. After landing, they taxied to their squadron dispersal, and popped their canopies. And as usual, the news crew was filming.

“They ever going to stop?” Guru wondered aloud.

“Has to be a slow day,” Goalie said. “But doesn't our interview air soon?”

“Should be tomorrow night,” Guru replied.

“Wonder how we'll look?”

“We'll just have to wait and see,” Guru said as he taxied into 512's revetment. He got the “Hold” signal from Sergeant Crowley, and after the ground crew put the chocks around the tires, then came the “Shut down” signal. After shutting down, and going through the post-flight checks, Guru took a deep breath. “Three and done, not counting the 'Check ride.'”

“And time for one more,” Goalie said. “Swell.”

“Don't remind me.”

The ground crew brought the crew ladder, and pilot and GIB climbed down. After a quick walk-around, Sergeant Crowley came over. “Major, Lieutenant? How's my bird?” He handed the CO and GIB each a bottle of water.

Guru took a drink, then nodded. “She's working like a champ, Sergeant. Get her turned around for the next one.”

“Sir, how'd you guys do?”

“Helped turn a regiment into a battalion,” Goalie said after taking a long drink from the bottle. “Hopefully.”

Crowley smiled. “Sounds good to me, Ma'am.”

“Same here, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Let's get her ready.”

“Yes, sir!”

Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac already there. “Well?” Kara asked. “Where'd the C3 site go?”

“Good question,” Guru said. “Sometimes what was briefed is replaced by something else. Others....”

“Empty space,” Sweaty spat as she and Preacher came, with Hoser and KT following. “Where'd those guys come from?”

“Also a very good question,” the CO replied. “Let's get debriefed. Maybe Sin Licon has some answers, or he'll be just as surprised as we were.”

KT nodded. “Probably the latter,” she said.

“Yeah,” Brainiac added. “Now what?”

“Debrief, then get some kind of workout in, because we've got time for one more,” Guru said.

“Any kind of a stand-down coming?” Kara asked. “We could use the rest.”

“Not for four or five days,” Guru said. “I know, we can all use a break. But not until then.” He nodded in the direction of the squadron's office. “Come on. Sooner we debrief, sooner we can make Doc happy.”

“And we get to do this again in an hour and a half,” Sweaty said. “Have to earn our flight pay.”

“That we do.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part XX: Making the sawbones happy, and the last strike of the day-and killing SAMs at a support site is far easier than killing their sites-or dodging the missiles!


335th TFS, 1500 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser had just gotten back into his office, having debriefed the previous mission, and then went to deal with some paperwork before getting in a four-mile run on the fitness tent's treadmills. He checked the papers and found not much there, to his delight. The CO attacked the papers, and it wasn't long until his OUT box was full and the IN box quite empty. With the “armchair warriors” now satisfied, he decided to go and get in his workout, but before he could do so, there was a knock on the office door. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

The Exec came in. “Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said. “Got a few things for you.”

“Anything I need to sign?” Guru asked.

“No, not yet. This is all for your information, not action.”

“Okay, Mark,” Guru said. “Lay it on me.”

“First of all, the eastbound C-141 came in. The, uh, stabilizers that Ross and the scroungers found are on it,” the Exec reported.

“Tell Kev O'Donnell to keep 'em around,” Guru decided. “We've had two birds with that kind of battle damage in a month, so...”

Ellis nodded. He understood what his CO meant. “They will be handy.”

“That they will,” said Guru. “What else?”

“The RAF will be here in four days,” the Exec said. “They have to go to either Dow AFB in Bangor, or Otis in Massachussetts first of all.”

“What the hell for?”

“Among other things, clearing customs,” said Ellis. “I know, even with the war and all. Personally, I think that's all a bunch of bullshit.”

“Customs?” The CO asked. “This on the level?”

“It is, Boss,” the XO replied. “I know, it sounds crazy, but...”

“Reminds me of something I read in Newsweek, after my E&E. Catching up on news I missed,” said Guru. “Anyway, when they brought the Black Horse Cav from England, a couple of weeks into the war, their convoy pulled into Boston Harbor. Some Customs officer wanted to know what they had to declare, and if they had any fruit, vegetables, or house plants. Wanted customs forms from every soldier in the Regiment. The Colonel in command literally threw the guy into the harbor, and told the other officers, 'None of your damn business! So let's get these ships unloaded!' Peacetime mentality, two weeks into the war.” Guru shook his head at that.

“Kind of like Frank,” Ellis observed.

“Kind of,” the CO replied. “Anything else?”

Ellis grinned. “Our PAO should be here about the same time. Her R&R's almost up, and she'll probably be hitchhiking on a MAC Space-available to get here.”

“Good. Kodak Griffith's been good, but he's a Marine, and sooner or later, we have to give him back,” the CO reminded Ellis. “Because he wants back in the cockpit.”

“Yeah. I'd be chomping at the bit to get back flying myself,” said Ellis.

“Hope you're never in that position,” Guru said. “You may think you're ready, but if the Docs think you're not....” His voice trailed off.

“You're flying a desk until they say you're ready,” Ellis nodded.

“Yep. Anything else before I get my workout in?”

Ellis nodded again. “C-141 also brought in some newspapers: Los Angeles Times, USA Today, Stars and Stripes. That'll be good to read.”

“It will,” Guru said. “That's it?”

“It is for now.”

Guru got up from behind his desk. “All right. I'll be in the fitness center. You been there today?”

“While you were on your, uh, 'Check Ride' with the General,” Ellis said. “Be warned: Doc's got one of his medics with a list, and he's checking off names.”

“Thanks, Mark.”


Guru went to his tent to change into some workout clothes, and went over to the fitness tent. Sure enough, one of Doc Waters' medics was waiting outside. “Doc have you keeping tabs on who's working out?” He asked the ex-PJ Tech Sergeant who had a clipboard in hand.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. He checked off the CO's name on the list.

“Figures,” the CO nodded, then he went inside. He got on a treadmill and started his run, and after a few minutes, noticed the rest of his flight come in, plus Dave Golen, Flossy, Jang, and Dave's GIB. Sure enough, several of the others-mostly Marines, but a few Navy, stared at Kara and several of the other women in their sports bras or tank tops, only to receive icy stares in return. Most of the old hands knew not to go any further, but a few persisted, only to be told by others that Kara in particular had a long memory, and would get her revenge-usually at the pool table or a poker game. After his run, and some time on the weight machines, Guru told the NCOIC of the tent to have his crews at the briefing room in fifteen, left to take a quick shower, and get changed back into a flight suit.

When he got back to the squadron office, his Ops Officer was waiting. “Don,” Guru asked.

“Boss,” Don Van Loan nodded. “Got a new mission for you.” Just then, Dave Golen came in.

“Anything for us?” Golen asked the Ops Officer.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Van Loan said. “Boss, you've got a target here, north of Hico. It's a SAM support facility, and it looks like they're moving in some SA-2 and SA-3.”

“Lovely,” Guru said. “At least we get to take them out before they can get the sites set up.”

“That's the idea, Boss,” Van Loan replied. “Dave? You and Flossy are going to Walnut Springs. Fuel dump, which explains a two-ship.”

Golen nodded. “It does. That escort for the recon didn't draw MiGs, but everyone and their mother was shooting at us.”

“Libyan sector?” Guru asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Golen replied. “How'd you know?”

“Simple,” Guru said. “The Libyans are the only ones who shoot as if ammo is going to be outlawed in the next five minutes. Not to mention they hardly aim at all.”

“That they did.” Golen checked his packet. “We're still Mustang. You?”

“Corvette,” the CO said. “If you hit trouble, Dave? Holler. We'll be there.”

“Same for you,” replied Golen.

The two shook hands, then went to brief their respective crews. When Guru got to his flight's briefing room, everyone was there, along with a four-legged guest. “Okay, who let Buddy in?”

“He was here when we got here,” Kara said. “And he's sound asleep.”

“Good,” Hoser nodded. “He was alert during the DACT brief, and we all know what happened.”

Goalie grinned. “He was, and we do. What's up for us?”

“SAM support facility,” Guru said, opening the briefing packet. “Here, about seven miles north of Hico. There's a town-more like a collection of houses with a church than a town, called Duffau. Five of those Farm-to-Market Roads come together there. Our target is north of the town itself. Right at the F.M. 2481/F.M. 212 intersection. There's a ranch there, and Ivan's using it as a SAM support facility.”

“So we get to kill them before they set up the SAM sites?” Sweaty asked. “Sounds good to me.”

“Better that way,” Kara said. “What's there?”

“SA-2, and there's not only several SA-2s on transporters, but more in their shipping containers,” Guru said, pointing to a recon photo. And note the trucks with two missiles on top. Those are SA-3 transporters.” He noted the intel notations in the photo.”

Preacher looked at the photo. “And SA-4 transporters, I noticed. Nice of them to put all their SAMs in one basket.”

“It is that,” Guru said. “Okay, targets. I'll take the SA-2 area. Kara? You go for the -3s, and Sweaty? The -4s are all yours.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Kara replied.

“Hoser? You take the ranch house and barns.” Guru said, tapping the imagery with a pen. “The ranch house is probably their CP, and where the officers bed down. The missile techs are in the barns, in all likelihood.”

“Got it,” Hoser said. “Ordnance?”

“Six Mark-82 Snakeyes, six M-117Rs each airplane,” said the CO. “The Mark-82s have the Daisy Cutter fuze extensions. Other than that? Usual air-to-air load, ECM pods, and wing tanks.”

Heads nodded at that. “Defenses?” Goalie asked.

“Several ZU-23s around the place, and you can expect MANPADS as well. This is the East German rear, so SA-4s from Stephenville are possible. And there's this.”

“What?”

“Some of the Russians and East Germans we helped bomb the shit out of are probably close by, resting up and refitting. So you can expect regimental and divisional level air defense anyhere. See the look on Sin Licon's face when we told him what we hit, instead of the C3 site?” Guru reminded everyone. The squadron intelligence officer, Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon, was very surprised when the crews told him what had been at the location of a C3 site they had been briefed to hit, to say the least.

Heads nodded at that. “So, we could run into almost anything going in or going out?” Hoser wanted to know.

“That's about it. If you see any of those basketball-sized tracers on the target? Abort,” said Guru. “Anywhere else? Evade, and call out the position.”

Kara nodded. “Got it, Boss. MiG theats?”

“Unchanged since this morning. So are bailout areas.”

“Sounds good,” Sweaty said. “And ingress?”

“Coming to that,” Guru nodded. “After the pre-strike refueling, we cross the fence here, at Ranger, on the I-20. Get down low, and head due south for Proctor Lake. Once we hit the lake, head east to Route 6 and the town of Clairette. Then we go to U.S. 281. After that, we pick up an old railroad right of way just to the east of the highway. That's the IP. After you make your run, get back down low, and head northeast. Pick up the Brazos somewhere between Glen Rose and Granbury to the north, then we head for the I-20.”

“We're on the Soviet/East German boundary,” Brainiac noted. “On the way in, I mean.”

“That we are. Soviet 32nd Army to the west of the East Germans. We've been along that boundary before, and they don't coordinate air defense for some reason. Anyway, this may be the last one of the day, but treat it like it's the first. DO NOT get complacent,” Guru said firmly. “Understood?”

“Loud and clear, Major,” Kara said. As usual, when someone addressed Guru by his rank, that meant they were very serious about the subject at hand.

“Good to hear,” Guru nodded. “All right; anything else?” Heads shook no. Guru nodded, then glanced at Buddy. The dog was sound asleep.

“Looks like Buddy thinks it'll be an easy one,” KT joked.

The CO grinned. “Let's hope he's right. Time to get back at it. Gear up and meet me at 512.”

The crews went to their locker rooms to gear up. When Guru came out of the Men's Locker Room, Goalie was waiting outside, as usual, geared up and ready. “Ready to rock?”

“Game time,” she replied.

“It is that,” Guru nodded.

Guru and Goalie then left the squadron building and headed for the squadron dispersal. When they got to 512's revetment, the rest of the flight was there, waiting, as was General Olds.”General,” Guru said as he and Goalie sketched a salute.

“Major,” Olds replied. “Lieutenant,” he added. “Just wanted to see you all off this time.”

“Thank you, sir, and I didn't ask earlier, but hoped you liked the Check Ride.”

“Major, that flight made me feel twenty years younger. Hope you have a good mission,” Olds said.

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied. “All right, people. Gather round.” He was giving his final instructions.“Usual procedures on the radio.”

Sweaty nodded. “Call signs between us, and mission code to AWACS and other interested parties.”

“Right you are,” Guru said. “Remember, if you see those basketball-sized tracers at the target? Abort.”

“Got it,” Kara nodded, and so did the others.

“Any other questions?” Guru asked. Heads shook no. Then he clapped his hands. “Time to go get 'em. Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into 512's revetment, General Olds accompanied them. Sergeant Crowley was waiting, and the Crew Chief snapped a salute. “Major, Five-twelve's ready to go.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their usual preflight walkaround, then he signed for the aircraft. The bombs were in their racks, and the usual air-to-air load of four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7s (now Fs), and an ALQ-119 ECM pod in the left front Sparrow well, along with the two 370 gallon wing tanks were all loaded. Then it was time for him and Goalie to mount the aircraft, and before they climbed aboard, General Olds was waiting one last time. “General?”

“Major,” Olds said, extending his hand. “Good luck. And you, Lieutenant,” he said to Goalie.

Guru shook hands with the General, who did the same with Goalie. “Thank you, sir.”

“Bring everybody back,” Olds said with due seriousness.

“Do my best, General,” Guru said as he climbed the crew ladder. “No guarantees in this business.”

“Ain't that the sorry truth,” Olds admitted. “Just do your best,” Major. Then a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup pulled up and Master Sergeant Ross waved to the General. “That's my ride, Major. See you when you get back.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said as he put his helmet on and got strapped in. Then he saw the General get in the pickup and it drove off. Then he and Goalie did the preflight. “Last one.”

“Always good,” Goalie said as she went through the checklist. “Once more unto the breach. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours,” Guru replied. “Just leave out the 'close the walls with our dead' crap. Arnie?” That meant the ARN-101 DMAS.

“Arnie's set, and INS ready,” Goalie said. “I'll go along with that. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then two, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the run-up was complete, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower,” the controller replied at once. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three-Charlie. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Lead is rolling.” Guru then gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the tires, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, and taxied out of the revetment. When 512 cleared the revetment, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. Guru then taxied to Runway 33C, with the rest of the flight following. When they got to the holding area, a Marine F-4 flight was ahead of them as a flight of Navy A-7s went down the runway. After that, a flight of Marine Hornets landed. After the Marine Phantoms taxied onto the runway, it was their turn.

Corvette Flight taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. As they did that, the Marine F-4s took off, then it was their turn to taxi. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

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

“Roger, Tower,” Guru called. He then taxied 512 onto the runway, and he and Goalie did a final check. Guru glanced to the right, and found Kara and Brainiac in 520 in their Five O'clock position, ready to go. Both crews exchanged thumbs-up, then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let's go,” Goalie said. “Canopy down.” She closed and locked her canopy.

“Time to fly,” Guru said as he closed and locked his canopy. A quick glance to the right showed 520's crew had done the same. “Here we go.” Guru applied full power, and released the brakes. 512 then thundered down the runway and into the air. Right with them was 520. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn. Then the flight rendezvoused at FL 110, and headed south for the tankers.



Over Central Texas: 1615 Hours Central War Time;


Corvette Flight was inbound, having crossed the I-20, and into enemy territory. They were ingressing roughly along the boundary between the Soviet 32nd Army to the west, and the East Germans to the east, and so far, neither one had reacted to their presence. While the GIBs concentrated on the navigation, the pilots were busy keeping their heads on a swivel, checking instruments, then scanning outside for threats.

“How long to Proctor Lake?” Guru asked Goalie in 512 as the Texas landscape flew by. A few hills in this part, though flat otherwise. They were flying just west of, and parallel to, State Route 16, which was no doubt in use by the Soviets and East Germans.

“Two minutes to the lake,” Goalie called from the back seat.

“Copy,” Guru replied. He checked his EW display. So far, so good. No threats detected...yet.

The strike flight followed the Leon River, then crossed Route 16, and headed for Proctor Lake. A quick glance west had the setting sun, and that was a good thing. Anyone looking for them visually would have the sun to contend with, not to mention interfering with an IR missile's seeker head. “Lake coming up,” Goalie called. “Fifteen seconds to turn.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. Just then, a spoke appeared on his EW display, and the SEARCH indicator came on. “Looks like a search radar.”

“Not close,” Goalie observed.”Turn in five, four, three, two, one, and...TURN!”

Guru put the aircraft into a left turn, then settled onto a heading between northeast and east. “On the second leg.”

“Gotcha.” Goalie checked her map-a good GIB always used the old-fashioned backups. “Two minutes to the next turn.”

“Roger that.”

Then the AWACS came on the line. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threats bearing One-six-five for fifty-eight. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-two for seventy. Medium, Closing.”

“Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead,” Guru replied. “Say bogey dope?”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace, First two threats are Floggers. Threats at Two-zero-two are Fishbeds.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. He kept his eye open as several farm-to-market roads flew by below, and any one of them could have a hidden threat, such as any type of ZSU gun or mobile SAM launcher as a mobile flak trap. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he called. That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

“Copy, Lead,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

Just then, the flight overflew a convoy. Goalie glanced at the trucks and even a tank transporter. “Not their turn.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Guru called.

Below, moving north on F.M. 1702, an East German Major was leading his supply convoy. It had been a long way from the port in Corpus Christi, and they had actually had no incidents with the counterrevolutionary bandits who infested rural parts of Texas. However, they had encountered the deadly aftermath of several of their attacks, where either patrols or small convoys had been attacked, leaving burned-out vehicles and bodies in their wake. As they got closer to the Army rear, signs of Fascist air attack had also become common, with facilities in the rear being targeted, or engineers repairing bomb-damaged bridges. Clearly, the Imperialist air forces were a threat, and so, when the convoy had arrived in Hamilton, orders were waiting for them to divert west along Route 36, then north on this Farm-to-Market Road 1702. They would get to Dublin, then follow Route 67/377 to Stephenville, where their cargoes were to be delivered.

Suddenly, four American aircraft overflew the convoy, headed in a northeasterly direction. The Major screamed over the radio for the convoy to halt, and soldiers deployed from several BTR-60s with Strela missiles on their shoulders. No follow-on aircraft appeared, much to his relief. They were running late as it was with the detour, and this... “Better late than dead,” the Major said as he ordered his men back into their trucks and APCs.

“How far to Clarette?” Guru asked. That was the next checkpoint. They had one more after that before the IP.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied.

“Copy that,” Guru nodded. He shot a quick glance at his EW display. That search radar was still there. “Mainstay may have us.”

“Hope they've lost us in the clutter.”

“You're not the only one,” said Guru. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

The controller responded right away. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat Bearing One-seven-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-two. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-one for sixty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy.”

“Clarette in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!” Goalie called.

The town, more a collection of houses alongside Route 6 than a town, flew by. Then U.S. 281 flew past a few seconds later. “IP in when?”

“Twenty seconds,” Goalie called. “Set 'em up?” She meant the armament control panel.

“You read my mind,” replied Guru. “All in one go. Flight, Lead, Switches on, and stand by.”

“Two copies,” Kara called.

“Three ready,” from Sweaty.

“Four, roger,” was Hoser's call.

Goalie worked the backseater's armament control panel. Though the pilot had one up front, setting up the weapons was often the GIB's responsibility. “All set. IP coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead, stand by to pull.”

Goalie made the call. “And....NOW!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and as he pulled up, the little town of Duffau appeared to his right. And right at the intersection, as described in the mission brief was the target. “Target in sight,” Guru called. “Ready?”

“All set back here,” Goalie said. “Let's go.”

“Going in,” Guru said as he rolled in on his bomb run.


At the missile support facility, a Voyska-PVO Lieutenant Colonel was wondering how he'd wound up halfway around the world, serving the Rodina when he should be lecturing to students at the University in Kuibyshev. He had served in a S-75 battalion and then a missile brigade during his service, only to be lured out of uniform by a need for engineering instructors at several universities, so he had been discharged into the Reserves in 1978, only to be recalled in 1986, a year into the war. With the “war emergency,” he had been promoted to first Major, then Lieutenant Colonel. The Colonel had been to Cuba once, during his time on active duty, and his father had actually been deployed there in 1962, as a battalion commander in one of the Motor-rifle regiments sent there as part of Operation ANADYR. Now, he was in America, and not only had he gotten to hate the place called Texas, he had also found out that the local population, with few exceptions, resented the Socialist Forces' presence, and had made that clear on several occasions, either with mortar attacks on his missile support battalion at previous locations, snipers, and even a culvert bomb that had blown one of his missile transporters-and the S-75 missile being carried-into tiny pieces.

Now, his missile support battalion was in the rear of the East Germans, supporting both the Voyska-PVO S-75 and S-125 (SA-2 and SA-3) sites in the area. To make matters worse, the Army had moved in a missile support unit of its own, for the 2K11 (SA-4), 2K12 (SA-6) and 9K33 Osa missiles used by both Soviet and East German units, and they all happened to be sharing the same area. To his surprise, the Colonel got along fine with his Army opposite number, a Lieutenant Colonel like himself, only younger-it seemed that the man had been promoted to take a dead man's place. Something all too common in the Soviet military these days......So far, he'd never been attacked from the air, but he'd heard from battery commanders who had, and often the first warning was the WHOOSH of the antiradar missile, followed by the missile exploding on target.

The Colonel got up from behind his military-issue desk, and left the ranch house being used as a headquarters, and went to see how things were going. The Stephenville S-75 site was due to be back online in two days, and finally, all of the necessary equipment had arrived. Command was also hoping to add an S-125 site in the same area, and one of his officers had left with a party to survey possible site locations, for the Imperialists had been very active in the air, and both the Army and the East Germans were screaming for additional missile cover. He walked over to where several missile transporters were parked, each with an S-75 on a trailer, and was about to sign them out when he heard shouting, then the ZU-23 AA guns around the site began firing. Air raid? He scanned the sky, then was suddenly pushed into a slit trench by someone, who said, “Comrade Colonel, air attack!”

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his bomb run. Coming in, he easily picked out where the SA-2 transporters were parked, and centered them in his pipper, and noticed the tracers coming up at him. Ignoring the light flak coming up, and even a SA-7 type missile that flew by on the left side, Guru got ready to release....Not your day, Ivan, or Franz.....”Steady...Steady...And.....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, releasing his six Mark-82s and six M-117Rs onto the target below, walking them across the transporters and the missile containers nearby. Guru then pulled wings level and headed north, jinking as he did to avoid flak and any MANPADS. Only then did he make his call. “Lead's off safe.”

“Damn!” Muttered the Colonel as Guru's F-4 came overhead. This was his first time under air attack, and he shuddered in the trench as the bombs went off. Then there were several sympathetic detonations as something had been set off by the bomb blasts. The Colonel was tempted to look, but remembered his training, and the air raid drills. More enemy aircraft were coming in.

Goalie yelled from 512's back seat. “SHACK!”

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as he jinked again.

“Good ones,” Goalie replied. “And a missile at Seven,” she added.

Guru jinked right, and glanced over as a missile-probably another SA-7 type, flew past. Then he headed to the northeast, intent on finding the Brazos. Now he and Goalie were flying for themselves.“Keep an eye out,” he said.

“You got it.”


Kara came in next. “Two's in hot!” She called, putting 520 in on its bomb run. She saw the CO's run, and noted with satisfaction as the SA-2 transporters-and what looked like missiles in their shipping containers-going up in fireballs. Kara lined up on the SA-3 area, and picked out several SA-3 transporters. Your turn, she thought. She, took ignored the flak coming up as she lined up the transporters in her pipper. “Steady.....And....And... NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, sending her bombs down on the Russians below. She, too pulled wings level, and began jinking to avoid flak and SAMs. Only then did Kara call, “Two off target.”

“Of all the...” the Colonel said as Kara's F-4 came over. Again, he felt the concussion of the bombs going off in the trench, and just as before, there were sympathetic explosions. The Colonel didn't need to lift his head and have a look around, for he knew where the explosions had come from. The S-125 area, he said to himself. He stood up, only to see the ZU-23s track back to the south and open fire. The Colonel ducked back into the trench, for more Imperialist aircraft were coming in.

“GOOD HITS!” Shouted Brainiac from 520's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

“How good?” Kara asked as an SA-7 type missile flew right overhead by about fifty feet. Then she jinked again to throw off any bad guys' aim.

“Good and big!”

“Then we'll take those,” Kara said. She picked up the CO's smoke trail, then got eyeballs on his bird.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came down on the target. She picked out the SA-4s on their tracked transporters, and rolled in. Though the defenders down below were sending up 23-mm fire back at her, along with what looked like machine-gun fire, Sweaty ignored the flak as she lined up the SA-4 transporters in her pipper. “And...And....And.....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, releasing her six M-117Rs and six Mark-82s down onto the target, walking her bombs across the SA-4 area. Sweaty then pulled wings level and headed north, jinking as she did so to avoid flak. “Three off target.”

“Sookin sin,” the Colonel muttered in the trench. Son of a bitch. That was his thought as Sweaty's F-4 came by. He glanced upwards, and saw the F-4 actually releasing its bombs. Now what was the target? Then he knew, as the aircraft’s path took it over the 2K12 area. Then the bombs exploded, and sure enough, several more explosions followed. He stayed in the trench, even as fragments of shrapnel and were they vehicles-landed in the trench. The Colonel then lifted his head and looked to the south. The AA guns were traversing again in that direction. More aircraft....


“SHACK!” Preacher shouted. “Got some secondaries!”

Sweaty was jinking as she avoided some 23-mm tracers. “How many?”

“Several good ones,” replied Preacher.

“Good enough for the guy upstairs?” Sweaty asked her seminary student-turned GIB.

“He'd be happy.”


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw the explosions on the ground where Sweaty had laid down her bombs, and the fires and smoke where the CO and Kara had done the same. He picked out the ranch buildings, and saw a missile cook off and fly into one of the two barns, which immediately exploded. “Thank you, Major,” he said to himself as the ranch buildings came into his pipper. Hoser lined them up in the pipper, and muttered. “Steady.....Steady....HACK!” He hit his pickle button, releasing his bombs onto the HQ area. Hoser then pulled wings level, pulling up and away from the target, then made his call. “Four off safe.”

The Colonel heard Hoser's F-4 come over, and saw the bombs coming off. He ducked involuntarily into the trench as one bomb obliterated the ranch house headquarters, but then another bomb landed right next to the trench....the Colonel and several others in the trench never had the chance to scream.


“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled. “Got a few secondaries. And a couple of fireballs.” That usually meant fuel going up.

“How good?” Hoser asked, dodging an SA-7 and noting the tracers falling short.

“Big enough,” she replied.

Hoser smiled as he picked up his element lead's trail, then saw Sweaty's F-4 up ahead. “We'll take those.”


Back at the SAM facility, a Soviet Army Lieutenant Colonel got up out of his own trench and shook his head. He'd been bombed before, but this one was bad. He took a look around and noted three of the 2K12 transporters were nothing but junk, their missiles either detonated or had shot off on their own, and where several missiles had been stored in their shipping containers, only a couple of bomb craters and some fires remained. A quick glance over at the V-PVO area for the S-75s and S-125s told a similar story. The man shook his head, and when a V-PVO Captain came up and told him his opposite number had been killed, he simply nodded. Time to get this madhouse back in some kind of order, he knew. His training and experience kicked in, and he began issuing orders.


“Here we go,” Guru said. “Time to fly for ourselves.”

“Four in and out of the target area,” Goalie said. “No flak yet.”

“Hope it stays that way,” replied Guru. He was watching for tracers, especially the basketball-sized ones. That meant ZSU-30-2s, and those he did not want to see.

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Coming up on your Five.”

Guru glanced at his Five O'clock, and saw 520 coming up in combat spread. “Tally on you,” Guru replied. “Sweaty?”

“On your Six, and coming fast. Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called back. “Light flak at Two O'clock.”

“I see it,” Guru said. Light tracers were coming up, either heavy machine guns or 23-mm. None of the flak was accurate, for the tracers either fell short or flew wide. “Crystal Palace,” Guru called. “Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-six-five for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-two. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Corvette Lead, nearest threats are Floggers. Second threats also Floggers. Third threats are Fishbeds.”

“Copy that,” said Guru.

“One minute to the Brazos,” Goalie said. “More flak at eleven.” She checked her map. “It's the nuke plant!”

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “Follow me.” He banked right to give the Triple-A around the Comanche Peak Nuclear Power Plant a wide berth, and the rest of the flight followed. Some black puffs of 57-mm came close, but thanks to their ECM pods, the F-4s were able to evade the flak. And a few seconds later, they were at the Brazos and the Glen Rose Bridge on U.S. 67, where more flak from the East German gunners came up. They evaded that barrage, then crossed the river into the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, then turned north, then banked slightly west to pick up the river. “How long to the Fence?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Two minutes,” she replied. “And more flak at the Granbury bridge.”

“First time in a while we've had fire from these chumps on the way out.”

“Even they have to earn their pay,” quipped Goalie.

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller called. “Threat bearing One-eight-zero for thirty-five. Medium, still closing. Second threat bearing One-seven-two for forty-five, Medium, closing.”

“Crystal Palace, Corvette,” Guru replied. “Can you arrange a reception for those party-crashers?”

Aboard the AWACS, the controller chuckled, then replied, “That's affirmative, Corvette. Break. Rustler Three-one, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-seven-five for fifty. Clear to arm, clear to fire. Kill. Repeat: KILL.”

“Rustler Three-one copies,” an F-15 leader called, then led four F-15Cs in on the bandits.


“Fence in thirty,” Goalie called.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He reached down and turned on his IFF transponder. The last thing anyone wanted as they cleared the Fence was a friendly-fire incident, either with their own kind, or worse, the Army down below.

“And there it is...” said Goalie as the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared, then flew past in a blur.

Then the F-15s engaged the MiG-23s, killing three of the first flight, then the second flight came in. Two more from that flight also went down, before the F-15s broke off due to fuel.

After clearing the I-20, Corvette Flight headed for the tanker track. Guru saw that two of his flights from the 335th were also joining up for their post-strike refueling, and he was glad to see a four-ship and a two-ship drinking fuel. The four-ship happened to be the Ops Officer's while the two-ship was Dave Golen and Flossy.

After their own refueling, Corvette Flight headed for Sheppard, and when they got there, their flight was the last one in. After landing, the flight taxied to the squadron's dispersal, and noticed, as usual, the news crew filming them. “They ever stop?” Guru asked.

“Have to ask them, I suppose,” Goalie said. “They'll have plenty of stock footage of F-4s when this is over.”

Guru shook his head as he and Goalie popped their canopies and taxied into their revetment. After getting the “Shut down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, and shutting down, both took a deep breath. Four and done, and not a scratch. They went through the post-flight checklist as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Then they climbed down and did a quick walk-around. “Sergeant,” Guru said as Sergeant Crowley brought him and Goalie each a bottle of water.

“How's my bird, sir?” Crowley asked.

“She's going good, Sergeant. Whatever you're doing? Don't change a thing,” Guru told his Crew Chief. “Get her ready for the morning.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “All right you guys! Let's get the Major's bird ready for tomorrow.”

As both pilot and GIB left, the ground crew got right to work. “You do know, those guys need a break,” Guru said. “Even more than we do.”

“Any chance of bad weather?” Goalie asked.

“Not for another four days at least,” the CO said as they got to the entrance to the revetment, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. “How'd you guys do?”

“Made the SA-3s go away,” Kara said.

“And some of 'em flew off horizontal, if you get the drift,” Brainiac added.

Guru let out a grin. “I sure do,” he said as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT arrived. “Have a good one?”

“Good for us,” Sweaty replied. “But not so good for Ivan,” she grinned.

“I'm sure the Good Lord would approve,” Preacher added.

Hoser nodded. “There were quite a few secondaries there, and killing SAMs this way beats Wild Weasels doing it.”

“Seconded,” KT said.

As they walked back to the squadron's office, they passed the F-20s in their revetments, with company tech reps going over the aircraft. “Still got something to teach those boys,” Guru said.

“For that 'Greatest since the P-51' remark?” Kara asked.

Guru nodded. “That, for one. But it'll have to wait until after the war, assuming we're all still alive,” he said.

“There is that one little detail,” Sweaty noted.

“Yeah, and tomorrow's the day Frank gets notified he's not going to the F-20 Program.”

“Happy Day,” Kara grinned. “This'll be the second time that bastard finds out not everything goes his way.” She was referring to when their previous CO, the late Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, had been killed, and Guru had gotten the squadron as he was XO, even though he was only a Captain at the time.

“Which begs two questions: first, how's he going to react?” Preacher asked. “And second? How long until he gets a case of the stupids?”

Guru winced, but replied. “Both are valid questions. Just as long as any such case doesn't get any friendlies-or himself for that matter, killed.”

“Lovely,” Kara spat.

“Yeah,” the CO agreed. “Okay, let's talk to Sin and debrief. Check your desks for anything for the armchair warriors want, then we're off the clock.”

Heads nodded. “And menana,” KT said. “We're at this again.”

“That we are,” Guru said. “Come on. Let's get debriefed.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part 21: Blowing off Steam in the O-Club... And grudges are born.


335th TFS, 1700 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was in his office, going over some last bits of paperwork before he could call it a day and go on over to the Officer's Club for dinner and some “stress reduction.” He had finished what was in his IN box when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come in!”

The Exec came in. “Boss, got a few things for you before we're off the clock.”

Guru nodded. “Lay it on me, Mark.” He was looking forward to discussing the fight with the F-20s at the Club-hopefully without using his fists, because he still wanted to cut the F-20 jockeys down to size.

“First, aircraft status report for tomorrow. We'll have two birds down,” Ellis said. “Kerry's bird, you know about, but Van Loan's bird has an issue with the oxygen system. They're pulling it now.”

“How serious?” The CO asked.

“They may replace all the oxygen generators, and purge the system, Kev O'Donnell says. His guys will pull an all-nighter, but plan on it being down.”

Guru looked at his Exec. “It might be ready by the morning?”

“Might, underlined about four or five times.” Ellis reported. “We did get the two new birds from Japan, and he can use one. Frank's been using the other since his bird had a hundred-hour check.”

“He gets his regular bird back when?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. What else?” Guru wanted to know.

“R&R roster, and no officers on this one,” Ellis said, handing the CO the list. “Some lucky enlisted folks get their two weeks.”

Guru nodded, taking the list. “Okay....one of these days, I'm probably going to put my Crew Chief on that list. Even if I have to order him to take some R&R.”

“Take two weeks with your family, enjoy yourself, and oh, by the way, that's an order?”

“Something like that.”

Ellis chuckled. “That's a first. At least, that I know of.”

Guru nodded. “First time for everything, Mark. What's next?”

“General Yeager told me that three of our people have applied to the F-20 program. Two got in,” Ellis said. “The third.....”

“We know about,” finished Guru. “Let's just hope that Frank takes it like a man, instead of going off half-cocked.” And that's as likely as the Russians throwing me a birthday party, he thought.

“Yeah. Anyway, they've got two weeks before they have to report to Edwards. So we don't lose them right away,” said Ellis.

“Which gives us time to get a couple of replacements,” the CO noted. “Okay, get the ball rolling on that. We get a new PAO in two days, and hopefully Goalie's friend Cassidy shows up sooner than expected.”

“Meaning, she finishes the next ferry run and comes this way instead of going back to Okinawa,” Ellis nodded. “Hopefully.”

“Yeah,” the CO said. “What's left?”

Ellis handed him a sheet. “Weather update, and no change for four more days. So when those RAF guys get here....”

“The day after, we get a storm, and no flying. Good. We get a day off to catch up on maintenance, and on sleep,” said Guru. “That it?”

Ellis smiled. “It is until morning.”

The CO got out of his chair and looked at the clock, which read 1710. “Now we're off the clock. Let's get to the Club.”


When the CO and XO got to the Club, it was already filling up. Both officers bellied up to the bar, and found Colonel Brady already there. “Colonel,” Guru said.

“Major,” Brady replied. “Heard about the hassle with the F-20s. You guys thought you'd clean up on those young pups. Instead....”

“Instead, sir, we came out even,” Guru admited. “Smitty? What's available?”

“No Sam Adams until tomorrow, at least. Bud, Foster's, Sapporo, Miller Lite...” replied the bartender.

“Bud for me and the Exec,” Guru said. Smitty produced two cold bottles, and Guru paid him. Then he turned back to Colonel Brady. “Both sides had every pilot-or in our case, GIB, an ace, and yet...”

Brady nodded. He'd had his backseat ride a couple days earlier. “Both sides learned something.”

Guru nodded as General Yeager and his people came in. And he noticed the icy stares being exchanged between the F-4 people and the F-20 jocks. “And both sides have some unfinished business. Uh, sir.”

Brady nodded. “That'll have to wait, though.”

“Yes, sir. After the war. Assuming, that is, everyone involved lives that long,” Guru noted.

“There is that little detail,” Ellis observed. “Something to keep in mind.”

“That's always a factor,” Brady said. “You going up with them, Major?”

“Tomorrow after our second mission,” said Guru. “But if anyone's expecting me to give up the 335th for the F-20? They are sadly mistaken.”

Colonel Brady nodded. “And there is someone in particular who'd be happy if that happened.”

“He'll be doubly disappointed, sir,” Guru replied. “General Yeager's already told me that someone is not getting in an F-20 ever again.”

Brady knew what Major Wiser was talking about. “In that case, Major, you'd best keep an eye on that someone.”

“Sir, we've already started that.”

“Good,” said Brady. Then General Olds came in. “Looks like General Olds wants a word with me. You two have a good evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said, and Ellis did the same.

Guru went to the table his flight normally used, and found them already there. “Well?”

“Next-to-last night for these guys,” Kara said, and everyone could hear the nasty mood in her voice. “I'll clean them out after what happened today.”

“If you want to fleece them? Go ahead,” the CO said. “I'm not in a good mood myself. If that had been real, I'd be writing a bunch of letters.”

“Not good,” Sweaty noted. “So, where are they building those things, anyway? Heard the Northrop factory in California's busy with F/A-18 work.”

“Taiwan and South Korea is what I heard,” Hoser said. “Heard Prada and Clancy talking about that.”

Hearing that, KT asked, “Why there?”

“Both of them built F-5s under license,” Brainiac said. “Not that much of a jump to the F-20.”

“No,” said Guru. “Anything new in the papers?” He asked.

“Just getting to those,” Goalie said as Ms. Wendt and her crew came in, and they were talking again with Flossy and Jang. “I'll bet they're doing a story on the two female crews.”

“No takers,” Kara said. She handed Guru the Los Angeles Times. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Guru replied. “Anything in Stars and Stripes?”

“Says here the 6th Marine Divison was awarded a PUC for that raid on Kola.”

“Didn't Colonel Brady say that was a Charlie-Fox from his view?” Brainiac asked. “I remember him saying something about that.”

“Pretty much,” Guru nodded as he scanned the L.A. Times. “Well, now.....Looks like the neutralist cowards in West Germany just lost another cabinet member.”

“Another 'car accident?'” Goalie joked as she went through the local section of the same paper.

“Nope,” Guru said. “Says here the Minister of Justice said-and in public, mind-that 'I can no longer serve a government supposedly dedicated to freedom and democracy when those very institutions are under attack, and have been for two years. I call upon the Chancellor and Foreign Minister to resign, and, like the fellow travelers they are, join their friends in East Berlin, if not Moscow.”

“Where'd he say that?” Dave Golen asked from a nearby table. He'd been politely listening in.

“Says here at a rally of some kind in Cologne.”

“More than that,” Jack Lord, their RAF Liasion Officer, said as he came by. “Just heard the BBC on shortwave. “They had 200,000 there, people from all over the Ruhr and the Rhineland. Another one in Munich had about 100,000.”

“And all demanding the Greens pack their bags and go to Moscow.” Kara noted.

“That's it,” Jana Wendt said as she and her crew arrived. “And this was probably too late for the paper, but the Greens tried to get a new Defense Minister. The fellow they wanted turned down the job offer. Said he wouldn't serve a government that was a stooge of Moscow and East Berlin.”

Hearing that, General Olds observed, “Somebody didn't want to get run over by the tanks when the coup goes down.”

“Well, General, somebody over there has some common sense,” Guru said. “Either the Greenie scum get the message, and go join their pals in East Berlin, or the tanks roll. Question is, when?”

“Soon,” Sin Licon commented. “Won't be too long. Two weeks, earliest, A month, most.”

“Sooner the better,” General Olds said.


A few minutes later, the Mess Crew arrived, with meals prepared by the restaurateurs who had taken over the mess operation. “People, we've got grilled chicken, or Salisbury Steak, with all the fixings. Come and get it.”

After people got their meals, it was time for the CBS Evening News, and the “Most trusted man in America” came on. “Good evening from Los Angeles. In Texas, U.S. Forces continue to meet Soviet and East German counterattacks in Central Texas. Our Richard Threlkeld has a report.”

The screen then showed U.S. Army armored cavalry moving forward, with M-1 tanks and M-113 ACAV vehicles pushing ahead. Occasionally, there would be a BOOM as a tank fired its main gun, and a fireball. “Here, west of the Brazos River, the Third Armored Cavalry is busy dealing with Soviet and East German rearguards and stragglers. Some of the Russians are eager to surrender, while others, and most of the East Germans, are not, and have to be blasted out.” The screen then showed cavalry troopers flushing some East Germans out of a farm or ranch house, and most of them being cut down by fire from both vehicles and small-arms fire. “But after a fight, the enemy wounded get the same care as a wounded American.” Then there were scenes of a medic treating an East German soldier who had a severe belly wound, then the man was loaded onto an M-113 ambulance and taken, along with some American casualties, to an aid station. “I'm with Major Monica Vansen, and her squadron has been in the thick of it. Major,” Threlkeld asked a blonde woman in a Cavalry Stetson and full armor officer's regalia, 'How's it going today?”

“So far, pretty good,” Vansen replied. “I'd like to be a little further south than we are, but sometimes, that's up to the bad guys.” She waved at several wrecked T-72 tanks and BTR-70 APCs. “Overall, though, we're doing well.”

“How tough is the enemy?”

“The East Germans are pretty tough, and most of the Soviets, but these guys-”she pointed at several Soviets who were chatting amicably with a couple of American officers, “are Estonians. They don't want to be here, and they gave up when they found the chance. Wish more of 'em would, though.” She took a drink from a canteen, then picked up a radio handset and began speaking into it.

“And so far, the Army in this sector is pushing back south. And this part of Texas, is once again, in American hands. Richard Threlkeld, with the Third Armored Cavalry, Central Texas.”

After a couple of reports about the war at sea, one from a destroyer that had an ASW action escorting a coastal convoy, a commercial break, then a story that warmed the hearts of those in the Club. “Our sister Network from Australia, 9 News, has a correspondent with the Air Force in Texas, Jana Wendt interviewed two of the pilots who are flying every day into the Bear's mouth.”

The report began. “Here, at an air base in Liberated Texas, is an Air Force squadron that has been fighting since the first day of the war. The squadron's commander is a young Major who is one of a few veterans of the first day of the war. And he's not much older than those he leads.” Then Guru's interview began. As those in the Club watched, there were more than a few smiles on the faces of the aircrews, AF, Marine, and Navy. “And, something that would've been unheard of two years ago, he has a female back seat weapons officer.” Goalie then came on the screen, and the interview continued.

“We have this relatonship in the cockpit,” Guru said. “I do the pilot stuff, she does the WSO stuff. And I told her, 'Lisa,I don't want to die surprised. If my last conscious thought is 'What the hell was that?' I'll hunt you for eternity.”

“And you know what?” Goalie said with a chuckle. “He really did say that.” And hoots of laughter followed, for a number of pilot/GIB combinations did the same.

“This is just one of several crews we're following. Including two all-female crews, which may be an first for the Air Force. And this squadron keeps on going, taking the fight to the enemy. . Jana Wendt, with the U.S. Air Force, Liberated Texas.”

Applause followed, and several slaps on both Guru's and Goalie's backs followed. “Nice job, Boss!” Don Van Loan said.

“Hope the GRU likes that interview,” Flossy added.

Guru smiled, then turned to Goalie. “Well?”

“If our peers like it, hope the GRU does,” Goalie grinned.

Jack Lord stared at them. “How can they get it to Moscow?”

“They've got a big SIGINT Station in Cuba,” Sin Licon said. “They can either tape it there, or just relay it to Moscow. Either way, this winds up in their files.”

Lord shook his head. “Well, Guru,” he said. “Hope they enjoy it.”

“They'll get more,” Ms. Wendt grinned. “That was just a part,” as the rest of the news aired. “The whole thing aired in Sydney, and chances are, CBS will want the whole thing as well.”

“So be warned?” Guru asked.

“Be warned.”

After a couple of more segments, and a Charles Kuralt On the Road piece, this time from Atlantic City, NJ, where the casinos were still open, but catering to military personnel on R&R, then Walter Cronkite signed off. “And that's the way it is. For all of us at CBS News, good night.”

“Well, Major?” General Olds asked. “You might want to be careful now. Remember what happened to Robbie Risner and Jim Kasler in Vietnam when they got profiled by Time?”

“That I do, General,” Guru said as he got up to go back to the bar. “They got shot down, and the North Vietnamese weren't happy to see both of them. They got more than their share of abuse in Hanoi.”

Goalie nodded. “They did.” She had attended an Academy lecture with several Vietnam POWs speaking, and both General Risner and Colonel Kasler had been among those present.

“In that case, I do need another beer,” Guru said as he went to the bar. When he got there, he found a familiar-and loathed-figure in undress blues getting his own beer. “Frank.”

“Major,” Major Frank Carson replied politely, though Guru could tell the arrogance in his voice.

“I see someone's all dressed up, even if they don't need to,” Guru said, referring to the other animals in the zoo.

“Someone has to uphold Air Force standards, especially with Generals Olds and Yeager here,” Carson replied.

“Notice they're in flight suits?” Guru pointed out. “One more,” he nodded at Smitty.

“So?”

“There's a time and a place for dressing up, Frank. And guess what? This ain't it,” Guru reminded him as Smitty handed him a cold beer. He paid the barkeep, and said, '”Thanks.”

“Anytime, Major,” the barkeep smiled.

“The way you're strutting around, Frank? Looks like you're looking forward to something.”

“I've applied to the F-20 program, and I'm looking forward to the transition,” Carson said smugly. “Then my talents will be properly appreciated by the Air Force.”

Guru regarded Carson. The most loathed figure in the squadron, and yet..... “Well, Frank? Take some advice my Grandma gave me a long time ago: Don't count your chickens until they're hatched.”

“What do you mean?” Carson asked, and the CO could tell the contempt in his voice.

“Just that three people applied to the F-20 program from this squadron, and two got in,” Guru said. Take my advice: Be prepared for some possible bad news.”

“I'm pretty confident that I will be accepted into the program.”

“Okay, Frank. Just, well, don't say you weren't warned about the alternative,” Guru said, returning to his table.

“What was all that about with Frank?” Kara asked. She was getting ready to hold court at the pool table.

Guru let out a grin. “Just telling him not to count his chickens, because I did say three people from this unit applied to the F-20, and two got in.”

Goalie nodded. “And he thinks he's one of the two.” It wasn't a question.

“Bingo.”.

Brainiac shook his head. “Wouldn't want to be the one who tells him.”

“You're not the only one,” Hoser said. “How's that going to work?”

“Chances are, the old letter that says, 'Dear candidate, your application has been carefully reviewed...' And we know the rest,” Preacher nodded.

“Yeah, and I'm just hoping he'll take the hint and ask for a transfer,” Guru said. “Either that, or Sundown Cunningham shows up and kicks him off this base so fast Frank never knows what hit him.”

Kara grinned. “That'll be the day.” She then got up and went to the pool table. To her surprise, General Olds' aide, Major Brandon Kinney, came over and laid down his money. Kara showed hers, then went to work. A few minutes later, the aide came back, his wallet lightened. “Next!”

“She always like that?” Kinney asked. He was angry, and wanted his money back.

“You've been around here long enough to find out,” Don Van Loan pointed out.

“First time it happened for real,” Kinney grumbled. He went straight to the bar. Since he was the General's aide, Twelve-Hour didn't apply to him, and he decided to get sloppy drunk.

“Uh-oh....” Guru said. “Looks like Kara's got some competition.”

“Who?” Sweaty asked. Then she saw it. “General Yeager.”

“Uh-huh...” Guru nodded. Both combatants laid down their money, then went at it. It didn't take long for General Yeager's skills to show, and Kara found her wallet lightened by $50.00. She came back to the table in a fit of the sulks. “Well?”

“That's twice with him,” Kara grumbled. She checked her watch. “Twenty minutes to Twelve-Hour. I can get a little bit drunk, then go back and teach some manners to those young punks.” To prove her point, she went straight to the bar, got another beer, then went back to the pool table.

“That's three generals who've beaten her,” Mark Ellis nodded. “What happens if Sundown comes and she beats him?”

“Good question,” Guru said.


A few minutes later, it was Clancy's turn. He went to Kara, shook hands, then laid down his money. Kara did so as well, and they went at it. This time, Kara's skills were superior, just as they had been in the air that morning, and Clancy's wallet was now $50.00 lighter. “Where'd she learn to play pool like that?”

“Auburn,” Goalie said. “Try some of the student hangouts there, because that's where she went to college.”

“Swell,” Clancy grumbled as he went to the bar and came back with a Pepsi.

“That all he drinks?” Preacher noted. He wasn't puritanical, far from it, and wasn't shy about buying a round and hoisting a cold one. But he did notice.

“Looks like,” KT said. “Reminds me of something they said in OTS. There was a Medal of Honor winner in Vietnam, some guy who flew A-1s. Anyway, they say the strongest thing he drank was iced tea.”

“To each his own,” Dave Golen observed. He noted Flossy and Jang along with Cosmo and Revlon talking with Ms. Wendt. This was an “Off the record” conversation as the cameraman and sound man weren't there. “I see our guest from the media's talking with the, well, “unmanned” crews. Again.”

“Oh?” Guru asked. Then he saw for himself. “She'll be doing the same with the Day One vets. Those of us who are left.”

Golen understood. “Just like the Battle of Britain,” he said. “You guys are this war's version of Churchill's 'few.'”

“And just like those guys, we have a habit of getting fewer,” Guru said, remembering lost friends.


A few minutes before Twelve-Hour, Colonel Brady rang the bell. “People! Got something to share with you all. The F-20 people had a DACT with some F-4s from the 335th, and both sides went in expecting to clean up. Didn't quite work out that way, and well, in a fight where everyone involved is an ace, honors came out even. General Yeager? Major Wiser? Anything to say as the only ones who are, well, 'alive', other than General Olds, who had a hell of a Check Ride?” He glanced over at General Olds, who nodded.

“Colonel,” Yeager said. “Both sides got humbled. Though a few lessons were taught to each.”

“They were, General,” Guru replied. “On both sides. But, I'll wager that both also have scores to settle.”

“Oh, we do,” Kara muttered.

“You've got that right,” Clancy grumbled, just loud enough for Pruitt and Prada to hear.

“General Olds?” Brady asked.

Olds stood up. “I'll say this much: It was one hell of a check ride, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.”

“No doubt, General,” Brady said. “Ten minutes to Twelve-Hour, so drink up!”

People finished their drinks, for at 1900, one of the Navy flight surgeons rang the bar bell. “Twelve-Hour's now in effect!”

For those on the flight schedule in the morning, they either turned in their drinks or poured them out. Then it was strictly nonalcoholic from then on.

“Well, Boss?” Hoser asked as he brought a plate of nachos over. “More of the same tomorrow.”

“As long as it's not CAS,” Sweaty nodded. “Had enough of that a few days ago.”

“Down, both of you,” Guru said firmly. “We take what they give us. And tomorrow, I get a ride in the F-20D.”

Goalie looked at her pilot and lover. “And?”

“And I'll tell them it's a nice little interceptor that's small, nimble, and deadly. But I'll stick with Double-Ugly, mind, until the F-15E comes along,” said Guru. “No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Hear, hear,” Brainiac said. “No F-15E means GIBs are out of a job.”

“Can't have that,” Sweaty added. “When?”

“Year and a half, maybe two,” Guru said. “If Aviation Leak is accurate.” He was referring to Aviation Week and Space Technology magazine, which, despite the war, was still living up to its nickname.

“Happy day when those come,” said Goalie.

“Really happy.”


Time flew, and it wasn't long until 2100, when Doc Waters rang the bell. “Aircrew curfew in effect!” With that, those on the flight schedule headed off to their tents to grab some sleep, because it wouldn't be long until 0430 and the beginning of a new day. And getting on with the war.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 22: A new day, another strike, info comes about the RAF's pending arrival, and some people find out about their applications to go to the F-20...



335th TFS Offices, Sheppard AFB, TX; 13 November, 1987, 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser walked from his tent to the squadron's office. A building that housed a T-38 training squadron as part of Air Training Command prewar, he noted the bullet holes in the walls, left over after the 23rd ID had taken the base. Something that needed to be taken care of, especially with winter coming, he knew. Making a mental note to ask Colonel Brady about that, he glanced skyward. Some middle-level and upper-level clouds, were visible in the predawn sky as the eastern horizon grew lighter, and that meant good flying weather. The CO went into the office, and found the night-shift SDO there. “Hacksaw,” Major Wiser said. “How's the cold?”

“Getting better, Major,” Hacksaw replied. “Not sneezing as much. Doc says it'll be another four days before I'm cleared.”

“Been there, done that,” Guru replied, remembering a cold that had kept him grounded for two weeks back in March. “Doc say anything else?”

“Just that I'll be back flying then. Other than that? Have to bear it.”

“Listen to him,” the CO reminded Hacksaw. “And keep in mind that if you think you're missing anything?”

“Boss?” Hacksaw asked.

“You're not,” the CO said firmly. He glanced towards his office. “XO in?”

The SDO nodded. “Waiting for you, Boss.”

“Good,” said Guru. “What's Wolfman Jack playing?” He gestured to the radio on Hacksaw's desk.

“Little bit of everything,” Hacksaw replied. “Journey, Van Halen, Rolling Stones, Otis Redding, Had Nancy Sinatra on a few minutes ago.”

Guru smiled. “Let me guess: These Boots are Made for Walkin'.” It wasn't a question.

“Four-oh, Boss.”

“Okay. Now, someone from General Yeager might come by and leave a letter on folks' desks. Three people applied for the F-20, and two got in. He may notify by letter, and so...”

Hacksaw nodded. “Gotcha, Boss. And when Major Carson gets one....”

“Let me know,” Guru said, and Hacksaw noticed the firmness in his voice. “No telling what's going to happen when that goes down.”

“Will do, Boss, and I'll pass it on.”

“Do that.”

Guru then headed to his office, and found the Exec waiting with a cup of steaming liquid. “Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said pleasantly as he handed the CO a cup of hot cocoa. “Not much paperwork wise.”

“That'll change,” Guru noted as he started on the drink. “What's up?”

“Morning reports for both MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force,” the XO said. He had a clipboard with the papers for the CO's signature.

Guru signed, then nodded. “Next?”

The Exec checked the papers. “RAF guys will be here in three days.”

“Good, and we'll have some dedicated strike escort, for once. They can also cover the recon birds. Dave and Flossy flew escort for Athena and Helo yesterday,” the CO noted. “And General Yeager and his people will be with the ROKs then.”

“They will,” said Ellis. “Next? Weather. Good weather for the next three days. In four....”

The CO finished for him. “We're due for a storm. Nice way for our British cousins to get a welcome to Texas.”

“One way to put it,” the XO replied. “Ever fly with the Brits?”

“No, but if there'd been no war, a REFORGER or a Crested Cap exercise would've come along. Ross told me that if the balloon had gone up in NATO? We were supposed to go to Bentwaters in the UK,” said Guru.

“Like in those two Hackett books? Boy, did he get World War Three wrong.”

“Everybody did,” Guru reminded him. “What about our two sick birds?”

“Maintenance is working on Kerry Collins' bird as we speak. They did an all-nighter, and Van Loan's bird is good to go. His element ate at Early-Bird, and they'll be up shortly on the check flight.”

Guru nodded. “Okay. Now, anything else, besides General Yeager notifying people about their applications to the F-20 program?”

“Nada, Boss,” Ellis said as there was a knock on the door.

“Gome in and show yourself,” Guru said.

His GIB, First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, came in bearing two cups of hot liquid. “Morning, Boss,” she said. “And XO.” She handed the CO a cup. “More hot chocolate for the Boss.”

Guru grinned. “And you want me alert and awake,” he said.

“What's wrong with that?” his girlfriend replied. Everyone in the squadron knew about their relationship.

“Nothing. Now, Mark? Any idea when General Yeager informs the lucky two, and the unlucky Frank?”

The XO shook his head. “Nada, Boss.”

“Speaking of F-20s,” Goalie asked. “When's your ride?”

“Today, after our second run,” Guru said. “Get a little perspective on those after yesterday,” he added, recalling their DACT with Yeager's people.

“And?”

“I'll tell the General that the F-20's a nice little interceptor, good for air forces that can't afford anything better, and maybe Aggressor and ANG use postwar is probably the most they can expect,” said Guru.

“Good, because GIBs aren't going out of style,” Goalie replied. “Everybody else here is waiting on the F-15E.”

Guru let out a grin. “You're not the only one with that in mind. Now, Mark. Anything else?”

“Not now,” the Exec replied.

“Good. Tonight, we'll make Buddy an honorary Captain, get him a card for the O-Club, all of that. I'd like to do it while General Olds is here. And he's leaving day after tomorrow.”

“Will do, Boss,” Ellis said.

Guru nodded, then looked at the wall clock. 0555. “Let's go eat. We've got a busy day ahead.”

On their way out of the office, the three officers paused to listen to Hacksaw's radio. “Well, haven't heard that in a while, Boss,” Hacksaw said.

“What?” Guru asked.

“Petula Clark's Downtown.”

That had been the song from which the phrase “Going Downtown” had come during Vietnam. “Want to bet an oldies station in Miami gets that requested a lot?” Goalie quipped. “The guys at Homestead Go Downtown to Havana all the time.”

“No bet,” Ellis said. “This is one Kara wouldn't take.”

“I'll go along with that,” the CO said. “Let's go eat.”



When they got to the Officer's Mess Tent, people were milling around, and General Olds was talking with not only Colonel Brady, but the news people and their RAF liaison officer. “General,” Guru said, sketching a salute.

“Major,” Olds replied. “Just touching base with our friends from the Fourth Estate.”

“Be warned, General,” said Guru. “Ms. Wendt there can be a sneaky bitch. She'll have you in front of the cameras again before you know it.”

Hearing that, Ms. Wendt smiled. “He's already paid that compliment to me already, General.”

“Once was enough, thanks,” Olds grinned. “After General Yeager leaves, it'll be time for me to move on.”

Brady and the other officers nodded. “At least, sir, you'll see tonight who got into the F-20 from this base.”

“Two lucky ones, sir,” Guru added. He glanced around, looking for Major Carson. The skunk was nowhere to be seen. Good. “And one who's not going to be too happy, and we all know who that person will be.”

“A certain snotty major?” Olds asked, and he saw Guru nod. “Good.”

“Speaking of General Yeager, you have a hop today with him, Major?” Brady asked.

“Yes, sir. Right after my second strike. Debrief, then jump into the D, then go,” replied Guru. “And I'll be polite. They're nice little interceptors who'd make a decent aggressor bird, and Northrop will be happy with FMS sales postwar, but other than that....”

“Guard and Reserve?” Olds asked.

“Yes, sir. Unless the Congress-Critters tell the Air Force otherwise.”

Olds shook his head. “Politics.”

“Yes, sir,”

Then the Marine Mess Officer came and flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow Hall's open.”


After breakfast, the crews headed to their respective briefing rooms, while the flight leads got their missions. When the CO got to the Ops Office, he found his Ops Officer already back from his check ride. “Don,”

“Boss,” Capt. Don Van Loan replied. “Check ride went good, before you ask. No issues, and 564's back on the schedule.”

“Always good to hear,” the CO said. “What have you got on tap for me?”

Van Loan handed Guru a briefing packet. “Town called Morgan, on Route 174, about a dozen miles west of Lake Whitney. Southeast of the town, there's a helo dispersal field. Ivan's been using it for Hinds and Hips.”

“And we get to take it out.”

“Not just that: the Hillsboro SA-2 site is back up, and you're within range of at least the Waco North SA-2 as well,” Van Loan said.

“We're getting Weasels, I hope?” Guru asked. Two SA-2 sites in range? Lovely.

“You are, and they'll join you at the tankers,” the Ops Officer replied.

Guru nodded. “All right, Don. Thanks.”

“Good Luck, Boss. Don't want to be XO yet,” Van Loan told his CO.

“And Kara doesn't want to be Ops just yet,” Guru reminded his Ops Officer. “You be careful yourself.”

“Will do.”

Guru then went to the briefing room his flight used, and when he got there, there was a four-legged guest. Buddy. He opened the door to the room and said, “After you.” Guru followed the dog into the room and found the rest of the flight there. “Okay, people! Settle down, because we've got our first mission.”

Goalie looked at him. “And where to this morning?”

The CO opened the briefing packet, and maps, and photos, along with some intel sheets, came out. “Here, about a dozen miles west of Lake Whitney, along Route 174. Town called Morgan. Just southeast of the town is a helo dispersal field. Ivan's been using it for Hips and Hinds.”

“And we're taking it out,” Kara said. It wasn't a question, from her tone of voice.

“That's it. Now, ordnance load is twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes each bird. I know, this is usually a target for CBUs, but not this time.”

“Too close to the town?” Hoser asked.

“Um-hmm,” Guru replied. “This may be a field that kids play in, or it's used for farming. If this was away from the town, no problem on CBUs. However....not this time.”

“Fair enough, Boss,” Sweaty said. “Air to air?”

“Uusal: four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, thanks to the F-20 folks, usual ECM pods for lead and wingmates, full gun, and two wing tanks.”

Kara nodded at that. “Ingress?”

“Getting in the back way,” Guru said. He traced the route on a TPC chart. “Cross the Fence near Lake Leon, head south to Proctor Lake. Head east to Hico, then Meridian. Turn north for thirty seconds and we're at the target. Meridian is the IP for all intents and purposes.” He saw he had his flight's full attention. “Once you make your run? Head north for the Brazos and get your asses to the I-20.”

Hoser nodded. “Good way in. What's the defenses?”

“We're getting Weasels as this area is under 4th Guards Tank Army, so SA-4s are possible, along with the usual divisional level defenses. Throw in the Hillsboro and Waco North SA-2s. At the target? There's ZU-23s and MANPADS, plus small-arms fire,” said Guru.

Brainiac asked, “When do the Weasels come?”

“Good question,” KT added.

“Miller flight joins us at the tankers, and we're going to Tanker Track CHEVRON, north of Hubbard Creek Reservoir,” Guru replied. “As for MiGs? Same threat level from yesterday. And we do have Intel confirmation of Mainstays in theater.”

There were scowls at that. “They need to tell us something we don't already know,” Preacher said. “This 'we're betting your life' can be a pain.”

“No kidding, Preacher,” Guru said. “Just remember, Sin Licon's only passing on what they give him. Don't blame him.”

“We know,” Kara replied. “Just that he's convenient.”

“Yeah, and I've blown my stack on him once or twice,” Guru admitted. “Okay, weather: unchanged. Good flying weather for four more days. Then we get a storm.”

The rest of the crews looked at each other and grinned. About time. “So, we get a stand-down?” Preacher asked.

“We do, and the day before? The RAF comes.”

Kara let out another grin. “And we get our strike escorts.”

“That we do. Now, one last thing: bailout areas are anyplace away from roads. And stay sharp, because we've got four missions today, unless CAS rears its ugly head.”

Sweaty frowned at that. “Lovely.”

“You're not the only one feeling that way,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. Then he glanced at the dog. Buddy was sitting up and alert. “Uh-oh...”

“I was about to say that,” Hoser said. “This might be a rough ride.”

“Hope he's wrong,” Goalie added.

“Seconded,” Guru nodded. “All right. One last thing: we're Camaro Flight. Now let's gear up. We've got a full day coming.”

The crews headed to their locker rooms, and as Guru left, an NCO from Ops was waiting to collect the briefing materials. That done, he went to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. When he came out, Goalie was there as usual. “Ready?”

“Time to earn our flight pay,” she replied.

“It is that,” Guru nodded as they went out. As they did, the dog followed and then laid down on the sidewalk outside. “Hope he's wrong about this one.”

“You and me both,” Goalie said as they walked to the squadron's dispersal.

“Roscoe was wrong on occasion,” said the CO when they got to their revetment, and the rest of the flight was there. “All right: gather around.”

“Usual procedures on the radio?” Kara asked.

“You got it,” Guru replied. That meant mission code to AWACS and other parties, call signs between them. “All right, if you see those basketball-sized tracers on the way in or out? Evade. If you see them at the target? Abort.”

Heads nodded. “Got it, Major,” Sweaty replied.

“We meet at ten grand overhead. Any other questions?” Guru asked. Heads shook no, then he added, “Then let's go. Time to hit it.” He clapped his hands.

The crews then headed to mount their own aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went to 512. “Sergeant,” he said to Sergeant Crowley, his Crew Chief.

“Major, Lieutenant,” Crowley replied, snapping a perfect salute. “Five-twelve's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their usual preflight walk-around. After signing for the aircraft, Guru and Goalie then mounted up. After getting strapped in, they went through the preflight checklist.

“Arnie?” Guru asked. “And today's the day Frank finds out he's not in the F-20.”

“He'll pop his cork,” Goalie replied. “Arnie's all set. So's the INS.”

“Good. He'll whine and complain, especially to his dad, then what?” Guru wanted to know.

“That is a very good question, and I doubt you know the answer,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“You're right on not knowing,” replied Guru. “Armed top and bottom. Check yours.”

“All set. Preflight complete and ready for engine start,” said Goalie as she put away her checklist.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to his CC, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then two, J-79 engines were up and running. As they warmed up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower,
Camaro Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Camaro Flight, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Charlie. You are number three in line, and hold prior to the active.”

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Flight rolling.” Guru then gave another thumbs-up, and Sergeant Crowley waved to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away. Then Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal, and Guru released the brakes, taxiing out of the revetment.

Guru taxied Five-twelve out of the revetment, and as he taxied to the runway, the rest of the flight followed. When they got to the runway, they found a Marine Hornet flight first, then a flight of Marine S model F-4s second. After the Hornets launched, the Marine F-4s taxied onto the runway, and Camaro Flight taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties.

After the Marine F-4s departed, it was their turn. “Tower, Camaro Flight requesting taxi for takeoff,” Guru called the tower.

“Camaro Lead, clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are calm,” the controller called back.

“Roger, Tower,” Guru called as he taxied onto the runway. Kara and Brainiac followed, taxiing into their Five O'clock position. Guru glanced over, and found 520 in position. Thumbs-ups were exchanged, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Let's go,” Goalie replied.

“Let's,” said Guru. “Canopy coming down.”

Both pilot and GIB closed and locked their canopies, and a quick look saw 520's crew had done the same. Guru then applied full power on the throttle, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them.

Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser, then Camaro flight met up at FL 100. They then headed south to their rendezvous with the tankers and their Weasels.


Over Central Texas, 0740 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight had met up with their KC-10 tankers, and after topping up their fuel tanks, had joined up with two F-4Gs that would provide the Wild Weasel support on this one. Coors One-five and One-six were the two, and they were now just above and ahead of the strike flight as they went into enemy territory.

Now, Camaro Flight was following the Leon River, south of I-20 and the front lines, and along the boundary between the Soviet 32nd Army and the East Germans. The pilots had their heads on a swivel, keeping an eye on their instruments, and then out of the cockpit, looking for threats, while the GIBs concentrated on the navigation and the electronic warfare displays.

“How long to Proctor Lake?” Guru called from 512's front seat.

“Two minutes,” Goalie replied. “EW still clear.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. He was scanning for threats, and he knew that those could come with no warning on their EW displays. Optically-aimed flak, missiles, or an IR missile, all were killers, and he took nothing for granted, even with a clear EW display.

State Route 16 served as the boundary, and as the strike flight headed south, there was some military traffic on the road, but they took no fire. Apparently, the Soviets or East Germans were surprised to see the F-4s heading south, and by the time they were ready to fire, the strike birds were gone.

“Got the lake coming up,” Guru said. He glanced at the EW display. Sure enough, a faint strobe appeared, followed by the SEARCH warning light. “Got a radar.”

“I've got it,” Goalie said.

Then the Weasel lead came up. “Camaro Lead, Coors One-five. That's a Mainstay radar.”

Nothing anybody can do about that, Guru thought. “Roger, Coors.”

“Turn point in ten,” Goalie called.

“Visual on the lake,” Guru said as Proctor Lake appeared.

Goalie made the call. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, and MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a left turn, and both the others in his flight, and the two Weasels, followed. “New heading of Zero-nine-zero.”

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Goalie said. “One minute thirty to the next turn point.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. He glanced at the EW display. The strobe was still there. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

An AWACS controller replied almost immediately. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-nine-one for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-four-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven-five for seventy-five. Medium, Going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace.” said Guru, keeping up with his visual scanning as he headed east. So far, so good. And no more radars.

“Thirty seconds,” was Goalie's call from the back seat.

“Got it,” Guru called as the Central Texas landscape flew by. At least they were here, and not flying out in the desert of West Texas, with few lakes or rivers to serve as visual landmarks. “Hico dead ahead.”

“Steady..” Goalie called. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one....MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a easy right turn, roughly being parallel to State Route 6, with Meridian the next stop. “How long to Meridian?”

“One minute thirty.”


In Hico, the local garrison commander, an East German Major, was concerned with not only keeping U.S. 281 and Route 6 open, as they were main supply routes, but also keeping the local population under control. Though the Soviets often patrolled the roads-and there was a Rear-Area Protection Division that handled that, a bridge on U.S. 281 on the outskirts of town was his problem, and that concerned him. Then there was the Stasi detachment, who seemed intent on making his life, and that of the local population, miserable. Several of his men had been arrested and sent to a penal unit for “Defeatist remarks”, or “Non-belief in the Final Victory.” while the Stasi was also searching for “Counterrevolutionary and Fascist Elements” among the locals-and that only made the locals' attitude only worse. Clearly, their political and social development made socialism here a very impractical notion, even though there had not been much in the way of bandit or guerilla activities in the area. But with the Stasi-and the PSD around as well, though he had hardly anything to do with them-their conduct might just be the spark to ignite such activities. Especially with the front lines to the north, and any fool could see that the U.S. Army was closer than the propaganda news sheets or the “Liberation Radio” broadcasts said.

Now, the Major was going to have his morning staff meeting, and hopefully, that PSD swine-who even the Stasi loathed, would stay away. He was approaching City Hall, having just passed through a checkpoint, when sirens started to howl. The Major glanced up, and saw six F-4 Phantoms flying over, the howl of their jet engines attracting cheers from the civilians, and as he took a look around, his men running to shelter, while anti-aircraft gunners raced to their guns. But by the time the guns were ready, the aircraft were gone. Well, that's this morning's excitement, the Major thought as he went into City Hall.


Camaro Flight headed east, roughly parallel to State Route 6, with the pilots navigating visually, and the GIBs handling the INS, but also doing it the old-fashioned way, with stopwatch and map. “How long to Meridian?” Guru asked.

“One minute,” Goalie replied.

Guru checked his EW display. The SEARCH strobe was still there, and brighter. That Red AWACS might have them. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he ordered. That meant turn on their ECM pods.

“Two copies,” was Kara's reply, and the others followed.

“Meridian coming up,” Goalie warned. “Turn in thirty.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He glanced ahead, and saw the town appear. “Call it.”

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


In Meridian, that town was full of Soviet soldiers, and the locals were commenting that they hadn't seen this many Russians since the invasion. These were from the 144th Guards Motor-Rifle Division's 254th Guards “Matrosva” MRR, and they had been shattered by their encounter with the First Cavalry Division and the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment. To the acting commander of the regiment, the former commander of the Third Battalion, it would be a while before his regiment was ready for offensive action again. They, and the rest of the division, had been pulled out of the line to reorganize and refit, and the Major in command knew it would take a while, given the Army's supply difficulties. And, he expected, a division half made up of Estonian reservists was likely to be lower on the priority list than a prewar Category A unit that had come from GSFG.

Getting his regiment refitted was not his only problem. The local garrison, soldiers from a rear-area protection division, were content with staying in town and keeping the road open-which they did by simply staying put. There had been very little guerilla activity, and the Captain who commanded the company that made up the garrison, didn't want to do anything that would stir that pot up. Then there was his Zampolit, who had held the job in the regimental artillery battalion, and the man came across to the Major as being too eager, and was equally upset, for the Party man had found out that many of the Komsomol members and party workers in the regiment had been killed or wounded. That, at least, kept the Zampolit busy, and not in the way of getting the Regiment ready to fight, and not getting involved with the garrison commander or his hands-off attitude towards the local civilians.

Suddenly, there were shouts, then hands pointed skyward. Six American F-4 Phantoms-some of which had inflicted considerable grief to his Regiment-flew by. The regimental antiaircraft battalion had been savaged in the recent fighting, with not a single 2S19 AA vehicle left, and only a couple of Strela-10 (SA-13) launchers. By the time the crews got their weapons ready to fire, the American aircraft were gone. Shaking his head, the Major went back to his command vehicle. There was a lot of work to do to get the regiment ready to fight again, and not a lot of time.


Guru put the Phantom into a hard left turn and begain to climb. Seven miles to Morgan, and that meant about twenty seconds to target. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and let's go in.”

“Two, copy,” Kara said.

“Three, roger,” Sweaty called back.

“Four copies,” was Hoser's call.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Weasels cleared in.”

“Roger that, Camaro,” Miller One-five called. The Weasel leader and his wingman climbed and all sorts of radars began to come up. “MAGNUM!” And a HARM antiradar missile left the rails. Miller One-five had four HARMs, while One-six had two Standard-ARMs and four Mavericks.

“They're in,” Goalie commented. “Switches set. We're hot.”

“Got an SA-2,” Guru said as he climbed. That would be the Hillsboro SA-2 site. Then it suddenly went off the air, as “Magnum” calls continued from Miller One-five. “Target in sight.”

“Ready back here,” Goalie said as another HARM missile shot went in.

“Time to go,” Guru said as he rolled in on his bomb run.


At the Meirdian helicopter field, the Second Squadron, 116th Helicopter Regiment was busy with the day's operations. One flight had already gone forward, on an armed reconnissance mission, while the rest of the squadron was awaiting mission orders. The squadron's crews had heard that the motor-rifle blockheads had taken a serious pounding the past few days pulling the East Germans out of a fire, and now the 4th Guards Tank Army was coming in to shore things up, if the rumor mill was accurate.

The Lieutenant Colonel commanding the squadron was not a happy man, for his regiment had been shot up twice already. Once at a place called Casper in Wyoming, and then again, at Wichita. Originally equipped with Mi-24V (NATO Hind-E) helicopters, those had been given to some other regiment, and Mi-24Ds with the 12.7-mm Gatling Gun had been provided instead. To the Colonel, that indicated that not only were things not going well in the war-and any fool could see for himself, even the Zampolit-but that production was slipping back home, or that the Navy was having trouble in getting the Army and Air Force what it needed across the Atlantic. Even such things as mail from home were either being delivered late, or not at all, and naturally, there was some grumbling about that. Though the Zampolit had promised that one way or another, the mail from home would get through, along with everything else they needed, the Colonel was having doubts. He knew the Soviets weren't winning, for if they were, why was the front back in Texas? Even General Suraykin, when he visited the Regiment the day before, had expressed concern about developments, but the Party hack was optimistic.

Having briefed his crews, he was heading to his supply officer when the AA gunners around the field began to fire. The Colonel didn't need a siren to tell him. Air attack coming in. So he jumped into a slit trench, and was unceremoniously joined by several other pilots and gunners.


“Lead in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his attack run. He spotted several Hind helicopters parked, at least two flights, and selected a flight parked on the east side of the field. Ignoring the 23-mm flak coming up, along with at least one SA-7 shot that flew harnlessly by on the right, Guru lined up one of the Hinds in his pipper. Killing you is easier on the ground, Ivan.....”Steady.....Steady....And....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and released his dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes onto the choppers below. After bomb release, Guru pulled up and away, jinking to avoid flak and any SAMs, and staying below the SA-2's minimum altitude. “Lead's off target.”


The Colonel heard Guru's F-4 fly by, and then not only heard the bombs going off, but felt the concussion in the trench as it shook. Then he heard two additional explosions, and knew right away that at least two of his helicopters were now wrecks. He started to poke his head out of the trench to have a look, but one of his men pulled him back in. American aircraft didn't attack alone-at least, not since the early days, he remembered.


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

Hearing that, Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. That meant a couple of ground kills. Though they didn't count, still...two less Hinds to bother the ground-pounders. “How good?”

“Good and big,” Goalie replied.

“I'll take those,” Guru said as he picked up the Brazos River as an SA-7 flew by just below the aircraft.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she came in on her run. She saw the CO's run, and two fireballs where Hinds were parked. Good job, Boss, she thought as she lined up where another flight of Hinds was parked, and decided to walk her bombs right across the helos. Kara, too, ignored the 23-mm flak that came up, and saw a Standard-ARM missile fly past her as it tracked down a gun radar west of the town and exploded it. Not your day, Ivan.....She lined up the second helo in the group she had selected, and her thumb settled on the pickle button. “Steady....And...And....NOW!” Kara hit the pickle button, releasing her bombs. She then pulled up and away to clear the target area, jinking as she did so, just as the CO did, to avoid flak and any SAMs. “Two's off safe,” Kara called.


“Damn!” The Colonel said as Kara's Phantom came over and dropped its bombs. He heard the explosions, and once again, heard two more as helicopters exploded, then came another. Pulling himself from the men, he poked his head out of the trench to look around. Not only were several helicopters burning wrecks, but a fuel truck had also been hit, drenching the surrounding area with burning fuel. No one was attacking the flames, for the antiaircraft gunners were swinging their weapons around again. More Americans? He didn't doubt it for a second as he ducked back into the trench.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called. “Got a big secondary!”

“How big?” Kara asked, jinking to avoid some 23-mm tracers.

“Fuel big, I think,” her GIB replied.

“Their lucky day,” Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask as she picked up the CO's bird.

Sweaty came in on her run. “Three's in hot!” She, too, ignored the flak coming up as she looked for targets, and selected two Hips that were parked on the south side of the field. Good morning, Ivan....This is your wake-up call, she thought as she came down on the target. Sweaty, too, ignored the flak coming up as she lined up the Hips, and was one turning its engines? Too late. “Steady...And...HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and released her twelve Mark-82s down on the target. She then pulled up and away, avoiding the flak as she jinked. “Three off target.”

“Of all the...” The Colonel muttered as Sweaty's F-4 came in, and left a dozen bombs in its wake. Then he heard another explosion, followed by a second, and wondered what had been hit. This time, he didn't let his curiosity get the better of himself, and stayed in the trench as the AA gunners kept firing. Three in and how many more left?

“SHACK!” Preacher shouted as Sweaty pulled off the target. “Got a secondary, maybe two.”

“The helos?” Sweaty asked as she headed north, and saw one of the F-4Gs fire a Maverick missile at some target east of the town.

“Think so,” her GIB replied. “Something blew.”

“Fair enough,” she replied as Sweaty picked up Kara's bird, then the CO's.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He noted where everyone else had put their bombs, and saw the fuel dump hadn't been hit. No fuel, no choppers flying, he knew, so he lined up a collection of fuel bladders and what looked like fuel drums in his pipper. Hoser, like the others, ignored the flak coming up, as he concentrated on his bomb run. You're grounded, Ivan, was his thought as he lined up the fuel dump in his pipper. “And...And...And....HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, sending his bombs down onto the fuel dump. Then he pulled up wings level and pulled away, jinking to avoid the flak as he did so. “Four's off safe.”

“Sookin sin...” the Colonel muttered. Son of a bitch. Now what? He asked himself as Hoser's plane came in. The Colonel actually caught a glimpse of the F-4 as it came over, and he wondered what the target was, only to have several explosions follow in the Phantom's wake. The Colonel got out of the trench and saw that his fuel dump was now exploding, and several fuel drums had been tossed out of the dump, and when they landed, they, too, exploded. Shaking his head, he grabbed his deputy commander and his senior maintenance officer. “Get as many ground staff in the fire-fighting. Save what undamaged helicopters you can.”

“Comrade Colonel, what about the pilots?” The Zampolit asked. He'd overheard the Colonel.

“They're too important.” His flight surgeon came by with several medics. “Have as many pilots and gunners as you can get help with first aid. GO!”

The surgeon nodded, and ordered several of the crewmen in the trench to come with him. The Colonel watched them go, then shook his head. Someone didn't want them here, and he knew it. But he was a professional, and went on with doing his duty, no matter what.


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted. “We got the fuel dump!”

“How many secondaries?” Hoser asked as he pulled away.

“How many do you want?”

“Enough,” replied Hoser as he picked up his element leader, eyeballing Sweaty's F-4.


“Four in, four out,” Guru said. “But we're not done yet.”

“Now we fly for ourselves,” Goalie replied. “Not Uncle Sam.”

“Right you are,” replied Guru. “Coors One-five, Camaro Flight clear of target.”

The Weasel leader acknowledged. “Roger that, Camaro Lead. Coors is clear-” Then there was a burst of static.

“Coors One-five is down!” Coors One-six called. The Weasel wingman was female, and she was trying to stay calm, but everyone could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Any chutes?” Guru asked.

“One, and we've got a beeper.”

“Copy,” replied Guru. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Coors One-five is down near our target area. One chute and one beeper.”

“Roger, Camaro Lead. Will relay to Jolly Greens. Be advised you have bandits inbound. Threats bearing One-eight-zero for fifty. Medium, closing.” the AWACS controller called.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Coors One-six, on us. Nothing you can do for your lead.”

“Copy, Camaro Lead,” One-six called back. “Got a visual on you.”

Guru looked to his left and then right, and saw Kara joining up on him in Combat Spread. “Got visual on Two,” he called.

“On your wing,” Kara replied.

Sweaty came in next. “Three's in, and Four's with me.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as he saw the remaining F-4G join up with them. He noticed that all of its ordnance had been expended. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say bogey dope?”

The controller replied immediately. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Inbound threats are Floggers. Second threat bearing One-six-six for fifty, Medium Closing. Bandits also Floggers.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. “Can you arrange a reception committee?”

Aboard the AWACS, the controller grinned. “Can do, Camaro,” he called. “Cowboy Lead, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-seven-five for fifty. Medium, closing. KILL. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm, clear to fire.”

In his F-15C, Cowboy Lead acknowledged, then led his flight south. MiG-23s? Good.


“How long to the fence?” Guru asked Goalie as the U.S. 67 bridge at Glen Rose appeared to the left. As usual, the Nicaraguan gunners weren't firing, but the East Germans on the west side of the Brazos were.

“Three minutes,” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He noticed the A/A radar light on his RWR panel, and two more strobes. High Lark radars from MiG-23s, he knew. How good was their LD/SD? Not intending to find out if that had been upgraded, he dropped from 550 feet AGL down to 350, and the others followed suit.

“Two minutes,” Goalie called. “Flak at the dam,” she added as they came to the Lake Granbury Dam, and the AAA gunners there opened fire, but the strike flight was too low and too fast to track optically.

“Got it,” said Guru. Once they passed the dam, there was still the U.S. 377 bridge at Granbury itself. And the MiGs were getting closer.....”Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Where's the help?”

“Cowboy Flight inbound,” the controller replied.

Then Goalie called, “Granbury bridge,” as flak from the west side opened up.

“Copy,” Guru said as they flew past. Next up was the FLOT and I-20.

“Camaro, Cowboy Lead. Got some bandits on you?” The F-15 leader called.

“Cowboy, Camaro,” Guru called back. He'd been glancing back on occasion, hoping to get a visual on the MiGs, but no joy. “Get some.”

“Roger that,” the F-15 leader replied. “Cowboy Flight, Lead. Go radar, and take your shots.”

The F-15s locked up the first flight of MiG-23s and launched Sparrows, killing two of the Floggers. Then a second flight came in, and the F-15s splashed two more, then it became a free-for-all in the air. Two more MiG-23s went down, and one F-15 was damaged, before the fight ended.

“Crossing the fence....now!” Goalie called as the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared. Though the actual front line was a few miles to the south, the freeway was considered the FLOT for navigation purposes.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He turned on his IFF transponder, knowing the Army I-HAWK battery guarding the I-20 bridge over the Brazos could be light on the trigger finger. Like all air-defense pukes, their motto was “Shoot them down and let God sort them out.”

“Camaro Lead, Coors One-six,” the Weasel wingmate called as they joined up on the tankers. “They told me there'd be days like this.”

“First time?” Guru asked.

“Losing a lead? You could say that.”

Guru knew what she meant. He'd lost his squadron CO two weeks into the war, and had watched it happen. It never got any easier. “Been there, done that.”

After the post-strike refueling, with KC-135s this time, the F-4G headed west, back to Reese AFB. “Camaro, Coors. See you later. If we can avoid losing a lead, maybe we can do this again.”

“We'll be here,” Guru said.

The Weasel gave him a thumbs-up, then she turned for home.


The flight headed back to Sheppard, and when they got there, this time, they were first in the pattern. They formed up and came in, and after landing, the flight taxied to their dispersal. As they did, two MC-130s were seen near the old SAC molehole, which had been taken over by SOF after the base was recaptured. “Wonder what that's about?” Guru asked.

“Snake-eater business,” Goalie said. She had run into a classmate a year before the war who had gone into the SOF business as a nav on their special-ops C-130s, and he'd been tight-lipped about what he did and where.

“No bet on that,” Guru said as he popped his canopy and raised it, and Goalie did the same. Then he taxied to the squadron's dispersal, and the rest of the flight did the same. Then they found their respective revetments.

After taxiing into 512's revetment, Guru shut down the engines and the ground crew brought over the chocks and the crew ladder. Pilot and GIB went through the post-flight checklist, then climbed down from the aircraft. As usual, Sergeant Crowley was waiting. “How'd things go, Major?”

“Made some parked helos go away,” the CO said as Crowley offered him a bottle of water, and he accepted.

“In pieces,” added Goalie as she downed half a bottle herself.

“Shit hot, sir! And Ma'am,” Crowley said. “How's my bird?”

“Working like a champ, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Get the strike camera footage, then get her prepped for the next one.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “All right you guys! Let's get her turned around,” he waved to the ground crew.

Pilot and GIB left the ground crew to their business, as they walked to the entrance to the revetment. They found Kara and Brainiac already there. “Good work on those choppers, Boss.”

“How many?” Guru asked. “Thought we had at least two.”

“That many, and they were Hinds,” Kara said.

“Same here,” Brainiac added.

Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser and KT came up next. “That was a good one, Boss.” Sweaty said.

“Better than that,” said Hoser. “You guys tore up those helos.”

KT grinned. “And all we got was the fuel dump.”

“Good job,” Guru said. “Okay, we need to debrief. Check your desks for any paperwork, and get something to eat, because in an hour or so, we're at it again.”

“And then you get your F-20 ride after that,” Goalie reminded the CO.

Guru nodded. “That I do. How about you, Kara?”

“Had enough of those -20s, thank you very much,” she spat. “Only F-20 I want to see is in my gunsight at a Red Flag when this is all over.”

“Be careful of what you wish for,” Preacher said. “You might just get a little more than that.”

“Especially if that punk Clancy or his pal Pruitt become Aggressors after the war,” Sweaty nodded.

“Let's wait until there is an 'after the war',” Guru reminded them. “Still got this one to take care of.

Kara nodded. She knew there was a fair chance that either one of those punks might get themselves killed before all was said and done. And herself, too, for that matter. One more little detail... “First, we go Downtown to Mexico City.”

“That we do. Come on, let's go see Sin,” Guru said, referring to their intel officer. “Then we get ready to do it again.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part 23: Next mission, and some Forgers get removed from the game board. Permanently..


335th TFS HQ; 0850 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser sat in his office, going over some papers. Fortunately, most of what was in his IN box was for his information only, not action. Though one of the former did surprise him. Didn't they shut this down in '69? And yet, in the Club, and elsewhere, he'd heard stories from pilots, navigators, and other officers, who swore such things had happened. Even at Kingsley Field, during his requalification following his E&E, there had been a few swapped. Though he'd never had such an experience in the Air Force, he'd read the usual books while in High School and College, and had wondered.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the office door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

The SIO, Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon, came in. “Major, just had a talk with the Weasel intel folks about your mission.”

“And?” Guru asked. The debriefing had been straightforward, though no one had seen what had happened to the Weasel leader.

Licon had a folder with him, and opened it for the CO. “Got some photos that came with the early eastbound C-141,” he said. “Too late for your brief, by the way. Took a while to get these analyzed, but it looks like SA-11.”

“No radar detected,” Guru commented. “So they shot in optical mode.” It wasn't a question.

“Afraid so, Boss,” the Intel nodded. “And before you ask, no word on the survivor. He may have been too close to the town.”

The CO nodded. “Well, then, that's that.” He took out the papers he'd been going over. “You're the Intel, get anything like this in your mail?” Guru showed them to Sin.

Licon scanned the paper. “Yeah, Boss. Got mine today in the morning mail. Thought it was a joke. Then I called Tenth Air Force Intelligence. No joke, they said.”

Guru went over the paper. “Point of Contact is a Major Jake Gatlin at Wright-Pat. NAIC's Foreign Technology Division.” That meant the National Air Intelligence Center. Though busy with wartime work on Soviet and Soviet-bloc aircraft, missiles, and electronics, they no doubt had the staff to handle.....other projects.

'Thought they did away with this in '69,” Licon said. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You, me, and probably a whole bunch of others,” the CO said. “Read the usual books in High School and College, saw Close Encounters, then that Project UFO show on NBC, but still....”

“Yeah. Seen anything?”

“Once, in college. That's all I'll say. Though I did have an RTU Instructor at Homestead back in '84 tell me he'd seen something really strange. Three times. Once on his way to Vietnam for LINEBACKER I. The other two? With a student only three months before I arrived. Both those times, he said, there was a ton of paperwork to fill out. And the last item was a nondisclosure form,” said Guru. “He did tell me, though, that at any time when you're flying, you may run into something weird.”

“Hmm. Anyway, let's hope we don't have to call these folks,” Licon said.

“You and me both. That's that. Anything else?”

“We may be getting a two-ship of RF-4Cs here soon. No word on who or when.”

“Mark know?” Guru asked.

“He does, but I thought you should hear from me first.”

“Okay. Sin? Those SA-11s? How close were they to the target area?”

“Four or five miles,” the Intel said. “And with no radar on, nothing for the ECM to work on...Sometimes you find out things like this the hard way.”

“Ain't that the sorry truth?” Guru replied. “Okay, not blaming you. It could easily have been one of us. Anything else?”

“Nada, Boss.”

“Thanks, Darren.”

After the Intel left, the XO came in. “Boss,” Mark Ellis said. “Saw you talking with Sin. The mission?”

Guru nodded. “You got that right. Beware of SA-11s with optical backup, he said. That's what killed the Weasel Lead this morning, in all probability.”

The Exec shook his head. “Lovely.”

“Yeah. Just pass the word to keep their eyes peeled. Somebody down there was smart.”

“No doubt about that, Boss. Anyway, General Yeager's either notified people or will be shortly,” Ellis said. “Lost my wingman to the F-20.” First Lieutenant Glen “Firefly” Markham was the Exec's wingman. Until now.

Guru let out a grimace. “Didn't he originally want F-16s? That was what he said when he joined the squadron.”

“Yeah. And Don lost his as well,” replied Ellis. Their Ops Officer's wingman was 1st Lt. Bill “Rabbit” Mason.

The CO nodded. “And we all know about Frank. Has he been told?”

“Not yet,” said the XO. “He's still out.”

“Remember to keep an eye on him. When he finds out.....There's going to be a ton of pressure on him, and it'll be waiting to pop.”

Ellis winced. “Ain't that the truth.”

“Yeah,” Guru admitted. “General Yeager say how long until the lucky stiffs have to report?”

“Two weeks.”

“Good. Gives us time to find replacements,” the CO said. He then showed the papers he'd discussed with Licon to the Exec. “Guess what was in this morning's mail.”

Ellis scanned the papers once, turned to the CO and said. “Is this a joke?”

“Nope,” Guru said. “Sin got a copy himself, as he's the intel officer. He called Tenth AF Intelligence. No joke: this is the real deal.”

'”So,” the Exec observed as he went over the papers again. “Not just the Russians and their lackeys to worry about.”

“Something like that,” Guru said. “Let's just hope nobody sees anything, and we don't have to call those guys.”

“You and me both. You ever see anything?”

“Once, back in my college days. That was an interesting two minutes, I'll grant you. All I want to say,” Guru said. “You?”

“Never had the pleasure-or fright-I'll admit,” the XO replied. “Had an RTU instructor say he'd had two sightings at Homestead.”

“Same here. The name Jim Meyers ring a bell?” Both CO and XO had passed through Homestead AFB's RTU, the 31st Tactical Training Wing, though both had been one class apart.

“Major Jim Meyers?” Ellis asked. “You betcha. Vietnam vet, Tough but fair as an IP.”

“You got it. Wonder what he's up to?” Asked the CO. “Okay, that it?”

“It is for now,” Ellis said. As he turned to leave, he noticed General Yeager putting a letter on a desk in the office. “Looks like General Yeager's giving the bad news to Frank.”

“How?”

“By letter.”

“Remember what I said: Keep an eye on him. When Frank reads that letter, no telling what he'll do.”

Ellis looked at his CO and had a grim look on his face. “No kidding, Boss. Want me to get Doc?”

Guru thought for a minute. “No, not yet. But tell him that Frank's about to get some bad news.”

“Gotcha,” said Ellis. Then he went to notify Doc Waters.

A few minutes later, Goalie came in. “Just had a talk with Brian Slater,” she said. First Lieutenant Brian Slater was GIB for Frank. “He says Frank's been taking a few chances last few days.”

“What kind of chances?” Guru asked. “Bad enough to ground him?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Goalie said. “He'll drop half of his load on the assigned target, then come around and go after a flak battery or a SAM.”

The CO shook his head in disbelief. “One of the first things you learn at the RTU is not to get into such pissing contests.”

“No kidding. Brian thinks he's trying to impress visiting brass. With two Air Force legends on base...”

“Sounds like it. Okay, I'll have a talk with Doc. Maybe ground him for a day or two. You did pass by his desk?

“On the way here,” Goalie nodded. “Saw the letter, and we all know what that is.”

“We do,” Guru agreed. “No telling how he'll react. Might just tell him to get sloppy drunk tonight and sleep it off tomorrow. Give him the day off.”

“Just hope he doesn't go off half-cocked, and take friendlies with him. We don't want to lose a perfectly innocent GIB and wing crew,” Goalie pointed out.

Guru looked at his GIB and girlfriend. “You and I are thinking on the same lines. Okay..” He was interrupted by a knock on the door, then Kara came in. “Kara?”

“Boss, we've got a mission.”

“All right, then. Round everybody up. Briefing room in ten,” Guru ordered.

“On my way,” Kara replied, then she headed out the door.

Goalie nodded. “Back to the grind.”

“Back to the grind,” Guru admitted. “Okay, talk to Brian and tell him to come to me if he thinks Frank's taking way too many chances. If he is....”

“You can ground him.”

“Or Doc, and we can send him away for some tests, and they put him in a non-flying job.”

“To be wished for,” Goalie said wistfully.

“Yeah. Let's get back in the game,” said Guru.


Pilot and GIB went to the Ops Office, and found Don Van Loan there, waiting. “Don, heard about you losing your wingman.”

“Thanks,” Van Loan replied. “Don't know whether to congratulate him or beg him to stay. He's good.”

Guru nodded. “He did want F-16s instead of F-4s, and the -20 is the next best thing. So, what have you got for me?”

The Ops Officer handed the CO a briefing packet. “You're headed to Dublin. The Municipal Airport is the target. Ivan's flying some helos and Forgers there. Transports, too.”

“And we get to take them out,” Goalie observed. “Forgers? Didn't we put the hurt on some of these guys a while back?”

“We did,” said Guru. “Guess they got some replacements. Okay, thanks, Don.”

“Boss? Has Frank been told? If the two lucky stiffs are on Cloud Nine...” Van Loan asked.

“Not yet, but there's a letter on his desk, unopened,” Guru told the Ops Officer. “When he finds out, he'll pop.”

Van Loan nodded grimly. “And we get to see the fireworks.”

“We do,” Goalie observed.

“Yeah,” sighed Guru. “Okay, Don. You be careful out there. Don't want to break Kara in as Ops.”

“And I sure don't want to be Exec,” Van Loan finished. “You be careful yourself.”

“Will do,” the CO replied. Then he turned to Goalie. “Let's go.”


The two wen to their briefing room and found the rest of their flight already there. “Okay, people!” The CO said. “We've got a new one.”

“Where to?” Kara asked.

“Dublin, twelve miles southwest of Stephenville. We get to put the hurt on the municipal airport.”

Sweaty nodded. “What's there?”

“A mix. Helos, some transports-think An-24s or -26s, and Forgers as well.”

“We killed a bunch of those not that long ago,” Brainiac pointed out.

“That we did,” Guru nodded. “But there's some more. And Intel says some of them may have been fitted with the MiG-29's radar. So those pieces of shit-and they are, pretty much-just got to be potentially dangerous to us, and not just their users.”

Heads nodded at that. The Yak-36, according to Intel, had the worst accident rate of any Soviet tactical aircraft, but in the right hands, it could be deadly. The Soviet Naval Air Force flew them, and they were mainly confined to the COIN role. “Any idea what kind of Forgers these are?” KT asked.

Guru scaned the intelligence brief. “Negative. Now, the ingress route is this: we go in along the Brazos down to Lake Whitney. Just before the dam, we turn west, and head for the town of Olin, on U.S. 281. We turn right five degrees and head for the town of Purves. It's eight miles southeast of the target. That's our IP. We pull up and make our runs.”

“Good so far, Boss,” Kara said. “Ordnance loads?”

“Getting to that,” Guru said. “Element leads have a dozen Rockeye CBUs. Wingies have a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes. Now, aimpoints? I'll take the north ramp area.” The CO passed around a photo, probably from an RF-4C. “There's a couple of Forgers there. And some of the CBU bomblets will cover the runway. Kara? You take these hangars to the south. Just walk your bombs among them, and that'll take care of those.”

Kara grinned. “Got it.”

“Sweaty? South ramp,” Guru tapped the photo, and he had her undivided attention. “And Hoser? Fuel dumps seem to be your specialty. East of the runway, here,” said the CO, pointing out the fuel area on the photo. “Make those guys go away.”

“Will do, Boss,” Hoser said.

“And egress?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“Simple,” Guru said. Head west to the Leon River, then turn north. Get your asses to the I-20 quick as you can.”

Kara then asked, “Air-to-air load?”

“The usual,” replied the CO. “Two AIM-7Fs, four AIM-9Ps, usual ECM pods for lead and wingmates, full gun, and two wing tanks.”

“Good to know,” Goalie nodded. “And defenses?”

Guru nodded back. “Glad you asked. There's a pair of 57-mm batteries-one north, one south, of the airport. Three ZU-23 batteries at the target, and you can expect lots of guys with small arms and MANPADS. This is still the East German sector, with the Soviet 32nd Army to the west of the Leon River, so you can expect SA-4s, and there's a division to the north that didn't get caught up in that fracas between Stephenville and the Brazos, so they have their air-defense assets-Sixes or Eights.” He meant the SA-6 Gainful or SA-8 Gecko SAMs.

“We getting any help on this?” KT asked.

“Affirmative. Two A-7s will go with us, and do the IRON HAND thing. Each with two Shrikes or HARMs and some CBUs. They meet us at ten grand overhead.”

“MiG threat?” Asked Kara. Everyone knew she was looking for kill number ten, which would make her a double ace.

“Unchanged since this morning. Nearest MiGs are at Brownwood Regional, and those are both Soviet and East German. Bailout areas also unchanged: anyplace away from the roads and rural.”

“Got you, Boss,” Sweaty nodded.

“Anything else?” Guru asked. Seeing no answer, he went on. “Let's gear up.”


After returning the briefing material to the Ops Office, Guru went to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. When he came out, Goalie was waiting for him, as usual. “Well, this one and then it's F-20 time.”

“Just glad the F-15E's coming,” she said. “Otherwise, I'd be out of a job.”

“Can't have that,” Guru chuckled. “Let's go.”

The two left the office and headed to the dispersal, and on the way, came across IDF Maj. Dave Golen and 1st Lt. Sandi “Flossy” Jenkins, along with their GIBs. “Dave, where are you and Flossy headed?”

“Town called Hico,” Golen said. “You?”

“Dublin, west of there,” Guru replied. “If you hit trouble, holler. We'll be there.”

“Same with you,” Golen said, and the two shook hands.

Then Guru turned to Flossy, and her temporary GIB, Jang. “You two going great?”

“Jang here needs a permanent slot,” Flossy said. “But, if anything ever happened to Digger, I'd fly with her anytime.”

“Can't wait for that slot, Major,” Jang said. She and Flossy were one of two all-female crews in the squadron.

Guru nodded. “Be patient. Your time's coming.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dave? You all have a good one,” the CO said.

“You too,” said Golen.


Guru and Goalie then went to their revetment, where their mount, 512, was waiting. The rest of the flight was there. “Gather 'round, people.” He gave his final instructions. “Usual procedures on the radio.”

“Got it,” Kara said. “Boss, can anyone do something about that Red AWACS?”

“I'd like to know that myself,” Sweaty added.

“You're not the only one,” the CO replied. “Everybody in this AO wants them to go away. Anything else?”

“Looking forward for that F-20 ride?” Hoser asked.

“First things first, but yeah,” Guru admitted. “Anything else?”

Preacher said, “Two more after this one?”

“At least,” Brainiac reminded them. “No CAS, though. Had enough of that for a while.”

Guru nodded. “We're on the same page. That it?” Heads shook no. “Time to get it done, people! Let's hit it.” He clapped his hands.

The crews headed for their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, where their mount, 512, was waiting. The Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Major, Lieutenant,” he said, snapping a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to kick some more commie ass.”

“Always good to hear, Sergeant,” Guru replied as he and Goalie returned the salute. Then pilot and GIB did the usual pre-flight walk-around. Then they climbed the crew ladder and mounted the aircraft. After strapping in, they went through the pre-flight checklist. “Frank should know shortly.”

“He should,” Goalie affirmed. “Then we watch any fireworks,” she added. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours. Just hope he doesn't crash and burn-and take friendlies with him,” Guru replied with due seriousness. Arnie?”

“Arnie and INS all set,” Goalie said, referring to the ARN-101 DMAS and the INS. “We're set.”

“That we are,” Guru agreed. He gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then two J-79 engines were up and running, and after the warm-up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower,” a controller replied at once. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Lead is rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to his CC, who waved to the ground crew. The wheel chocks were pulled away, then Sergeant Crowley gave the “taxi” signal.

Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, Sergeant Crowley snapped a perfect salute, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. As they taxied out, the rest of the flight followed. When they got to the holding area, a Marine F/A-18 flight was ahead of them, and they were waiting on an inbound C-130. After the Herky-bird landed and taxied clear, the Hornets taxied for takeoff, and Guru taxied into the holding area. There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, and once that was done, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower,” the controller said. “Cleared to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-eight for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru called. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. Guru glanced back, and saw them in position. The crews exchanged thumbs-ups, then went through a final check. “Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“All set back here,” Goalie replied.

“Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said as he pulled down and locked his canopy. Goalie did the same, and he glanced over at Kara's bird, and they were ready as well.

“We're locked and cocked,” Goalie called. “Ready.”

“Then let's go,” Guru said. He went to full power on the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him.

It was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn thirty seconds later, and after climbing to FL 100, the flight met up with the two Navy A-7s, and they set course south for the tanker track.


Over Central Texas, 0935 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was going in, low, as usual, and south of the I-20. They had met up with the two A-7s that were flying IRON HAND, and had their usual pre-strike refueling. Now, they were going in at 450 feet AGL, and following the Brazos. And this time, unlike many previous strikes, the Nicaraguans were alerted and occasionally shooting. Several columns of smoke rising from areas east of the river explained why. “Somebody's reminding the Nicaraguans they're still in the war,” Guru observed after passing the Granbury bridge.

“Reminding them they should have stayed home,” Goalie noted. “One minute to Glen Rose, four minutes to turn point,” she called.

“Got it,” Guru said. He glanced at his RWR. So far, clear of any radar threats. Not even the Red AWACS. Then a beep came over his headset, and a strobe appeared on the RWR display. The SEARCH light came on. “Search radar,” he said.

“Same here,” Goalie replied. “Want to bet it's the Mainstay?”

“No takers,” said Guru. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller came back immediately. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-seven-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-two for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that. Mainstay active?”

“Affirmative, Camaro. Mainstay is up and active,” the Controller said.

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” replied Guru.

“That's that about the Mainstay,” Goalie said. “Glen Rose coming up.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as the U.S. 67 bridge appeared. Just as at Granbury, the flak gunners on both sides of the river opened up. As they flew by, a convoy was lined up on U.S. 67 headed south, waiting to cross the bridge. “Not their turn to die.”

“Too bad,” said Goalie “Thirty seconds to the Brazospoint bridge. One minute to Route 174 bridge.”

“Copy.”

The strike flight maintained its course, and the Brazospoint bridge appeared, with the flak gunners on both sides alerted and firing. They were too low, though, and too fast, for the gunners to properly track, and Camaro Flight easily avoided the flak.

“One-seventy-four bridge coming,” Guru noted. “North tip of the lake.” That meant Lake Whitney.

“Roger that,” said Goalie “Thirty seconds.”

The Route 174 bridge appeared, and again, there were convoys lined up, waiting to cross. Here, the gunners on the east side were Libyan, and they started shooting before the East Germans did. As usual, the Libyans acted as if someone was going to outlaw ammunition in the next five minutes, for they put out a lot of fire.

Camaro Flight cleared the bridge, and went out over the lake. “How far to turn?” Guru asked.

“Forty-five seconds,” was Goalie's answer.

“Copy.” Guru then dropped to 300 feet AGL over the lake, and the rest of the flight followed. The F-4s and A-7s thundered over the lake, and unknown to the aircrews, a number of locals were on both sides, fishing. Hoping to get some fish to compliment the rations allowed by the occupiers, seeing the F-4s, though the roar of jets frightened the fish, made their day.

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

Guru turned right onto a heading of two-seven-one, and some forty seconds later, blew past Meridian, where they had been earlier that morning, and headed west. “Next turn point?” He asked Goalie.

“One minute thirty to Hico,” Goalie said.

“Got it,” Guru said. He kept his head on a swivel, watching for visual threats, then checking the EW display. That Red AWACS was still there. He called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller came back right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-seven-zero for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-nine-one for fifty-eight. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-five for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Guru said.

Goalie checked her navigation. “One minute to Hico,” she called.

“Copy that,” Guru said as he maintained his visual scanning.

The rolling hills passed beneath them as the strike flight approached Hico. “Hico dead ahead,” Goalie advised.

“Got it,” Guru said as the town appeared at Twelve O'clock. “Visual on Hico.” Again the F-4s had caught the town by surprise, for there was not the slightest reaction from the town's garrison. “How far to the IP?”

“Forty seconds.”

In Hico, the East German Major who commanded the garrison had come out of his morning staff meeting, and deep down, he was wishing he was in a combat unit. He had come out of the Frontier Troops, and thus had been earmarked for garrison duties, much to his chagrin. Though he had a company of East German rifle troops-mainly reservists who had served in the Frontier Troops as he had, but there were also Soviets. Here, the Soviets from the Rear-Area Protection Division-and these were reservists in their forties from Minsk, men who were not fit for front-line duties, but any fool could patrol roads and provide a presence in town, which these overage reservists could do. However, if a serious fight ever developed, the Major felt that these men would likely take to their heels if the U.S. Army came over the hills north of the town.

The Major's biggest headaches were the Stasi and PSD detachments, who often had their own disagreements with not just the garrison, but each other. The Stasi insisted on posting guards at all “Vital installations” in the town, which included the U.S. 281 bridge south of town, as well as City Hall, the jail, and the various county buildings. Even though there wasn't the manpower, given the needs of the front, the Stasi was insistent. Then there was the PSD swine, who had arguments with the Stasi over matters of ideology, while both insisted on searching for any “Fascist and Counterrevolutionary elements” in the area. The lack of bandit or guerrilla activities in the area would have indicated to a rational person that there were no such elements, but both the Stasi and PSD had insisted. The Major was certain that what resistance people were in the area were laying low, biding their time until the front got closer, then, he knew, they would make their presence known.

Wishing the Stasi and the PSD would settle their differences-preferably by fire-fight, the Major went back to his office and looked out the window. A T-34/85 from the Soviets was parked outside City Hall, and the crew was busy with maintenance, when, suddenly, there was cheering from the civilians, who had been going about their business. He looked out and up, and saw four F-4 Phantoms and two smaller aircraft, which kind he wasn't sure, fly over the town. This had been the second time today, and he was wondering, will the third time bring an air strike?

“We're clear,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to IP.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead, Switches on, Music on, and stand by to pull.” That call was to arm their weapons and turn on their ECM pods.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Three copies,” Sweaty added.

“Four, roger,” was Hoser's call.

In 512, Guru said, “Set'em up,” as he turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.


“Got it,” Goalie said as she worked the armament controls. “You're set. All in one pass.”

Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. “Good girl.”

“IP in ten,” Goalie said. The town of Purves, more a collection of houses than a town, came into view. “And five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru pulled up as he called, “Flight, Lead. PULL.”The others acknowledged, and as he pulled up, he turned slightly right. Sure enough, Dublin came into view a couple miles ahead. And some flak started to come up. Somebody's alert down there, Guru thought. “Punchers go to work.” That call was for the A-7s to start their flak suppression.

“Puncher 306 copies,” a male voice came over the strike frequency. The A-7 leader and his wingman went after the flak batteries. “MAGNUM!” A Shrike missile was in the air, looking for a radar.

“Target in sight,” Guru called. Dublin Municipal was off to their left. “All set back there?”

“Ready,” Goalie chimed in.

Guru put the F-4 into a dive and onto his attack run. “Here we go.”



At Dublin Municipal Airport, the acting CO of the 77th Independent Naval Ground-attack Squadron (OMShAE) was in a fit. His squadron's Yak-38M fighters were practically useless in any kind of fighter mission against American fighters, and had been limited to anti-helicopter patrols as well as counterinsurgency. The Naval Aviation Major remembered going up against American fighters in Kansas, and the squadron had suffered for it, for the Yak-38 was practically helpless against an F-4, let alone the F-15 or F-16. They had rarely faced their expected opponents at sea, the F-14, but then again, having gone against the other “Teenaged” fighters as the Americans called them, he wasn't complaining. Here, though, contact with enemy aircraft had been rare, and even encounters with American helicopters had dropped off. Intelligence told him that the Americans were limiting their helicopter missions behind the lines to night flights, and his aircraft were daytime-only, VFR capable, and one attempt at intercepting an American helicopter had ended in disaster, when the Yak-38 pilot had misjudged his altitude and slammed into a hill, and the American CH-47 had gotten away.

Now, his squadron, normally twelve aircraft strong, was down to six on the field, two out on a patrol, and of the six nominally available, one was in a hangar undergoing an engine change. To cap matters, his squadron commander had been shot down the previous day by a marauding F-4, and was now in the hospital with a broken shoulder and a broken leg. The Major looked to the north, where the Americans were, and wondered what was coming next. This field had been hit previously, but the last raid had been a couple of weeks earlier, and the damage to the runway had been made good. He then glanced around and saw the five available Yak-38s sitting on the north ramp, an An-26 transport from the East German Air Force on the south, and a pair of East German Mi-8 transports near the transport. The Major was about to go to his headquarters tent to deal with the bureaucrats and the endless paperwork that they delighted in sending combat units when shouts of alarm rang out, followed by anti-aircraft fire. A quick glance to the southeast revealed smoke trails in the air and closing fast. American F-4s, he knew. As the air raid alarm sounded, he ran for a slit trench and jumped in.

Guru rolled in on his attack run. “Lead's in hot!” He came down on the airport just as the 23-mm flak opened up, and one of the two A-7s rolled in on the flak site and dropped on it. To him, it looked like a couple hundred firecrackers going off on the ground as the CBUs tore into the site. The A-7 pulled off, and as it did, he saw what he was looking for. Three Yak-38s on the ramp. Good, Guru thought as he lined them up in his pipper. Your turn, Ivan......Ignoring the remaining 23-mm tracers and the puffs of 57-mm, Guru bored in. “Steady....Steady....and....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, sending his Rockeyes down on the runway and the North Ramp. Guru pulled up and away, jinking as he did to avoid flak and any MANPADS. “Lead's off safe.”

“Damn!” The AV-MF Major yelled as first, the A-7, then Guru's F-4 came in on their runs. The Major had been bombed before, a number of times, but it had been a while. He heard the CBUs going off on the anti-aircraft site, then as the F-4 came in, more of the bloody bomblets went off. This time, there were bigger explosions in their wake, and he knew. At least three of his Yak-38s had gone up. He raised his head to take a look, but ducked back down as another F-4 appeared.

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

“How big?” Guru wanted to know. He was jinking to avoid flak, and saw a missile-probably a shoulder-fired one, pass by his left side.

“Caught them on the ground big,” replied Goalie.

“Good enough,” Guru said as he headed for the Leon River.


Kara rolled in on her run. “Two's in!” She called. Kara, too, ignored the flak, and there was some 23-mm tracers coming up, and even some 57-mm. Ignoring the Triple-A, she saw the CO's bird pull up and his CBUs go off. She eyeballed the hangars and lined them up in her pipper. Okay, Ivan....she thought as they grew larger in her sights. “Steady....And...And.....NOW!” She hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82s came off the racks. Pulling up and away, Kara applied power and began jinking to avoid flak. Despite some tracers flying over and around her aircraft, she egressed the target and got clear. “Two's off target.”

In his trench, the Major muttered, “Of all the....” He heard Kara's F-4 come in, and a dozen bombs exploded in its wake, and he heard a couple of secondary explosions as well. The Major lifted his head, and saw the hangar-more a wooden frame with tin walls and roof, really, blown apart, and the Yak-38 inside scattered to the four winds. Two other such hangars also were wrecked, and another Yak-38, parked outside the hangars, was nothing but burning junk. He started to get up, but ducked back down as the AA guns kept firing. More Yankee aircraft coming in.

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

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as she egressed the area, ignoring the flak, and a missile that flew right overhead by about a hundred feet.

“Got a couple,” her GIB replied. “And those chumps are still shooting.”

“Let 'em shoot,” Kara replied as she picked up the CO's bird.

“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came down on her run. As she did, the 57-mm flak stopped as one of the A-7s laid down a couple of CBUs on the battery, and not just a couple hundred firecrackers went off as the bomblets exploded, but there were secondary explosions as AA ammo went off as well. Bad day, Ivan, she thought as Kara made her run and Sweaty saw the hangars go up. Sweaty picked out the South ramp and spotted a twin-engined transport and a couple of helos. Okay...She lined them up, and got ready to release. “And....Steady....Steady.....And....NOW!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, sending her Rockeye CBUs down onto the South Ramp area and the runway. She pulled up and away, jinking like the others to throw off any AAA gunners or SA-7 operators. “Three's off target.”

“Sookin sin!” Yelled the AV-MF Major. Son of a bitch. He heard the A-7 make its run, followed by Sweaty's F-4, and both aircraft left CBUs in their wake. The F-4, though, left three large sympathetic explosions as well, and that meant the An-26 and the two Mi-8s had gone up, the Major knew. Shaking his head, he stood up in the trench, only to be pulled back in by someone he didn't hear, and he knew full well the raid wasn't over.

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher shouted from the back seat. “Three good secondaries!”

Sweaty was still jinking as she cleared the target area. “How good?”

“Big and good,” was her GIB's response.

“Good for us, bad for them,” Sweaty quipped as she spotted the lead element.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came down on the target. He saw Sweaty's run, and the fireballs erupting on the ground as the two helos and the transport went up. There was still some 23-mm flak coming up, but, like the others, he ignored it as he spotted the fuel dump. You're having a really bad morning, whoever you are, was Hoser's thought as he lined up the fuel bladders and drums in his pipper. “Okay....And...And...Steady....NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button, and sent his twelve Mark-82s down onto the dump. He pulled up and away, and like the others, he was jinking on pullout to avoid flak. “Four off safe,” Hoser called.

“Damn it!” The Major yelled as Hoser's F-4 flew overhead. He heard the explosions as the Phantom flew past, and oily fireballs and smoke meant that the fuel depot had been hit, and more explosions followed as more fuel drums and probably the fuel trucks as well, went up. He stood up and got out of the trench, and turned to his maintenance officer. “Get the fire-fighting efforts organized, and see to the wounded.” This was shaping up to be a bitch of a day, and if the Yankees came back later, it would be worse, he knew.

“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled from the back seat. “You got the fuel dump!”

“How good?” Hoser asked as he cleared the town, and picked up Sweaty's exhaust trail, then her bird.

“Big and good,” said KT. “Big and righteous, as Preacher would say.”

Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Good enough,” he said. Just then, there was a call for him on the radio.

“Camaro Four, break right!”

He instantly broke, and as he turned, there was a Forger trying to line him up for a shot. The Yak-38 driver, though, didn't last, as one of the A-7s was behind the Forger, and fired a Sidewinder.

“FOX TWO!” A female voice called. It was Puncher 310, the A-7 wingmate. She had spotted the Forger and called the warning, then rolled in behind the Forger, then she took the shot. The AIM-9J smashed into the Forger's tail, engulfing it in a fireball, and as the Forger fell to earth, the pilot ejected. “SPLASH!”

“Hear that?” Guru asked in 512's cockpit. “One of the A-7s got a Forger.”

“Navy killing Navy,” said Goalie.

“It is that,” Guru said. “Puncher, Camaro. We're clear of the target and headed out.”

“Roger that, Camaro Lead,” Puncher 306 replied. “We're on you.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. He glanced to his right and found Kara and Brainiac in 520 with them in Combat Spread. “Sweaty, what's your position?”

“One mile behind, with visual, and Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called.

“Roger that,” Guru said as the two A-7s joined up with them. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

“Stand by one,” the AWACS controller replied. After a moment's silence, the controller came back. “Camaro Lead, threat bearing Two-four-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-five-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Do you have bogey dope?” Guru asked as he picked up the Leon River and turned north.

The controller came back at once. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Closest threats are Fishbeds. Second threats are Floggers, with Fulcrums the third.”

MiG-21s closest, Guru thought. Good. At low level, they could easily turn with a -21. MiG-23s and even MiG-29s? Well, they'd be across the fence before any of the three could be a factor. “Roger that, Crystal Palace.”

“Fulcrums?” Goalie asked. Out of GIB good habits, she began scanning visually.

“Not close enough,” Guru replied. Just then, Lake Leon appeared, then I-20 and the FLOT. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.”

After clearing the freeway, the flight climbed to altitude, then headed for the tankers. They plugged in for their post-strike refueling, then all six aircraft, F-4s and A-7s, headed back to Sheppard.

When the flight got back, they were told to wait in the pattern. Four flights were ahead of them, as well as outbound strikes-AF, Navy, and Marine. When their turn came, they saw the F-20s were behind them by two flights. Good, everyone thought. Let them wait. Then it was Camaro Flight's turn, and they came in and landed.

They taxied in, canopies open, and as they did, the news crew was filming them again. “Why are they still filming? They've got enough of that,” Guru wondered aloud.

“You've got me,” Goalie said. “Might be a slow day for their perspective.”

Camaro taxied into the squadron's dispersal, and the F-4s found their revetments, as did the A-7s, who went to VA-135's own area. Guru taxied into 512's revetment, and after taxiing in and shutting down, let out a deep breath. “Two and done.”

“Two more,” Goalie reminded him. “And your F-20 ride, remember?”

“How can I forget?” Guru asked as the F-20s came in and landed. “Wonder if Frank got the bad news?”

“One way to find out,” Goalie said as they went through the post-flight checklist, and the ground crew brought the crew ladder over.

Guru nodded, then took off his flight helmet. He took a handkerchief out of a flight suit pocket and wiped his forehead. Then he got up and climbed down, and Goalie followed. Sergeant Crowley was waiting, as usual. “Sergeant,” Guru nodded.

“Major,” Crowley said. “Lieutenant,” he nodded at Goalie. “How's my bird, and how'd she do?”

“Five-twelve's still truckin', Sergeant, and she did good. Made some Forgers on the ground go up-in pieces.”

“Shit hot, sir!” Crowley said, handing the CO and GIB each a bottle of water. “What's next?”

“Get her turned around, and then you guys get yourselves something to eat,” Guru said. “Still got two more to go.”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, sir!” he said. “All right, you heard the Major,” he told the ground crew. “Get her turned around for another one.”

Both Guru and Goalie nodded, then put on their bush hats and headed for the revetment's entrance. They found Kara and Brainiac waiting. “How'd it go with you?” The CO asked his wingmate.

“Tore up the hangars, and saw you take those Forgers,” Kara said. “And one of the A-7s got a Forger off of Hoser's tail.”

Sweaty and Preacher heard that as they came up. “Looks like we'll have to send the Navy something to drink,” she observed. “Got the helos and a transport on the ramp.”

“And we got the fuel dump,” Hoser added. “I'll have to buy that A-7 driver a round,” he said.

“That's the usual,” Kara said. “Anyone you know of get a kill in an A-7?”

“Prada,” Guru reminded them. “She even got a MiG. Maybe an Su-25, the rest helos, I think.”

Heads nodded at that. “And speaking of which,” Goalie said. “They're taxiing in.”

“You're flying with her, right?” Hoser asked.

The CO nodded. “You got it, and I won't even need to change.”

Kara had a grin. “So, Boss, what are you going to tell 'em when that exercise is through?”

“Nasty little interceptor for anyone who can't afford an F-16 or F/A-18, has the makings of a decent aggressor, and that's about it,” Guru told his people. “Then again, that's for 'after the war'.”

Heads nodded again. “That little detail is always there,” Preacher commented.

“It is,” Guru said as a Dodge Crew-cab pickup pulled up, and out came Chief Ross. “Chief?”

“Major,” Ross said. One thing about being on the ramp, was that nobody saluted. “Captain Licon wants you all for a debrief.”

The CO nodded. “Let's go, people. Get the debrief done, then time for my F-20 check ride.”

“You going to take the stick?” Kara asked.

“If Prada lets me,” Guru joked. “Come on. Let's get the debrief out of the way. While I'm with Yeager's people, you all need to check your desks.”

“Because the paper warriors never seem to stop,” Goalie spat.

“No,” Guru agreed. “Pile in and let's go,” he said, and they all piled into the pickup, and Chief Ross drove them back to the Squadron's Office. Get the debrief done, get the F-20 ride out of the way for the CO, then eat and get ready to go do it all over again....

[Matt Wiser]

Part 24: Guru gets his F-20 check ride, while a certain someone finds out he's not leaving the squadron just yet... And the 335th pulls an UNODIR Mission...


335th TFS, 1045 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight's crews were getting their debriefing done outside the squadron's offices. There were several picnic tables there, and not only were they a popular spot for those who wanted to eat lunch outside, but they were also handy for quick debriefings. Sin Licon, their Intelligence Officer, went over things, and when the debrief was finished, asked the CO, “Major, word's going around you're going up in the F-20.”

“Right you are,” Major Wiser said. He glanced over at the dispersal area the F-20s were using-which would soon be used by the RAF when they arrived. “Waiting on their own turnaround.”

“And I don't need to be a spook to figure out what you're going to say,” Licon nodded. “Nasty point-defense interceptor. Good for an F-5 replacement for those who can't afford an F-16, and a potent aggressor.”

“You picked that up fast,” Goalie said, glancing at the CO, who nodded.

“Word gets around,” the intel replied. “So....looks like you all did a number on that field. I'll check the strike camera footage once it's developed, then send it off to MAG-11 Intelligence.”

“Thanks, Sin,” Guru said. “I'll check the office, then all I have to do is wait for the F-20 guys to call.”

Kara grinned. “And since you'll be likely riding with Prada, she may not let you touch the stick.”

“You did 'splash' her,” as I recall,” Sweaty added with some relish. She was still smarting over losing to General Yeager, and not recording a training kill in their DACT round with the F-20s.

“He did,” Goalie smiled at her pilot and lover. “And something else's been on our minds. How'd Frank take the news?”

Licon shook his head. “Haven't heard anything on that.”

“Find out soon enough,” Guru said as he got up from the table. “Remember, check your desks before you all get some chow,” he reminded his flight. Then he went into the office, and after chatting with the Admin folks, went into his office. To his surprise, there wasn't much cluttering up his desk. The CO quickly took care of the two papers that required his attention, then went back out of his office. He ran into the Assistant Ordnance Officer, Capt. Kerry Collins. “Kerry.”

“Boss,” Collins replied. “Glad to see my bird getting worked on.” His mount had taken flak damage a couple days earlier, and now that the needed parts had arrived, the maintenance people were getting it back in shape-and getting the hundred-hour check done at the same time.

“How's the bird from Japan?” Guru asked.

“Just fine, Boss,” Collins said. “Nothing to complain about.”

“Good,” the CO nodded. Just then, a figure that was universally loathed in the squadron-if not the base-came in. Major Frank Carson was a pain in the ass to just about everyone, and had rubbed everyone the wrong way. His Frank Burns-type personality, Academy know-it-all attitude towards anyone not a USAFA graduate, and Boston Blue-blood arrogance earned him very few friends and a great many enemies in the squadron. Not to mention the CO's promise to kick him out by New Year's if he didn't shape up. Still, Guru felt it best to be polite to Carson when he wasn't pissed off. “Frank,”

“Major,” Carson nodded politely, though everyone in the office could hear the contempt in his voice. It was an open secret that Carson felt he was entitled to command the squadron, and resented that he had been skipped over and Guru confirmed in command instead. “Captain,” he said to Collins, then went to his desk. There, he found the envelope from General Yeager.

“Watch it...” Guru warned Collins as Carson opened the envelope.

Everyone in the office watched the Major scan the letter inside. Then he did it again. “This can't be...must be a mistake.”

“Good news, Frank?” Guru asked politely, though he knew full well what was in the letter.

Collins looked at his CO. “Boss?”

Carson looked at Guru as if the CO had suddenly grown another head and set of arms. His eyes then returned to the letter. Then he kicked the wastebasket next to his desk, stuffed the letter in his flight suit pocket, and stormed out the front door just as Chief Ross was coming in. The door was still open, and everyone heard a scream. “ARRRGH!”

“Let me guess, Boss,” Collins grinned. “He didn't get into the F-20 program.” It wasn't a question.

“General Yeager told me a few days ago. No way was Frank going to F-20s. With his record....” Guru's voice trailed off. “Do me a favor, Kerry.”

“You got it, Boss,” Collins said. He could tell the concern in his CO's voice.

“Pass the word to watch Frank. He just saw his hopes of getting a squadron, maybe even a wing, of his own, crash and burn. Lot of pressure on him, and he's going to pop sooner or later.”

Collins nodded. “And we had better hope he doesn't get anyone in the squadron-or other friendlies-killed.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Kerry,” Guru said. “You too, Chief. Pass it on about Major Carson.”

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “Major, the F-20s are set to go. They sent me to get you, with General Yeager's compliments.”

Guru nodded. “Thanks, Chief.” He turned to Collins. “Let the Exec and Van Loan know about Frank.”

“Will do, and have a good hop, Boss,” Collins grinned.

“Thanks, Kerry,” Guru said. He nodded at Ross, and went out the door, with Ross behind him. His flight was still on the lawn, and he had had a slight scowl on his face. “What are you guys still doing here?”

“Well,” Kara said. “Wanted to wish you luck with the F-20s, then we saw Frank come out, and he was not in a good mood.”

Preacher nodded. “Was that what we think it was?”

“It was, and he's now going to pop,” the CO said. “The question is when? Goalie?” He turned to his GIB. “Find Brian Slater, that's his GIB, then find his wing crew. Give them the news, and tell them to watch Frank like a hawk, especially in the air. If he starts taking unnecessary chances, that's emotional instability and Doc can ground him for that.”

Goalie nodded. “On my way,” she said, going off to look for the crewers in question.

“And the rest of you? Pass the word about Frank, but get this: no razzing him or anything like that. Understood? Don't want him taking it out on anyone in the squadron. Clear?”

“As a bell, Major,” said Kara. Though she had her own issues with the man, that was the last thing she-or anyone else-wanted.

“Good. I'll tell him to get sloppy drunk tonight, and sleep it off tomorrow. Give him the day off, maybe two.”

“Gotcha,” Sweaty nodded. “Now, going to try out the T-20?”

“Now, now,” Hoser said. “But yeah, they going to get even with you for, uh, 'killing' two of them?”

“We'll see,” Guru grinned as he went to the pickup. “Let's go, Chief.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ross as they got into the pickup.


A quick drive brought the pickup to the F-20 area, and as Guru got out of the truck, he noticed the tech-reps busy about the aircraft, while the drivers were discussing something that had happened in the air, for there was quite a bit of hand gestures being employed. He picked up his helmet and said, “Thanks, Chief.”

“Have a good one, sir, and I'll be waiting when you get back,” Ross said.

“Remember what I said about Major Carson,” Guru reminded him.

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “I'll pass that on,”

“Good man, Chief,” Guru nodded as he got out of the truck and went over to the F-20 crews. He sketched a salute as General Yeager recognized him. “General.”

Yeager sketched a return salute of his own. “Major,” he said pleasantly. “You'll be with Prada on this one.”

Guru nodded, and turned to the pilot in question. “Hope you don't mind flying somebody who 'splashed' you the other day.”

“Not at all, Major,” Prada replied, but he did noticed the slight evil-looking grin on her face.

“Ready, Major?” Clancy asked. “Now you'll see what these can do from the cockpit.”

“No doubt,” Guru grinned. “But...I'll tell you all what I told General Yeager earlier: you've got yourselves here a nasty little dogfighter and point-defense interceptor. It'll do all right in the ground-attack arena, especially for those who can't afford an F-16 or F/A-18, and the Aggressor Community will be glad to see this bird. And that's about all the positives.”

“And the negative?” Jeb Pruitt asked, though he already knew some of it.

“Endurance, for starters,” Guru said. “Your unrefueled endurance is about forty-five minutes, an hour with the centerline tank. More tanks means drag, and you all know what that means.” Seeing the three juniors nod, along with Yeager, he went on. “Northrop's squeezed just about everything out of the F-5 design it can. Maybe after the war, they can take a look at something new, but...we have to get to the 'after the war,' first.”

“That we do, Major,” Yeager said. Then one of the tech-reps came over to him and whispered in his ear. “We're good to go. Let's go back to the Scud Box and do some ACM. Hassle with each other, and maybe see if anyone passing through wants a fight. And yes, Major, if the bad guys come, I'll let you young ones handle it.”

Guru nodded. “That's good to hear, General.” The last thing he wanted was another talk with General Tanner, and then a tongue-lashing from the Air Force Chief of Staff. So far, the big brass hadn't called him on the carpet for the F-20s having encountered Red Air, but.....

Yeager grinned, then said in his West Virginia drawl, “Then let's fly.”


Prada took Guru to the F-20D, and gestured to the back seat. “Last time I was in the back seat was for my first orientation ride in an F-4, back at Homestead.”

“Prewar?” Prada asked as they got into their seats and the Crew Chief-who was Air Force, along with the Assistant-helped them get strapped in.

“Yep. Three years ago. Seems like that many lifetimes.”

“I know what you mean,” said Prada. “I was at the University of Maryland when it all started. Just started my junior year,” as she took care of the preflight checklist, then started the engine.

“Well, when this is all over, you get your sister back from Cuba, then go back to school on the Air Force's dime.”

“General Yeager used those exact same words last night,” Prada said. “Time to taxi.”

The F-20s taxied out of their revetments, and taxied to Runway Three-Five-Romeo. They were fourth in line, behind a C-130, two flights of Marine F/A-18s, and a two-ship from the 335th. By the tail numbers, it was Dave Golen and Flossy going back out. Once the F-4s had launched, then it was the turn of the F-20s.

“All set back there?” Prada asked Guru.

“Ready,” Guru said. This was new, flying in the back seat again after so long in the front.....

“Showroom Flight, Lead,” Yeager's drawl came over the radio. “Clear for takeoff.”

Both Prada and Guru saw the Control Tower flash the green light, then the first two F-20s, Clancy and Pruitt, rolled down the runway and into the air. Then it was their turn and General Yeager's. His C and their D were in formation as they thundered down the runway and then climbed skyward. Once airborne, they formed up and set course due west for the Scud Box.


The four-ship of F-20s had a ten minute flight to the Scud Box, then, much to the disappointment of Clancy and Pruitt, there were no transiting flights from Amarillo in the area. AWACS pronounced the area clear, so all they had at the moment was each other.

After a couple of fights where Clancy and Pruitt “killed” each other, always under the watchful eye of General Yeager, Prada charged in, with Guru in the back seat. For this one, he was just a passenger. On the way to the Scud Box, Prada had explained what the Multifunction Displays did, and he had played around with them. A moving map display, EW display, radar, HUD camera, ADI and HSI, digital compass display, weapons status, it put his F-4 cockpit to shame. For all of the gauges and dials were now available at the touch of a finger. “Prada, what do you want me for?”

“Clear six, and keep an eye out for any party-crashers.” Prada said as she rolled in on Pruitt.

“General Yeager referees these?”

“He does,” Prada acknowledged as she tried to line up Pruitt for a Sidewinder, but her quarry rolled away and dived to the right.

“Practical,” Guru nodded in the back seat, then had his head on a swivel. “Clancy at five,” he called, spotting an F-20 coming in.

“Oh?” Prada said. She broke left, then went into a vector roll as Clancy overshot. Then she came in behind Clancy. “Check six.”

“You're clear,” Guru said. “Take him.”

“Steady....and...” The tone growled in both their headsets. “FOX TWO on Clancy.”

“That's a kill,” Yeager ruled from his perch above.

“Fuck!” Clancy swore out loud in his F-20, but he was careful not to on the radio. Then he headed out for a minute, then came back in.

“So, Major,” Yeager said while Clancy was headed out. “What do you think?”

“General, Still unchanged, but I'll say this: I'm getting a sneak preview of what the F-15E will be for us,” Guru said.

“Glad to hear that,” Yeager said. “Clancy coming in.”

“I see him,” Prada called, turning to face him. Another kill this hop...

Guru turned his head and saw an F-20 coming down on them from above. “BREAK LEFT!” He called on the IC.

Without thinking, Prada broke just before Pruitt got Sidewinder lock. Cursing, he tried to turn, but overshot his opponent. He had kept her away from Clancy, but...

“Got you, Jeb,” Prada muttered as she rolled back in onto Pruitt's six. “FOX TWO on Jeb.”

“Kill,” Yeager ruled. “Sorry, son.”

As Pruitt headed out, Guru said to Prada on the IC, “Dave Golen told me these two take a lot of risks.”

“They do,” she replied. “They fly the -20 like they stole it. Kind of like you guys and your F-4s. Then again, probably because they're a little younger than I am, and a lot more foolish.”

“He also said you thought they had climbed the ladder a bit too fast for your taste.”

“I do, but given the losses the 479th took, I'm not surprised. And I'm not surprised that General Yeager's taken them under his wing, given the crazy stuff they pulled at Wichita and during PRARIE FIRE.”

“Two younger versions of himself?” Guru wondered as Prada did a barrel roll and tried to line up Pruitt again.

“Clancy is BINGO,” the call came over the radio. They watched as an F-20 turned east for Sheppard.

“Unless there's a tanker around, this little exercise is over,” Guru noted. He checked the MFD that showed the HUD view, and Pruitt was jinking all over, then he leveled out and made a left turn.

“Pruitt's BINGO,” the call came, confirming Guru's observation.

In his F-20C, General Yeager made the call. “Form on me and let's go home,” he said. “This one's in the book.”

The four F-20s formed up and headed for Sheppard. When they got to the base, they had a couple minutes' wait while a battle-damaged Marine F-4 came to the head of the line, then the Tigersharks had their turn. As they taxied in, Guru noticed a familiar setup: Jana Wendt and her news crew were filming again.

“Have they ever stopped?” Prada asked.

“You'd never guess how many times I've asked that, or Goalie,” Guru replied.

When they got to their dispersal area, and shut down, Prada asked as she did the post-flight checklist. “Well, change your opinion?”

“On this bird?” Guru asked. “No. But this was a nice sneak preview of what we'll be getting a year or two down the line.”

“You mean the F-15E?”

“I do.”

After the post-flight checklist, the canopies were popped and the ground crew brought the crew ladders. Guru and Prada climbed down from the D as Yeager, Clancy, and Pruitt got down from their Cs. Then Chief Ross came in his Crew-Cab pickup, and they gathered there. The three C drivers and the Chief watched as Guru and Prada shook hands. Then they came over to the truck. “General,” Guru nodded. “Wish she'd come over to F-4s. Thanks to your poaching, sir, my Exec and Ops Officer are now looking for new wingmen.”

“You trying to recruit, Major?” Yeager asked. “Your guys have two weeks until they report to Edwards.”

“Can't hurt,” Guru said. “Though I imagine Prada's going to take that IP job you offered.”

“I am,” said Prada.”Haven't talked to my folks just yet, with the land lines here. But when we get back to California?”

“Don't worry, Captain,” Yeager said. “I'll wrangle that call for you. Then you're taking the job.”

“Yes, sir. I'll have plenty of time to settle with the Cubans for Daria,” she said, referring to her sister who was a POW in Cuba.

“There is that,” Yeager nodded agreement. “Major? Your take on this little ride?”

“General, I'm not changing my mind,” Guru said firmly. “I'll stick with Double-ugly until the F-15E comes along. This was a sneak preview. And if you don't mind my saying so, I'll bet that Northrop tries to hire these two young pups”-he motioned to Clancy and Pruitt-”to be company demo pilots. Lot of F-5 operators who can't afford to upgrade to the F-16 or F/A-18 are going to be placing orders.”

“That'll make the folks I work with back in California happy,” grinned the General.

“And if you two do take the job?” Guru asked. “Keep your bags packed and your passports up to date.”

“IF they hire a couple of crazies,” Clancy deadpanned.

“You never know,” replied Guru. “Looks like my ride's back to the squadron.”

“Looks like,” Yeager said. “Oh, by the way, Major. Did that....other officer get the word?”

Guru nodded. “Before I came over here,” he said. “Now we need to find some kind of pressure valve, because he's going to pop before too long.” And just hope he only gets himself killed, Guru thought to himself.

“He is a snotty asshole,” Prada declared. “Just glad I'm not going to teach him to fly the F-20. Uh, sir.”

Yeager knew what she meant. “Not to worry, Captain,” he said. “Worse has been said about him, no doubt.”

“It has, General. Thanks for the ride, and see you tonight, sir.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, Major,” replied Yeager, and they all shook hands.

“Thanks again, sir,” Guru said, then he walked over to Chief Ross. “Chief, anything going on I should know about?”

'”No, sir,” Ross said. “If you're referring to Major Carson? He and his element left twenty minutes ago. Everything seemed fine.”

“Hope so, and he takes his anger out on the enemy,” Guru said as he got into the truck. “Now I need some food, Chief. Let's head back.”

“Yes, sir!” Ross said as he put the truck in gear, and drove back to the squadron office.


335th TFS, 1150 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser came into the squadron's office and immediately went to change out of his flight gear. That done, he went to his office, and found his Exec waiting for him. “Mark,” the CO said. “You've heard about Frank, I gather?”

“Yeah, Boss,” Ellis said. “Word's gotten around. So far, he hasn't gone off half-cocked and done anything stupid.”

Nodding, Guru asked, “He back yet?”

“Not yet, but he should be in shortly,” the Exec said. “You going to ground him?”

Guru nodded again. “Tonight. Let him get sloppy drunk, then let him sleep it off tomorrow. Just hope he gets over it.”

“That may be asking too much, Boss,” Ellis pointed out. “Frank just saw his squadron command go down the shitter, and he may not be in the mood.”

“I know,” Guru said. “If he starts acting unusual, Doc can ground him for emotional instability. Frank gets shipped off for some tests, and then gets reassigned to a desk job someplace.” And that, Guru knew, solved his problem. Though he didn't relish inflicting Frank on a fellow officer.

“One can hope.”

“You're not alone,” said the CO. “Okay, anything else?”

“Yeah,” Ellis grinned. “How'd the F-20 ride go?”

“Look at it this way: it's a nice preview of what we'll be getting when the F-15E comes our way. Even if the -20 is a short-legged, souped-up F-5. Northrop pretty much squeezed the F-5 airframe dry and this is the result. I'll say this: it'll make a nasty aggressor, and those guys will be chomping at the bit to have F-20s at Nellis.”

“And Prada?” Asked the Exec. “You did fly with her?”

“No grudges, if that's what you're looking for. Nope. And she'll make a good IP when that opportunity opens up,” said Guru.

“Good to see General Yeager talent-scouting for that duty,” Ellis nodded.

“She's done her bit for God and Country,” Guru pointed out. “With her sister a POW in Cuba, she's earned time off the line. Okay, anything else?”

“Updated weather forecast,” the XO said, handing over a sheet. “No change for two days, then we get some clouds, and the next day? Plenty of rain.”

“And a nice first day in Texas for our British cousins,” Guru quipped. “Big change from sipping rum and cokes on the beach, and staring at either nurses from the base or stranded tourists, all in bikinis.”

Ellis let out a laugh. “Some hardship duty station,” he joked. “And that's it.”

“Thanks, Mark. Get yourself some chow, then some rest. Won't be long....”

“Until we're back at it,” Ellis finished.

“So true,” the CO said.


A few minutes later, Guru went over to the Mess Tent to get lunch for himself and Goalie. He got their order, then came back to the office. On the way back, he ran into his Ops Officer. “Don,” he nodded. “Anything on Frank yet?”

“Not yet,” Van Loan said. “His element did come back-both airplanes, and they're being debriefed as we speak.”

Just then, 1st Lt. Brian Slater, who was Major Carson's WSO, and the wing crew, Capt. Sean Hennings and 1st Lt. Melissa Brewster, came out. “Glad that's over,” Hennings said. “Never seen him like this before.”

“Frank being more of a hard-ass than usual?” Guru said. Was this the opening he'd been waiting for, and an excuse to ground him?

“No, Major,” Brewster said. “He went over every little detail you could think of, even if they weren't relevant to the strike.”

“Okay...” the CO nodded. “Did Goalie tell you what happened earlier?” He said with a very serious tone in his voice.

All three nodded as well. “She did, Major,” Slater said. “So Frank didn't get into the F-20, and he's taking it out on whoever he can.”

“Great,” Van Loan spat. “Sooner or later, somebody's going to get killed because of him.”

“That is what I'm afraid of,” Guru said. “Okay, Brian? If you have to confront him, as GIB to pilot, don't be afraid. If he wants you written up, I get it and it feeds the office shredder.” He then turned to Hennings and Brewster. “You two? If you have to do the same as wingman to lead? Don't hesitate. Same drill on anything he sends me. Comprende?”

“Clear as a bell, Major,” Hennings said, and his GIB nodded.

“Good. Now, Major Carson will be grounded tomorrow and probably the next day. Brian? You get at least tomorrow off.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Slater grinned. “One good thing to come out of it.”

“Sean? You and Melissa have to fly tomorrow, so....” Guru thought for a moment. He'd had five- and six-ships before, but without any hint of what was in the ATO.....”Okay, you two fly with Dave Golen and Flossy. He'll be glad to have you two.”

“Likewise,” Hennings replied with relief.

“Major?” Slater asked. “If I confront him, and remind him that if anything goes wrong, I die six feet behind him, is that okay?”

“It is,” Guru said firmly. “Brian, you have my permission to do just that if necessary. One other thing: do you want a new pilot?”

“Major, I'll stay, as crazy as that sounds. I know Major Carson, and if he got a new GIB, chances are, you'll be writing two letters. I'm the best chance of controlling him in the air that this squadron has,” replied Slater.

Guru understood. Though he was wondering what he'd have to do if Carson was shot down and some Congressional aide or Senate staff member came asking on behalf of Carson's dad what had happened... Guru decided then and there to have Ryan Blanchard's CSPs throw said staffer off base. “Your call. Just keep it in mind, okay? And remind him every time before you go out: no trolling for MiGs or SAMs.”

“Got it, Major.”

“All right. You all get yourselves fed. Still got a busy afternoon coming,” the CO reminded them.

“Yes, sir,” all three replied.

After the three had left, Van Loan turned to the CO. “Boss, why do I get the feeling something's going to happen involving Frank, and it'll be soon?”

“You're not the only one,” Guru replied.


Guru and the Ops Officer went into the squadron's office, and found Goalie on her way out. “Just who I was looking for,” she said. She saw the plastic bag and drink carriers in his hands. “So, today you're buying lunch.”

“I am,” Guru grinned.

“Good to know, and I do want to hear how the F-20 ride went.”

Van Loan headed for his office, while the CO and his GIB went into his. Over barbequed chicken sandwiches with cole slaw and lemonade, the two discussed the morning's events. “Too bad you didn't get a ride,” Guru said. “Nice little interceptor, and a potent bird for the Aggressors postwar.”

“Not flying anything not two-seater by design,” Goalie said firmly. Anything else and I'm out of a job.”

“Can't have that,” Guru laughed. “You talk with Brian and Melissa?”

Goalie nodded. “I did, before they left. Saw you talking with them-and Sean, too, before you came in. They'll watch Frank.”

“That's what they told me, so....” Guru paused as he took a bite out of his sandwich. “One of three things happens. First, Frank comes to me and asks for a transfer. Not very likely, but possible.”

“Second,” Goalie picked up. “He shapes up. Also unlikely, but lightning has been known to strike in the right place on occasion.”

The CO nodded again. “And last, he fucks up one last time, and then one of two things come about. Either he gets himself shot down, or....”

“Or he earns himself a General Court-Martial,” Goalie finished. “But you forgot one thing.” She barely concealed her glee at the latter.

“What?” Guru asked.

“Sundown Cunningham shows up two or three weeks from now and kicks Frank's ass off this base.”

Guru smiled, remembering the probability of that happening. “How one forgets.”

“Yeah.”

They were almost finished eating when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?” Guru said. “Show yourself and come on in.”

The office door opened and Don Van Loan came in. “Boss, this just came in on the ATO. You've got a mission in forty-five. But have a look at the target.” He handed the CO a paper.

Guru took it, and scanned the paper. “Wonderful. A 'Liberation Radio' transmitter facility and a nearby supply dump or truck park.” He sighed. “Sweaty and Hoser can take the latter. But the former?” He looked at the ordnance called for in the ATO. “This is a load of bullshit. A laser bomb target, and they want Snakeyes?”

“We've got Pave Tack and Pave Spike pods, crews qualified to use 'em, and some bomb kits,” Goalie pointed out. “They must not know we do.”

“Probably,” Guru spat. “Kerry Collins back yet?” He was referring to the Assistant Ordnance Officer. The loathed Major Carson's nonflying job was as Ordnance Officer, but everyone bypassed him when possible and dealt with Capt. Kerry Collins.

“He is,” Van Loan said. “You're thinking what I think you are?”

“Let me guess,” Goalie said. “A LGB strike.” She wasn't asking a question.

Guru let out a grin. “Right you are.” He picked up his office phone and dialed the Ordnance Office. “Kerry, this is Guru. Listen, my bird and Kara's? Switch out what you've been told, and load a centerline Pave Tack pod on both aircraft. Two GBU-10Es, two Sparrows, ECM pod, wing tanks, and full gun.” There was a pause, then the CO went on. “How long? Forty-five? Okay, Kerry, don't waste any more time talking to me. Get it done. Right.” He hung up. “Now we can use those three Pave Tack pods and the LGB kits we've picked up. Don? Tell Ross to find some more Paveway kits. How he does it, I don't care, as long as the usual scrounging rules apply.”

“Got you,” Van Loan said. “Anything else?”

“Find General Olds. If he's having lunch, request his presence in the Ops Office at his convenience. If not, find him anyway and request that he come over. We've got something that will warm his heart.”

“On my way,” Van Loan said as he headed out the door.

“So...we get to fold, spindle, bend, or mutilate the ATO,” Goalie smiled. “Haven't done that in a few days.”

“No, and I do know what you're going to ask next. No Sidewinders. And I know how to take care of that,” said Guru. “Dave Golen and Flossy are coming with us.”

“Strike escort.”

“You got it.”

Pilot and GIB finished lunch, then went to the Ops Office. Kara and her WSO, Brainiac, were there. “Boss,” Kara said. “We're going smart-bombing?”

“That we are,” Guru said. “Haven't done this in a while. Birds should be ready in time, Kerry says.” He turned to Goalie. “Get Dave, Flossy, and their GIBs. If they're eating, tell them to hit the briefing room in twenty.”

“Got it,” Goalie said. She left the Ops Office to find their IDF “Observer” and his element.

“And Dave's element?” Kara asked.

Guru nodded, then picked up Van Loan's office phone. He called the Ordnance office. “Kerry? Yeah, me again. Have you guys started loading Dave Golen's element? Good. Their orders changed as of now. Give them four Sidewinders, two Sparrows, usual ECM pods, wing tanks, and gun. Clean centerline. How long? All right, get started.” He hung up. “They'll be ready when we are.”

A few minutes later, General Olds came in with Van Loan. “Major,” Olds said.

“General,” Guru replied politely as those in the Ops Office rose. “We've got something cooking that's near and dear to your heart.” He showed the General the mission order and the target. “Sir, this is what we have in mind. Four bombs to do what the order calls for two dozen.” Guru then outlined what he had in mind.

“I like it,” Olds said. ”UNODIR.”

“Sir?” Kara asked, slightly confused.

“UNODIR, Captain,” Olds said. “Unless Otherwise Directed. Pulled a few stunts like this in Vietnam, and it's how I had my F-4Ds rewired back to Sidewinders after the Falcon Fiasco.” He referred to the wretched AIM-4 Falcon's uselessness as a fighter combat weapon, and having his Wing's F-4Ds rewired to carry Sidewinders within twenty-four hours of his order. And the rest of the Air Force had followed his lead. “When you report back to Tenth AF Ops that the mission's been launched? You say UNODIR, that the mission against this target has LGBs instead of the ordnance in the ATO. Once you're briefed, I'll call General Tanner and explain what's up. And I'll see about getting you some more laser bomb kits and maybe another pod.”

“Thanks, General.” Guru said. Then Goalie came in. “And?”

“Dave's people are in the briefing room, and so are Sweaty's,” Goalie said. “Oops, sorry, General, didn't see you.”

“Not to worry, Lieutenant,” Olds said. “Let's get this briefed, then you have a mission to fly. I'll talk to General Tanner while you're in the air.”


When they got to the Briefing Room Guru's flight used, Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, KT, Dave, Terry McAuliffe-Golen's GIB, Flossy, and Jang were all there. And Buddy, the squadron's dog. “People, we've got a new mission,and it's not quite what the ATO has in mind.”

“So what's the target?” Sweaty asked.

“Right here, five miles northeast of Stephenville. Right at the F.M. 179/180 intersection. There's a 'Liberation Radio' facility with a transmitter tower and a control building. Just to the east of that is a truck park at the very least, if not a supply dump. Lots of stuff under that camo netting. Sweaty? You and Hoser get that, and before you ask, you both get a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes with the Daisy Cutter fuze extenders. Make them burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“Our pleasure,” Sweaty grinned. “We still have the Sidewinders. And you and Kara get the radio facilities.”

“Right on that,” Guru said. “Here's where we depart from the ATO. Kara and I will carry Pave Tack pods and two GBU-10s. I know, they don't call those pods 'Pave Drag' for nothing. So, once we've burned our wing tanks, Kara, we get rid of them.”

Kara nodded. “Got it, and the target?”

“Coming to that. I'm taking the tower. You get the control building. We pop up, designate and drop, then get back low.”

“Sounds good, Boss,” Kara said. “But that leaves us with hardly any air-to-air. Just two Sparrows and gun,” she pointed out.

“Which is why Dave Golen's element is coming with us,” Guru nodded in Golen's direction. “You guys are going as strike escort. Four Sidewinders, two Sparrows, ECM, and gun.”

Hearing that, Golen and his people looked at each other and grinned. “So, we get to be fighter pilots on this one?” Flossy asked.

Guru grinned. “That you do. No trolling for MiGs, though. Once Hoser's clear of the target? Get your asses down and head north.”

Golen nodded. “Understood,” he said. Nothing new here. “And ingress?”

“Follow the Brazos down to Lake Whitney. Turn right, get to Meridian. Go west to Hico, then turn north. U.S. 67 is the pop-up point. ID the target by looking for four ranch ponds.” Guru passed the overheads around. “One northeast, one southeast. The actual target is just north of the intersection.”

“And once we drop, get back low and north,” Hoser said.

“Right.”

“Sounds good, Boss,” Kara said. “MiG threat?”

“Unchanged since this morning. Now, we're in the East German sector again, so that means SA-4 and SA-6, plus guns and MANPADS. So....make a few 'Magnum' calls. Those guys will think Weasels are around, and shut down their radars. Good for us, because we don't have Weasels or IRON HAND with us on this one,” Guru said. He let that little fact sink in. “Anything else?”

“And we just ate,” KT quipped. “Looks like it might be an easy one.”

“How's that?” Jang wanted to know.

“Look at Buddy,” Guru said. The squadron's mascot was fast asleep. “If he was alert, it'll be a bear.” He turned to General Olds. “Anything to add, sir?”

“As soon as you're all wheels up, I'll call General Tanner,” Olds said. “Unless anyone has other questions, you've got a mission to fly. And good luck. All of you.”

Nodding, Guru said, “You heard him. Let's gear up, people. Meet at 512.”

As people headed to their locker rooms to gear up, General Olds told Guru, “Major? Good luck. And bring everyone back.”

“Do my best sir,” Guru replied. He went to the Men's Locker Room and got into his flight gear. When he came out, Goalie was waiting for him, as usual. “Ready?”

“Been a while since that pre-PRAIRIE FIRE strike. That's the last time we did this.”

“Yeah. Too bad that's all we can say about that one,” Guru said. “Let's get going.”

They left the squadron's office and walked over to their dispersal. When Guru and Goalie got to 512's revetment, the others were waiting. “Gather 'round, people,” Guru said, giving his final instructions.

“Usual on the radio?” Kara asked.

“Yep. Mission code to AWACS and other parties. Call signs between us. Dave? You and Flossy are Camaro One-five and One-six, respectively,” said the CO.

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

“Other than that? Bailout areas and weather are also unchanged.”

“And there's one more after this,” Flossy said.

Sweaty grinned. “As long as it's not CAS.”

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “But yeah, here's hoping for one more. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay,” the CO nodded, clapping his hands. “Let's get it done. Time to hit it.”

With that, the crews went to mount their aircraft, and when Guru and Goalie went to 512, they found Sergeant Crowley waiting, and he snapped a salute as they came in.

“Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve's ready to go. Been a while since she was loaded like this.” He motioned to the aircraft, with a Pave Tack Pod on centerline, and two GBU-10 laser bombs on the inboard wing stations.

“It has, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then after signing for the aircraft, they mounted up. After strapping in and putting on their helmets, they ran through the preflight checklist.

“Pave Drag is right,” Goalie reminded her pilot and lover. “Hope we don't have to jettison this. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom,” Guru replied. “Those things go for a million dollars a pop, I bet. Armed top and bottom, and check yours.”

“Set,” Goalie replied. “INS, Arnie, and DMAS all set.” The last two referred to the ARN-101 and DMAS nav systems. “We're ready to rock.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running. During the warm-up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Camaro Flight, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the Active, and you will be number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. He saw that the engines were up to temp. “Camaro Lead is rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to his CC, who waved to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the wheels, then he gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru taxied 512 out, and after clearing the revetment, he and Goalie saw Sergeant Crowley snap another salute, and they returned it. They taxied to Runway 35L, and when they got to the Holding Area, a Marine F-4 flight was just taking off. Ahead of them was a C-130, but before the Herky-bird could taxi, a flight of Marine Hornets came in. Then the C-130 taxied onto the runway and it was their turn to move into the Holding Area. There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, while the C-130 took off. Then it was their turn. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-zero for five.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. He taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. Guru and Goalie did a last check, then turned to see Kara's bird in the usual Five O'clock position. Kara and Brainiac gave their flight lead a thumbs-up, and Guru and Goalie returned it. Then it was time. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, closing and locking his canopy, and Goalie did the same. A quick look showed 520's crew had done the same. Now, they were ready for takeoff. “Ready?”

“Let's go,” Goalie said.

Guru acknowledged by releasing the brakes, and applying full power. 512 then thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right alongside. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, and after that, Dave and Flossy followed. The flight met up at FL 100, then set course south for their tanker rendezvous.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 25: Laser bombs on "Liberation Radio"....


Over Central Texas, 1325 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was headed south, just past the I-20 and into enemy territory. They had made their tanker rendezvous over Jacksboro, and their tanks were full. The tanker track was busy, with aircraft coming back from their strikes, and outbound strike packages-Air Force, Navy, and Marine, tanking up. The usual mix of KC-135s, KC-10s, and even Marine KC-130s was busy, and since the tankers were worthy targets themselves, there was always a HVUCAP (High Value Unit CAP) of F-15s and F-16s around.

Now, having cleared the I-20 and the fence, the strike flight was following the Brazos River, just inside the Nicaraguan II Corps sector. So far, the Nicaraguans were asleep, which they had not been earlier, when there had been strikes directed at targets in their sector, and had responded accordingly. Now, though.....”Granbury coming up,” Guru said. They had flown this strike route enough times they were getting to know landmarks like the backs of their hands.

“Roger that,” Goalie said. “Ten seconds,” she called. “Flak at One O'clock.” The East Germans on the west side of the river had spotted them and began shooting.

“Bridge coming,” Guru said. The strike flight overflew the U.S. 377 bridge, and this time, the bridge was empty of traffic. “And gone....”

“Copy,” she replied. “Still dragging.”

“Pave Tack pod..” Guru muttered. He checked his wing tanks. They were burning fuel in those at a good clip. “Wing tanks have four hundred pounds.”

“Got it.”

They came to the lake, and as they got to the dam, the flak gunners on the west side-who were East German-also began shooting. “They're active,” Guru noted. His head was on a swivel, checking his instruments, then maintaining his visual scanning.

“Even the East Germans have to earn their pay,” Goalie chuckled.

“Guess so,” Guru said. “How long until Glen Rose?” The U.S. 67 bridge was the next checkpoint.

“One minute,” Goalie called. “Wing tanks?”

Guru checked his fuel flow indicators. They were dry, and now 512 was on full internal fuel. “Starbuck, Guru,” he called his wingmate. “Say wing tank status.”

“Guru, Starbuck,” Kara replied. “Wing tanks dry.”

Not even bothering to use either call sign or mission code, Guru said, “Drop'em.” He already had the stores select switch set to the wing tanks, so all Guru had to do was hit the pickle button. The two empty 370 gallon tanks fell away from 512.”

“Kara's tanks are gone,” Goalie said.

“Copy,” replied Guru. He felt his bird accelerate slightly as the drag produced by the wing tanks fell away. But that damned Pave Tack pod..... “Flak ahead,” Guru called. Somebody down there was on the ball this afternoon.

“Glen Rose bridge,” Goalie said. “Over in five, four, three, two, one...Mark!”

The six-ship of Phantoms flew over the bridge, and this one, also, was free of traffic. They flew past, and the gunners were not accurate with their own shooting. “Next checkpoint?” Guru asked, though he knew.

“Eulogy east bridge,” Goalie said, referring to a small bridge over the Brazos. “Thirty seconds, then one minute fifteen to the Route 174 Bridge.”

It wasn't long until the strike flight cleared the small bridge,which carried a Farm-to-Market Road, and yet, it still had defenders. The East Germans shot, and so did the gunners on the east side, who were now Libyans, and they opened up with reckless abandon, spraying 23-mm and 57-mm fire in all directions.

“That's that,” Guru said. He glanced at his EW display, and saw a strobe come up at his Twelve O'clock, and the SEARCH warning light came up. “Red AWACS again.”

“Hope they can't pick us up in this ground clutter,” Goalie muttered. “Forty-five seconds to the 174 Bridge.”

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

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “Threat bearing One-six-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty, Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-zero for eighty. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied. He glanced again at the EW display. So far, only the single strobe.

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie called. “One-seventy-four bridge ahead.”

“Got it,” Guru said. The bridge appeared, and so did the flak. And this time, there was a convoy on the bridge. “Not their turn today,”

Goalie had a quick look at the convoy. “Looks like tank transporters. And they've got tanks loaded.”

“Mark it,” Guru said. Maybe somebody could do something about that later in the afternoon, or tonight.....

“Got it. One minute to the turn point.” That was short of the Lake Whitney Dam and its defenses. One rule among strike flights was, “No turn points at defended areas.”

“Copy,” Guru said. The lake prewar had been a Recreation Area, with camping, boating, and fishing, and they had been told that the locals-and even the occupying Soviet-bloc troops, did a lot of fishing to supplement their rations. And, he suspected, it was a hideout for the local Resistance.

As the strike flight flew over the lake, unknown to them, there was a Resistance group using an old campground as a rendezvous point. They had been hiding and fighting for two years, and though most of them were “part-time” guerillas, working their farms or ranches most of the time, there were those whose activities were either known to the Soviets and their lackeys, or, in the case of several, were soldiers who had been cut off from their units in the initial invasion and had continued the fight. Their only source of news on the outside was Radio Free America, and though the news was good, the front lines were still a ways off. Their leader, a three-tour Vietnam vet turned cattle rancher, was wondering how long things could go, when someone pointed west, towards the lake. They saw six F-4 Phantoms, and they looked like they were loaded down with ordnance. Finally, the leader thought. Light at the end of the damned tunnel. Though aircraft coming in was a common sight, this was a first for him and his people. “Give it to the bastards,” the ex-Marine Staff Sergeant said.

“Turn point in ten,” Goalie called. She was using the DMAS and INS, but also doing it the old-fashioned way, with stopwatch, map, and compass.

“Copy,” Guru replied. So far, so good.....

“Five, four, three, two, one....MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, and the rest of the flight followed. They formed up again, and headed west. “Meridian in when?”

“One minute,” Goalie said.

“Roger that.”

The rolling hills of Central Texas passed, and Meridian appeared dead ahead. The flight had passed there twice during strikes in the morning, and they hadn't drawn fire. “No flak,” Goalie observed.

“Yet,” Guru reminded her.

In Meridian, the CO of the 254th Guards MRR was still trying to get this town in some kind of order. Division had not yet responded to his request for information on when his regiment would be reconstituted, and he was having trouble with the Zampolit. He had made some informal inquiries, and found out that the man was the son of a Central Committee member, and had hoped to use the path of a Zampolit to land a comfortable job of Party work. That explained his zeal, the Major thought. And his despair at having so many of the Komsomol members and political workers in the regiment killed or wounded. Though, the thought did occur to him, that was probably a good thing, for who knew where those people reported to?

His thoughts were interrupted by cheering outside City Hall, where he had made his headquarters. The Major went to the window, and saw six F-4 Phantoms fly past. Clearly, they were not intent on attacking his regiment, dispersed around the town, but still.....The Major went to find the commander of what was left of his air-defense battalion, and see what kind of air defense measures they could work on. For only a pair of Stela-10 (SA-13) launch vehicles and soldiers with shoulder-fired missiles were all they had.


“That's Meridian,” Guru said. “And no flak.”

“Always good,” replied Goalie. “One minute forty to Hico.”

“Pave Drag again..” Guru muttered. Normally, it was a minute and a half at full military power to Hico, but with the drag imposed on the F-4 with the Pave Tack pod....

“No kidding!” Goalie shot back.

Guru nodded, then checked his EW display. The radar strobe from the Red AWACS was still there. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he called.

“Two copies,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

Guru then called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace,” the Controller came back. “Threat bearing One-five-five for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing.”

Guru checked the EW display again. Just the AWACS strobe. “Roger, Crystal Palace.”

“One minute,” was Goalie's call.

“Copy,” he replied. Guru maintained his visual scanning, keeping an eye out for threats that could appear with little or no warning. Even things like power lines, a low-flying helo, or a small aircraft like an An-2 Colt.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. “Want me to warm up the Pave Tack?”

“Do it,” Guru said. Even though they weren't near the target, the FLIR turret would shoot some video, and that would make Sin Licon happy back in the intel shop.

“Pod's on and turret active. Got a picture,” she replied.

“Hico coming up,” Guru said. “Visual on the town.”

“Got it on the FLIR. Turn in five, four, three, two, one...MARK!”

Guru turned to the right, heading on a course of 355, and the rest of the flight did so as well. “Time to pull-up?”

“One minute,” Goalie called. “Set 'em up?”

“Do it.”

In Hico, the East German Major who commanded the town was actually being thanked by the Mayor outside the City Hall. There wasn't much that occupiers and occupied could agree on, other than hoping that the fighting, when it reached the town, was over with as quickly as possible. Given the shape of the Soviet rear-area protection unit that was the bulk of the garrison, that was probably a good thing. The Soviet unit had just received an extra tank platoon, and one of the old T-54As (which dated from 1951), had backed over someone as it was driven off the tank transporter. Normally, that would have been an issue of serious concern, but this time, it was not. For the tank had run over one of those that the Soviets, the East Germans, and the locals had despised-namely, the local PSD man. Though the Major had his suspicions that the Mayor was in the pay of the Resistance, if not an active member, he kept those thoughts to himself. For things were calm in the town, and any sort of crackdown-which his Stasi officer wanted to do-would make things worse, and probably bring about the guerilla activities that the Stasi man wanted to prevent.

They were interrupted in their conversation by shouts, then the roar of jets as six F-4 Phantoms came overhead, headed in a northerly direction. The town had no air defense at all, other than a few Soviets and East Germans with shoulder-fired missiles, and machine guns mounted on rooftops. And with supply convoys passing through town on a daily basis at the least, the next time, the F-4s might attack the truck parks outside town. The Major thanked the Mayor for his understanding, then went in search of the Soviet company commander.

“Twenty seconds to pop-up,” Goalie said in 512's back seat. “FLIR is running.”

“Copy,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by to pull.”

“Two copies,” Kara replied, and the others followed.

“All set back here. Stations two and eight are hot,” Goalie confirmed. That meant the two inboard wing pylons with the GBU-10s were armed.

“Route 67 dead ahead,” Guru said. “Stand by.......and PULL!” He put 512 into a thirty-degree climb, and gained altiude. As he climbed, Guru relied on Goalie to ID the target. “Anything?”

“Steady...and....GOT IT!” She called. “Roll level for weapon release.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Time to go to work,”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara said.

“One-five copies,” Dave Golen called. He and Flossy climbed to assume their TARCAP role. As they did, SA-4 radars came up. The Israeli grinned beneath his oxygen mask as the radars lit up his EW display. “Miller One-five, MAGNUM!”

Flossy knew what her element lead was doing, and did the same. “Miller One-six, MAGNUM!”

An SA-4 launched, and everyone's receivers lit up, then the SA-4 radar shut down. Somebody had heard the “Magnum” calls and assumed an antiradar missile was in the air.

“They fell for it,” Flossy said to Jang.

“This time.”


“Confirm target ID?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Got it,” she replied. “Transmitter tower centered and locked. Laser on.”

“We're in,” Guru said. He pitched down ten degrees and rolled left.


A mile to the south, along F.M. 179, was Walker's General Store. The store served the local ranchers and farmers, along with families who preferred a rural lifestyle to any kind of urban area. With the war and the occupation, some of the regulars had disappeared, while the store shelves were mostly bare. The bare minimum was on the shelves, and most of that was marked in English as having been made in the USSR, the GDR, and other “Socialist” countries. Prewar goods, though available, were largely sold “under the counter.”

Mitchell Walker ran the store, and though he'd had some KGB and PSD trouble over a relative who was a Texas Ranger who was reportedly running a resistance group, things could have been a lot worse, he knew. Not just some regular customers having “disappeared”-and word had it that they were either in a “Re-education Camp”-or dead, but that he had to serve the occupying forces. One thing he noted was that the Soviets were divided-with the older soldiers-and some of them were in their forties, Walker saw, not too thrilled about being separated from their wives and children. The younger ones were eager to do their duty, the officers, especially, while veterans were very reserved, and some even worried about going back to the front lines-several Soviet units had been refitted in the area around his store, and some of them had come in. The East Germans were stuffy and arrogant-while the Cubans had Latin Machimso for the most part, strutting around as if they had won, and any fool could see that hadn't happened.

Now, he was talking with Jeannine Trent, a young widow whose husband had been killed in the invasion when he and some buddies had tried sniping at a passing Soviet tank column, and they had been blown to pieces by tank cannon fire. She had come looking for some toilet paper and any powdered milk for her two-year old daughter. Some “under the counter” purchases settled that, while the radio blared the latest from “Liberation Radio”-and all stores and public places such as parks had to have a radio tuned to that-by a decree of the “Provisional Government of Liberated America.” Then a pair of Soviet vehicles pulled up, one a jeep, the other a six-wheeled APC with an open top, one of those BTRs, he knew. And in came a Soviet Army officer-and a Political Officer by the color of his shoulder boards. After two years, both knew, they had picked that up fast. And the Political Officer looked awfully young for an officer. He wasn't alone, for a camera crew was with him, filming. “Can I help you?” Walker asked.

“Just looking around,” the Russian replied-a Lieutenant by his insignia-said. “And how are things here?”

“It could be worse,” Mrs. Trent said. She nodded at the stroller that held her daughter.

“Of course,” the Russian replied. “Madam, you may be assured that your baby will have a bright future under socialism, as will the rest of America.”

Eyes rolled at that, as the radio blared a newscast from “Liberation Radio News”, then everyone heard the rumble of jets. “Mr. Walker!” A young boy shouted as he ran into the store.

“What is it, Mike?” Walker asked. The boy lived about a half-mile away on his parents' ranch.

“There's F-4s overhead.” Just then, the radio blared a blast of static, then went silent.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called. He went nose down about twenty degrees for the bomb run. His pickle was hot, and he was ready to release. “Call it.”

“Steady..” Goalie said. “Laser on...and...HACK!”

Guru hit the pickle button, releasing his two GBU-10s, then banked to the right. Not a hard turn, otherwise the laser might break lock, but twenty degrees was enough. He concentrated on keeping steady, so that the laser would stay on target. Guru looked around, and saw some flak coming up, but it was light and not well aimed. “Time to impact?”

“Ten seconds....and five.....SHACK!” Goalie yelled.

Both laser bombs smashed into the transmitter tower. The first bomb blew the tower in half, snapping it like a twig and sending the top half crashing down, and the second smashed into the base, blasting the bottom half to pieces. It was all caught on tape, as the FLIR showed it all.

“Good hits?” Guru asked.

“Two bombs, two hits,” Goalie replied. “Laser off.”

“Good girl,” said Guru. He headed north, right for the I-20. “Lead's off target,” Guru called, getting back low, and not noticing an SA-7 type missile fly past his aircraft on the right.


Kara was next. “Two's in hot!” She called as she dove on her bomb run. She, too, dove onto the target, and Brainiac had the Pave Tack FLIR on the target. Kara, too, encountered flak as she came in, but it, too, was not well aimed. “Got the building?” She meant the transmitter control building.

“Got it,” Brainiac said. “Target locked and laser on.. Stand by...and...and....HACK!”

Kara hit her pickle button, sending two GBU-10s down to follow the laser. She then banked to the right, repeating the CO's maneuver, and trying to be as steady as possible so that the laser could effectively guide the bombs to the target. “Party in when?”

“Steady....” Brainiac called. “And...one short.” One of the laser bombs had lost lock and smashed into the dirt road that led to the transmitter, but the second....”SHACK! You got it!”

“What's left?”

“Nuthin but sticks and eyeballs,” replied Brainiac. “That building is history. Laser off.”

“Roger that!” Kara said as she applied power and got down low. She picked up the CO's smoke trail, and then his bird as she gained speed. “Two off target.”


“What the..” The Political Officer said. “This can't be.”

“First time?” Walker asked.

“For what?”

“Being bombed.”


“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She had seen the CO and Kara make their laser bomb runs, and now it was her element's turn. She and Hoser had to do it the old-fashioned way, but no matter. Sweaty picked up the trails left behind by trucks, and spotted the camo netting. Your turn... Sweaty thought as she lined up several nets in her pipper. She, too, drew flak, but ignored it as she concentrated on the bomb run. “Steady...and...and...NOW!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, releasing a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes onto the truck park below. She then pulled up and away, jinking as she did so. One thing about using dumb bombs, she knew as she dodged some tracers, you didn't have to worry about guiding the bombs in. Sweaty then made her call. “Three's off.”

“This isn't happening,” the Political Officer said. He looked around, and saw that the soldiers had grabbed their Strela shoulder-fired missiles, but had not fired. “You cowards! Fire!”

“We don't have lock-on, Comrade Lieutenant!” A Sergeant replied, though a machine gunner on one of the BTR-60Ps was firing.

Then the F-4 pulled up and away, and everyone saw the bombs going off, followed by a couple of larger explosions.


“GOOD HITS!” Preacher called. “We got secondaries!”

“How many?” Sweaty asked as she jinked again, dodging a missile-probably an SA-7-as she did so.

“Two big ones!”

“I'll take that,” she replied as she headed north for the I-20.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he rolled in. He saw Sweaty's bombs going off, and the secondary explosions that resulted. Ignoring the flak that came up, and even a shoulder-fired missile that came head-on and missed, he centered some more camo nets in his pipper. Today's not your day, Franz....he thought. “Steady...And...And.....HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button and relased his dozen Mark-82s. Free of the bombs, he pulled up and away. And like his element lead, he was jinking as he did, making it more difficult for a flak gunner or SAM operator to draw a bead on him. “Four's off target.”


Below, those outside the store watched as Hoser's plane went in on its run. The F-4 came down and released its bombs, and as it pulled away, there were a dozen more explosions in the field-and several oily fireballs that soon followed. The civilians noticed two more planes circling above, then they dropped low. But instead of bombing, they simply followed the others. “What's that all about?” Walker asked out loud.

“Don't know,” Mrs. Trent said. She had a feeling, though. Her late husband was ex-Air Force Combat Security Police, and did know aircraft. Reconnaissance, maybe?

Two minutes passed, then four MiG-21s appeared, chasing after the F-4s. Too little and too late, they knew. Walker then turned to the Political Officer. “I believe you said something about air superiority?”

The Russian was shaken, but replied, “Setbacks are to be expected.” Then he ran for his jeep. Shouting in Russian, the civilians saw him rounding up his crew, then the jeep drove off. The APC followed, leaving the civilians to wonder what had been bombed, though with the Commies' radio still off the air, they had a good idea of what might have been struck, and they smiled.


Above, Dave Golen and Flossy had watched the bomb runs. Once Hoser was clear, it was time to go. “Flossy, on me,” he called his wingmate.

“Right on you,” Flossy replied. Both F-4s dropped back low and headed north.


“Four in and out,” Goalie called.

“Still got to reach the I-20,” Guru reminded her. “Dave, you with us?”

“On your six, and I've got Flossy with me,” Golen replied. “No bandits or missiles.”

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-eight-five for forty. Medium, closing. Be advised bandits are Blue Bandits,” the AWACS controller said. That was the old Vietnam era radio code for MiG-21s.

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied. “Can you get a reception committee for 'em?”

“Can do,” replied the Controller. “Saber Two-one, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-eight-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Kill. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm, clear to fire.”

“Saber One-one copies,” an F-16 leader called back. “Let's go.” Four F-16Cs from the 388th TFW turned for the I-20.


“How long until the fence?” Guru asked. He was at 450 feet AGL doing 500 knots.

“Two minutes,” Goalie said.

“Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threat,” Guru asked the AWACS.

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-eight zero for thirty. Medium, closing.”

“Lead, Five,” Golen called. “Want us to double back?”

Guru thought for a moment, then saw four F-16s flash by overhead. “Negative, Five. Let the Vipers handle it.” Viper was the unofficial name for the F-16, and many felt that it should have been the name, if not for the space fighter in the Battlestar: Galactica TV show.

“One minute,” Goalie said.

“Copy, Lead.” Golen replied. He wasn't happy, but knew what the CO had said earlier. “No trolling for MiGs.” They still had one more mission coming up....

“Fence coming up,” Guru said as the twin ribbons of concrete that was I-20 appeared. “And we're across.”

“Saber flight engaging,” the F-16 leader called. The F-16s jumped the MiGs, who were wondering where the F-4s were, then were surprised to find F-16s now on them. Three of the four MiG-21s, who were East German, went down, and the fourth fled. The F-16s didn't pursue, and turned back for the tankers.

“Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Tell those Viper jockeys 'Thank you'. We are headed for Home Plate.”

“Will do, Camaro Lead. Have a nice day,” the controller replied.


Camaro Flight joined up on the tankers, and after their post-strike refueling, headed for Sheppard. When they arrived, Camaro Flight was first in the approach pattern, though several outbound flights, including a C-141B and the F-20s, left as they orbited. Then Camaro Flight came in and landed. As they taxied in, the crews noticed both General Olds and Colonel Brady watching from a Hummer parked near the runway as they taxied to their revetments. “No newsies this time,” Guru said as they passd by the Humvee with the General and Colonel.

“Maybe something's got them interested,” Goalie said. “Wonder what that is?”

“You know the media by now: 'If it bleeds, it leads,'” Guru replied.

They taxied into their squadron's dispersal and found their revetments. After taxiing in and shutting down, both pilot and GIB popped their canopies, then went through the post-flight check while the ground crew brought the crew ladder. And Sergeant Crowley was waiting as they climbed down. “Major? How'd it go?”

“Pretty good, Sergeant,” Guru said as the CC handed him a bottle of water, and Goalie did as well. “Liberation Radio's off the air in this part of Texas.”

“For now,” Goalie added. “They'll get Moscow Martha on somehow.” She was referring to the Radio Moscow propagandist, who, in between the latest pop hits, laid on a ton of propaganda directed at U.S., British, and Canadian troops and civilians.

Guru shook his head. “Maybe they can put an HE cruise missile into that bitch's studio in Moscow.”

“Watch it,” Goalie grinned. “Might give SAC an idea....”

“Sir, Ma'am? If you can shut her up for a while, that's a good thing,” Crowley said. “How's my bird?”

“Five-twelve's working like a champ, Sergeant. Get her turned for the next one. Got one more today,” Guru said.

“Yes, sir!” Crowley beamed. “All right, people!” He told the ground crew. “Let's get the CO's bird ready one more time.”

As the ground crew went to work, Guru and Goalie walked to the revetment entrance. “Three and done,” he said.

“Tired?” His girlfriend asked.

“Yeah. Be glad for the stand-down the day after the Brits get here,” Guru replied. “We can get caught up on one vital commodity, and that is sleep.”

“Wanna bet?” Her expression grew coy.

“We did the last time,” Guru said as they got to the entrance. Kara and Brainiac were there, waiting. “Let me guess: the control building went away.”

“One bomb short, but yeah, we got it,” Kara grinned. “Nothing but a crater and matchsticks there.”

“Good,” Guru nodded as Sweaty's element walked up. “You guys?”

Sweaty grinned. “Made the supply dump or truck park go away.”

“Part of it,” Hoser added. “Got a few fuel-fed fireballs. Must've hit either fuel trucks or storage.”

“Always good,” KT said.

“It is that,” Guru replied as Dave, Flossy, and their GIBs came over. “Dave, Flossy? Sorry about no MiGs.”

Golen shrugged, while Flossy replied, “Can't have 'em every time.”

“Good.” Guru said. “We've got time for one more. Let's debrief, check your paperwork, and if you can, get some time in the fitness center in.”

“Unless the ATO tells us we're going out again in thirty minutes,” Preacher deadpanned.

“Hasn't happened for a while,” KT added.

The CO nodded. “Come on. Let's go see Sin and get the debrief out of the way. IF you're lucky, there's zero paperwork and you can hit the fitness center. Doc's been on my ass about people not staying in shape.”

“Can't do that every day, Boss,” Kara pointed out. “Sometimes the Reds, or the ATO dictate that.”

“I know, and he knows it too. Still, got to keep him happy,” said Guru as a Dodge Crew-cab with Chief Ross at the wheel pulled up. “Chief? We need a ride back to the office.”

“Glad to, sir,” Ross said. “Pile in!”

With that, they rode back to the squadron office, knowing that in an hour, maybe an hour and a half, that final mission was coming.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 26: Last strike for the day, and some Libyans and their Scuds go up-in pieces...



335th TFS, 1440 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was in his office, going over some papers. After the debriefing, and seeing the results of their laser bomb strikes on video tape, he was determined to get some more missions where the “Intellectual Bombs” could be used. The CO took care of the paperwork, which, to his disgust, the elves never seemed to dispose of when he was out. That taken care of, he then had a knock on his office door. “Come in and show yourself!”

The door opened, and Capt. Mark Ellis, his XO, came in. “Boss, got a couple things for you.”

“Okay, Mark, what's up? I need some treadmill time at the Fitness Tent before the last one.”

The XO nodded. He, too, needed to get a workout in. “First, updated weather. No change in the forecast, and we should be getting that weather in just after the RAF gets here.”

“So,” Guru observed. “Our British cousins' welcome to Texas is a wet and rainy day.”

“That it will be. Nobody's going to be flying much unless you're on a Zulu scramble or are a trash-hauler.”

Guru nodded at his Exec. “Speaking of the former, we'll need to get an alert schedule together. It may be wet and rainy down here, and downright miserable, but up at Angels twenty....”

“Clear and sunny,” Ellis replied. He knew what the CO meant. “And since MiG-25RBs and Su-24s can do blind bombing through the clouds...”

“Exactly,” said Guru. “What else?”

“General Olds talked with General Tanner while you were out. He's with Colonel Brady right now. I imagine that laser-guided bomb missions for us-and the Hornets, are the topic of discussion,” the XO reported.

“Good. Still, given how officialdom works...” Guru noted. “Release the scroungers. Find some more Paveway kits. GBU-10 specifically.”

Ellis grinned. “Already told Ross. They know what to look for.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Not until you get back.”

Guru nodded, then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come in!”

His GIB, Goalie, came in. “Guru, we've got a couple things for us on the eastbound C-141.”

“Such as?”

“First, newspapers. The L.A. Times, Orange County Register, San Diego Union, Stars and Stripes, and USA Today,” said Goalie. “They're being unpacked now.”

CO and XO looked at each other and grinned. “Good,” Guru said. “And the other thing?”

Goalie nodded, then waved to another officer-this one also female and a blonde, like Goalie. She entered the CO's office in Dress Blues, only this edition, the three flight-suited officers noted, had women wearing slacks instead of the prewar skirt, and she also wore the silver bar of a First Lieutenant. “New pilot and PAO, thanks to Chief Ross.”

Guru nodded. “Lieutenant,” he said. “I'm Major Wiser.”

“Sir, First Lieutenant Patti Brown reporting for duty.” She handed the CO her orders and personnel jacket.

“Thank you,” Guru said as he opened the file. “This is Captain Mark Ellis, the Exec.” Both shook hands as he examined the file. “Three years at Fordham, then the Air Force.” He looked up. “Third in your OTS class?”

“Yes, sir,” Brown replied. She looked at her new CO, and past that, the two AK rifles on his office wall. They had told her her that Major Wiser had been with the Resistance. That had to be no fun, she thought.

“Fifth in UPT, and top ten in your F-4 class. Was Double-Ugly your first choice?” Guru asked.

“Wanted F-16s, but they sent me to Kingsley Field. Don't want to run across that Colonel Tigh again, sir. If you don't mind my saying. Came across as a hard-ass and a wannabe ogre.”

Hearing that, Guru and Goalie exchanged smiles. They, too, did not have good feelings about Colonel Saul Tigh. “Some of us here have the same feeling, Lieutenant. Journalism Major, but you didn't get your degree?” The CO said as he looked up.

“Junior at Fordham, sir. After I got out of the NYC blast zone, first thing I did was find an Air Force recruiting office.” Brown replied.

“Any personal scores to settle?” Major Wiser wanted to know. Personal vendettas and a Mach-2 capable fighter sometimes didn't mix well, as he knew.

“No, sir. We've all lost someone, and they told us in the RTU that a fighter cockpit is no place for a vendetta,” Brown said.

The CO nodded. “Good. Now, you'll be in the cockpit, but your ground duty assignment is going to be the squadron's PAO. You're replacing someone who got himself killed three days into PRAIRIE FIRE, and we've been without a replacement in that slot since May. There's a Marine TDY in that slot, as we do have news media with us, but we have to give him back. He'll help you get settled in, and listen to the two sergeants and the airman. Basically, you'll be supervising them, and when not flying or dealing with squadron paperwork, babysitting the news crew.”

“Yes, sir,” Brown replied. “When do I get to meet the gentlepersons of the press?”

“Tonight, in the Club,” Guru said. “We have a stand-down in four days. When that's over, you start flying. Tonight, you should talk to the guy you're replacing, and his GIB, and listen to what he says. FYI two-thirds of our losses are people who don't get to ten missions. Get past that, and your chances of making it to the end increase considerably.”

“Got it, sir.”

“Okay, then. Goalie?” Guru said. “Show Lieutenant Brown around, then if you haven't thought about it, get in some treadmill time at least. Wouldn't be surprised if Doc's got a medic outside the fitness tent, checking off names.”

“Will do,” Goalie replied. “Mission in when?”

“Forty-five.”

“Lieutenant, two more things. First, as you've probably noticed, we're pretty informal here. Either flight suits or BDUs will do, then we go by either first name or call sign. And the second? Everyone's packing heat or got it close by. Talk to Captain Ryan Blanchard-she's the head of our Combat Security Police detachment, and she'll get you trained up on a pistol and a long gun.” Guru told the new arrival.

Brown nodded. “Will do, sir.”

“Any other questions?”

“No, sir.”

“My call sign's Guru,” the CO said. “Or 'Boss', take your pick,”

“Yes, Guru,” Brown smiled.

“All right,” Guru put out his hand. “Welcome to the 335th.”

She shook it, and said, “Thank you, and glad to be here, uh, Guru.”

“Goalie?” Guru nodded at his GIB.

“Come on. I'll show you around,” Goalie said to Brown.

The new arrival nodded, “Thanks,” and the two headed off to female officer country.

After they left, Guru turned to his Exec. “Well?”

“Boss, we've seen pilots with good records turn out to be zeroes in combat. That, or they just plain don't last long,” Ellis reminded his CO.

Major Wiser nodded agreement. “That we have,” he said. “Okay, I'm getting a run in at least. You might try and do the same.”

“Will try,”

The CO then headed to his own tent to change into his workout clothes, then went to the fitness tent. This time, it wasn't a medic checking names of 335th aircrew working out, it was Doc Waters himself. “Staying busy, Doc?”

“Major, when the most serious injury I've seen in a few days is a broken wrist from somebody playing football in their spare time?” Doc asked. “Got to stay busy somehow.”

“Need to get you up on a check ride one of these days,” the CO said. “You're qualified.”

“Wouldn't mind that at all,” the flight surgeon grinned. “Now get your workout in.” This time, it was Doctor to patient in Doc's voice.

“Will do.”

Guru went into the tent, and found a free treadmill. He got started on his four-mile run, and as he got going, Kara, Goalie, Flossy, Sweaty, and Jang came in. Several of the men inside the tent stared at them in their sports bras or tank tops, only to get an icy scowl from Kara in return. They knew she'd get even-either at the pool table or the poker games, and knew not to press the issue. Grinning, the CO got in his run, then some time on the weight machines, before heading back. He had a quick shower, got into his flight suit, and then went over to the Ops Office.

When the CO arrived in the Ops Office, he found his Ops Officer busy. “Don,” he nodded.

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “Got a new one for you.” He handed Guru a briefing packet. “Scud support area.”

“Where?”

“Huron, east of Lake Whitney. This is in the Libyan sector, and the facility may be Libyan as well.”

“Lovely,” Guru said. He scanned the brief. “Those guys shoot Triple-A as if the practice will be outlawed in the next five minutes, and this is within the Hillsboro SA-2 threat radius.”

“They do, and it is,” said the Ops Officer. “No Weasels available, or Navy IRON HAND, so.....”

“So we get to do it ourselves,” Guru said. “Well, can't have it all our way and we know it.”
He scanned the brief again. “All right, mind if I borrow one of your NCOs?”

“Need to round up your flight?”

“Something like that,” Guru said.

Van Loan nodded, then turned to a male Staff Sergeant-one of his Ops NCOs. “Find the CO's flight, and get them to their briefing room in when?”

“Ten minutes,” Guru said firmly.

“On my way, sir,” the sergeant replied. He ran out the door, and nearly ran into Kara as she came in.

“Kara,” Guru said. “We're going down to the Libyan sector.”

“Qaddafi's boys shoot flak like there's not going to be a tomorrow,” she replied. “When?”

“Brief in ten.”

“I'll round everybody up-unless that sergeant was going to do that.”

“He is,” Guru said. “Let's get on over.”

His wingmate nodded. “On my way.”

Guru turned to follow her, then said to his Ops Officer, “Don, you have a good last one. Don't think Kara wants to be Ops yet.”

“Don't think she does either,” Van Loan laughed. “You have a good one yourself.”

“Thanks.”


Guru headed to the briefing room, and found most of his flight there. “Now where are..” he started, just as Goalie, Sweaty, and KT arrived, and all three were fresh from the shower-as their wet hair showed. “Well, get your workouts in?”

“Yeah, but couldn't you have waited until we got out of the shower? ” Sweaty quipped. “So we've got a mission?”

“That we do,” Guru said. “Just take another shower when we get back.” He opened the briefing packet. “Listen up. We're going down to the Libyan sector again.”

“What's this one?” Hoser asked.

“SCUD support facility,” Guru said. “East of Huron, east shore of Lake Whitney.” He passed around some RF-4C imagery of the target area. “The target's just north of the F.M. 1212-F.M. 1217 intersection. There aren't any visual landmarks other than the lake to the west, and two ranch ponds to the south of the target.”

“Ordnance?” Preacher asked.

“Leads have a dozen Rockeye CBUs, wingmates have Mark-82 and M-117 Snakeyes. Usual ECM pods, full gun, wing tanks, and air-to-air.”

Heads nodded. “So, who gets what?” Sweaty wanted to know. “Any specific aimpoints?”

“This is probably a changing target. There's TELs on the imagery, and they could be gone, for all we know. I'll go in, then Kara?” Guru looked at his wingmate. “You go where I don't. Then Sweaty? You hit what Kara doesn't, then Hoser gets the leftovers. Just make the missile storage area-” He tapped a field with Scud missiles on trailers with his forefinger-”Go away,”

“Sounds good,” Kara replied. “Ingress?”

“Coming to that,” Guru said. “We go in here,” he tapped a TPC chart where the Leon River and I-20 crossed. “Follow the Leon River to Proctor Lake, then we turn east. Go past Hico, then just keep going until we hit Lake Whitney. That is the pop-up point. Climb to strike altitude, then we go in. And on egress? Turn left, hard, until you pick up the Brazos, and get your asses north.”

“What about defenses, Boss?” Hoser asked.

“At the target, there's ZU-23s, and expect MANPADS and small-arms fire. The Libyans do have SA-6, so be careful. There's also a 57-mm battery nearby, and we are in the engagement envelope for the Hillsboro SA-2: it's been reported active again, so watch for flying telephone poles.”

Goalie frowned at that. “Any Weasels coming?”

“Negative,” Guru replied. “Just us and our ECM pods. Don't hesitate to make a phony 'Magnum' call or two. Maybe that'll get them to shut down.”

“Maybe,” Preacher said. “You never know, though.”

“No,” the CO admitted. “Okay, MiG threat is mostly unchanged since this morning, though there is one little bit of extra news. MiG-23s now reported at James Connally AFB near Waco are believed to be Libyan.”

“Meat on the table,” Kara said, an eager tone to her voice. A chance to get kill number ten.....

“If they come our way,” Guru reminded his people. “Still, no trolling for MiGs, people. If we come across some on the way out, fine. But until bomb release, we're strike birds.”

Kara nodded. The point of the exercise was bombs on target, and killing MiGs was secondary, but if somebody fell into her sights.....Well, different story. “Got it, Boss.”

“Weather, bailout areas, all of that still the same?” Asked KT.

“They are,” Guru said. “Now, this may be the last one of the day, but don't get complacent. We treat this as if it's the first, and the bad guys are Cat I Soviets. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Major,” said Kara. She was very serious, and the others nodded.

“Any other questions?” Guru asked. There being none, he went on. “Okay, that's it. Gear up and let's get it done. Meet up at 512.”

The crews headed to the locker rooms to gear up, and when Guru came out of the Men's, Goalie was waiting, as usual.

“You ready?” She asked.

“Time to earn the rest of our daily flight pay,” Guru quipped.

Goalie nodded. “And as usual, forty-five cents of that goes back to the government.”

“Ain't that the truth?”

When they got outside, Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs were there in full flight gear, talking. “Guru,” Golen said. “Getting ready to go?”

“And you guys?”

“We are. Going to the Lake Whitney area. You?”

“Same,” Guru said. “You hit trouble, holler. We'll be there.”

Golen nodded. “Same if you get in trouble.”

Both shook on it, and Guru said, “You have a good one.”

“You too,” Golen replied.

Guru and Goalie then walked to the dispersal area, and noticed the F-20s preparing to go out one last time. While both F-4 and F-20 drivers still had unfinished business, settling those scores would have to wait until after the war, they knew. Then they got to 512's revetment, and the rest of the flight was waiting. “Okay, people,” Guru said as he gave his final instructions. “Usual procedures on the radio.”

“Got it,” Sweaty said. “Dave and Flossy coming?”

“No, but they'll be close,” Guru said. “They'll be there if we get into MiG trouble.”

“Good to know,” Kara added. “They've shot MiGs off our asses more than once.”

“That they have,” said the CO. “Remember what I said about being complacent?” Heads nodded at that. “Anything else?”

“This is the last one for today, right?” Brainiac asked.

“Not that many night strikes in our logbooks,” Guru replied. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay,” he said as he clapped his hands. “Let's go. Time to hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie approached their mount, 512, and saw the twelve Mark-20 Rockeyes on the inboard wing stations and centerline, and both were glad to have a full air-to-air load again. The Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Major, Lieutenant,” he said, saluting. “Five-twelve's ready to go and kick some more Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said as he and Goalie sketched return salutes. They did their usual preflight walk-around, then climbed the crew ladder and got themselves strapped into their seats. Then they went through the preflight checklist.

“Last one today,” Goalie said. “First time in a while I've flown fresh out of the shower. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom,” replied Guru. “Won't be the last-and I did it once at Williams-two months into the war. Was in the shower after a workout when the siren sounded-threw on my flight suit, boots, and then ran for the aircraft. Turned out the scramble was for an F-111 with a busted transponder.”

“Those things do happen,” Goalie admitted.

“They do. Arnie?” Guru meant the ARN-101 DMAS.

“Arnie's set, and so is the INS. We're ready for engine start.”

“Copy that.” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who then gave the “Start Engines” signal. One, then both J-79 engines were quickly up and running. Once the warm-up was finished, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower,” Guru called back. “Camaro Lead is rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who then waved at the ground crew. The Crew Ladder was removed, and the wheel chocks pulled back. Then the CC gave the “Taxi” signal, and Guru began taxiing out of the revetment. Once he was clear, Crowley saluted, and both Pilot and GIB returned it. The others in the flight fell in behind him, and when the flight got to the holding area, they were right behind an MC-130. The Special-ops bird took off, then Guru taxied into the holding area. There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, then it was time.

“Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear to taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-eight for ten,” the controller replied at once.

“Roger, Tower,” said Guru. He taxied onto the runway, and after he did, Kara taxied 520 into takeoff position, in his Five O'clock. Guru and Goalie did a final cockpit check, then saw Kara and Brainiac next to them, all ready to go. Thumbs-ups were exchanged, and all was ready. “You all set back there?” He asked Goalie.

“All ready to go,” Goalie replied. “Let's fly.”

“Yeah, let's.” Guru said. He called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower, as usual, flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru called. He closed and locked his canopy, and Goalie did the same. A quick check found 520's crew had done the same. Then Guru firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn to go, and once airborne, the flight formed up at FL 110, then headed south for their tankers.


Over Central Texas, 1555 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight had just cleared the fence, which meant that they had crossed the FLOT and were now in enemy territory. The ingress route was a familiar one by now, right down the boundary between the East Germans to the east and the Soviet 32nd Army to the west. And with the setting sun, anyone shooting at the southbound strike flight with a heat-seeker might have problems with lock-on.

In 512, Guru had his head on a swivel. He was checking his instruments, then had his eyes outside the cockpit, on the lookout for any threats. While he was doing that, Goalie was handling the navigation, and not just with the INS and the Arnie DMAS. She had a stopwatch and map, and was also using the compass. Experience had taught aircrews not to totally rely on their instruments, and the old-fashioned way was a handy backup. “Time to Proctor Lake?”

“Two minutes,” Goalie said. She, too, maintained visual scanning. One thing the F-4 had that the F-20 didn't-among many-was having a second pair of eyes in the back seat. That had saved their bacon more than once. Reason enough, she thought, to get the F-15E into service.

“Copy,” replied Guru. He took a look at his EW display. Sure enough, a strobe came to the south, and the SEARCH light came on in the panel. “Got a search radar.”

“Want to bet it's that Red AWACS?” Goalie asked.

“No takers.” The F-4 continued south, as the strike flight flew roughly parallel to State Route 16, which was roughly along the boundary between the Soviets and East Germans. Both did use it for supply convoys and reinforcements, but this afternoon, it was largely empty of traffic. Maybe somebody doing road recon at night might find something, Guru thought.

Then the flight crossed Route 16, and the town of De Leon appeared off to their right. But Proctor Lake was soon in their windscreens. “Proctor Lake,” Goalie called. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard left turn, and headed due east, overflying the small town of Proctor. A quick glance around revealed the rest of the flight with him as they settled on the new course of Zero-nine-zero. “Hico's the next checkpoint,” he said.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “One minute thirty.”

Guru checked the EW display, and that strobe was still there, and a little brighter. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he called. That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

“Starbuck copies,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

“Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?” Guru asked the AWACS, orbiting over Southern Oklahoma.

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Two-four-zero for thirty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for forty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-zero-zero for sixty-five. Medium, going away,” the controller called back.

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. He checked his own radar display. Clear. Goalie was checking her own display as well, he knew.

“Lead, Two, bandit at One O'clock!” Kara called.

A quick glance revealed a Czech-built Let-410 transport, headed north, probably towards Stephenville. “Got it, Two. Not our game until after bomb release.”

In 520, Kara knew it, and tried to hide her disappointment. Going after him meant jettisoning bombs, and that was not the point of the exercise. “Roger, Lead,” she replied as the flight flew past the transport, which bore East German markings.


The two East German pilots in the L-410 were surprised at two things. First, just the sight of a flight of Phantoms behind their lines, and no friendly fighters close by, was a shock. Someone had stretched the truth down in San Antonio when they were being briefed, that American air activity was mainly over the front lines, and not in the rear. And second, that the Americans didn't come for them. Relieved at their good luck, the East Germans proceeded on their course.


“Too bad,” Goalie muttered.

“Not their turn today,” Guru reminded her. “Maybe next time.”

“That's always possible.”

“It is that,” said Guru. “Hico coming up,” he said as the town appeared ahead of them.

“Got it.”

The strike flight overflew the town, and once again, they didn't draw fire. “Lake Whitney's next?” Guru asked, though he already knew, of course.

“Two minutes thirty to the lake,” Goalie acknowledged as Hico flew by beneath them.


In Hico, the East German garrison commander was in his office in City Hall. The Stasi officer assigned to the garrison must have been a Gestapo man in a previous life, the Major thought to himself. Seeing plots or “Counterrevolutionaries” where none existed, the man was getting on not only his nerves, but his own men's, the Soviet rear-area protection force, and the locals, and in no particular order. Even the Major's own Political Officer was nervous, and the Party man was trying to use his own connections to get the Stasi Captain transferred. At least the PSD man was no longer a concern, the Major knew. Seeing the swine run over by a tank was probably the best thing that had happened that afternoon, and not just in his own mind, but the local population's as well.

The Major heard cheering outside his office window, and he went to see what was going on. Looking outside, he saw four F-4 Phantoms fly past, followed by the rumble of their jet engines. At least they're not bombing here, the Major thought. For the truck parks near the town would be a very tempting target, along with the U.S. 281 bridge. The fact that the bridge had not been bombed meant something. The Americans wanted the bridge intact for their own use, and that meant the front lines would soon be coming closer. When, no one knew. Setting that thought aside, and hoping the Stasi man somehow got something coming to him, the Major went back to his desk.

Camaro Flight kept on course, roughly parallel to State Route 6. Only when Highway 6 made a turn to the southeast did the strike flight lose the road, and it wasn't long until first, Route 144, then Route 174, flew by beneath them, with Meridian to the south. “How long until the pop-up?” Guru asked.

“One minute,” Goalie said. “Go ahead and set up the ordnance?”

“Go,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by to pull,” he called. As the rest of the flight acknowledged, Guru checked his EW display. That SEARCH strobe was still there. That Mainstay was still going, and he had no idea if it had picked the flight up. Then the west shore of Lake Whitney appeared. The Lake was the final checkpoint. “Lake Whitney straight ahead.”

“Confirm visual, and switches are set.” Goalie replied. “All set back here.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Stand by....and PULL!” Guru called as he put 512 into a forty-five degree climb from 450 feet AGL. As he climbed over the lake, the EW display lit up as radars came on, but he ignored them as he and Goalie searched for the two ranch ponds on the east side of the lake. As they cleared the east shore, and the F.M. 933 road, Goalie spotted the ponds.

“Ponds at Two O'clock!”

Guru rolled right, picking up the ponds, then he rolled left. There they were, right at the intersection, and two bombed-out ranches nearby, just as on the imagery. And the big MAZ-543 TELs were still there, four of them. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Time to go to work!”

“Ready,” Goalie said.

“Let's go.” Guru said as he rolled in on his run.


Below, at the missile checkout and ready facility, the Libyan techs were busy. A new shipment of missiles had arrived, earmarked for their use, and there were fire missions planned for tonight and for several nights following. Technicians were busy, going about their work not only on the missiles, checking them out and servicing them when necessary, but also conducting maintenance on the missile battalion's four MAZ-543 missile launchers.

The Libyan commander, a Captain, was pleased with the efforts of his men. They were all draftees, but the Universities at Tripoli and Benghazi had provided not only the air force and air defense command some of their best people, but also the missile force for its technicians. Though they had been in America for nearly two years, the fact that they were back in Texas didn't worry them at all. For the Great Leader Colonel Qaddafi had shown the way, and when the chance to exact revenge on America for all it had done in the Middle East had come, Libya had taken advantage of it. Though the news from home was mostly bad, as the Americans and the British had not only retaken Gibraltar, but had subjected Libya's coastal cities to heavy air and naval bombardment, and many of her ports were now mined. As a result, losses in personnel and equipment were hard to make up by sea, though the air routes to Cuba were still open, getting ships into the Atlantic was becoming problematic, he'd been told by the Corps Commander.

Now, as he came out of his command vehicle, he looked around. Several ZU-23 AA guns were swiveling around, searching for enemy aircraft. The Soviet and Socialist air forces controlled the skies, he'd been assured, but seeing the results of several American air strikes nearby indicated otherwise. Suddenly, the guns swiveled to the south, and opened fire. What the....Then he saw dots in the sky growing larger as they came closer. American aircraft! How in Allah's name? “AIR RAID!”


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he came down on his bomb run. He saw the flak start to come up, and not just the 23-mm, for a nearby 57-mm battery had also began shooting. The EW display still didn't show a GUN warning, and that meant the fire was optically aimed. Grinning, Guru lined up the MAZ-543s in his pipper. You'll wish you were still in Tripoli, Guru thought as they grew larger in the pipper. Just then another strobe came up, and this one had MISSILE on the warning light. The Hillsboro SA-2 had come up. “Miller Lead, MAGUNM!” he called, just as the SA-2 fired. A few seconds after he made the call, the SA-2 dropped off, and the strobe disappeared from the display. “Steady...Steady....and....HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing his Rockeye CBUs. He then pulled wings level and headed out, jinking as he did to avoid flak. “Lead's off target.”


“This can't be..” the Libyan Captain muttered as Guru's F-4 came in on its run. He was frozen as he saw the fighter release its bombs, and they were the dreaded Cluster Bombs. The Captain watched, amazed, as the bomblets exploded on and around two of the MAZ-543s, exploding both of them and killing many of those working on them. Only then did the shock wear off, and the Captain ran for a slit trench, jumping in just as a second American aircraft came in.


“SHACK!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “Two big secondaries!”

“Missile launchers?” Guru asked as 23-mm fire flew over and around the Phantom, but none of the Libyan gunners got their fire anywhere close.

“Looks like it,” she replied as a SA-7 flew past on their right side.

Guru put the F-4 into a left turn and picked up the Brazos River. “I'll take that,” he said as he headed north.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she rolled 520 in on its bomb run. She saw where the CO had laid down his Rockeyes, and noticed two of the TELs had escaped his CBUs. You'll do, Kara said to herself as she came down, and the two launchers grew in her pipper. She, too, noticed the SA-2 come up, and heard Guru's call, and then the SA-2 dropped off the display. Concentrating on the bomb run, Kara ignored the flak, and the SA-7s that came up, even if they were totally ineffective head-on. She lined up the two TELs in her pipper...”And...NOW!” She hit her pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 five-hundred pound bombs fell onto the Libyans. Kara then pulled up and away, jinking to avoid flak, and trying to pick up the CO's bird on the way out. “Two off safe.”


“Allah akbar..” the Captain muttered as Kara's F-4 came on its run. He didn't see the aircraft, but heard it, and the anti-aircraft fire that greeted it. The F-4 flew by, and then he heard the bombs start to go off. Two large explosions signaled the end of two of his MAZ-543s, just as they had when the first two had been hit by CBUs. He glanced up and saw that two had been blown apart, while the other two were burning wrecks. The Captain started to get out when someone pulled him back down. The anti-aircraft fire told him why. More enemy aircraft coming in...


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac yelled from 520's back seat. “You got the other launchers!”

“They go up?' Kara asked as she jinked to avoid the 23-mm flak.

“In pieces,” replied Brainiac. “BREAK LEFT!”

Kara broke, and two SA-7s flew past. She rolled right to get back on course, and she picked up the CO's exhaust trail. “Good for them,” she replied. Glancing around, she saw another missile fly by the right, then she eyeballed the CO's bird.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. Coming down, she spotted missile trailers in a field, along with tank trucks and trailers not far away. Selecting the missile trailers, many of which had SCUD missles on them, Sweaty adjusted her dive, and lined some of the trailers up in her pipper. Again, there was flak coming up, and even SA-7s, which she ignored. The trailers grew larger in the pipper as she approached bomb release.”Steady....And...And....And...NOW!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, sending a dozen Rockeye CBUs down onto the missile trailers. She then pulled up and away, banking left to get onto the escape course, and jinking to avoid flak. Only then did Sweaty make her call. “Three's off safe.”

“Damn it!” The Libyan Captain yelled as Sweaty's F-4 came on its run. The Phantom left those insidious CBUs in its wake, and as the hundreds of bomblets went off, there were larger explosions as a number of missiles with warheads installed went up in sympathetic detonations. As the missiles went up, shrapnel rained down all over, and some of the pieces landed in the trench-and on some of the men sheltering there. One man was even killed by pieces of a missile engine landing on him, and several others were seriously wounded by large pieces of debris. Several of those sheltering in the trench got out, just as the anti-aircraft gunners traversed their weapons back. Another Yankee aircraft was coming in.


“SHACK!” Preacher yelled from the back seat. “Secondaries all over the place! You got the missile trailers!”

“How many?” Sweaty wanted to know as she avoided a stream of 23-mm tracers, and even some 57-mm that was getting too close for comfort. She never saw the SA-7 that flew by about a hundred feet above the F-4.

Preacher's reply was simple. “Lots.”

“Good,” Sweaty called. She jinked right, then left, and picked up the Brazos River and headed north.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser made the call as he came down on the target. As he did, both he and KT saw the numerous secondaries left by the other three, and some were still going off. They didn't leave me much, he thought. Hoser searched for a target, and found the missile fuel tank trucks and trailers. Since that was pretty much all that was left, they would have to go away. Hoser, too, noticed the flak coming up, and ignored it as he came in on his run. “And...Steady...And..And....HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, and let loose his dozen Mark-82s. He then pulled up and away, jinking once again to avoid the flak and any MANPADS coming his way. “Four off target,” Hoser called as he cleared the area.

“Mother of Allah!” The Libyan Captain was shouting as Hoser's F-4 came in. Cursing that the anti-aircraft fire was wide of the mark, the Captain ducked into the trench as the Phantom went overhead, and the first bombs exploded. He never heard the explosions by the missile fuel storage, for one of Hoser's bombs landed only a meter from the slit trench.....those in the Captain's section never had a chance to scream.....

“GOOD HITS!” KT called as Hoser pulled away. “And multiple secondaries!”

“Righteous ones, as Preacher would say?” Hoser asked as he dodged some 23-mm flak. Those softball-sized tracers were close, but not dangerously so.

“I'd say so,” KT replied.

Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “I'll take your word for it.”


“Four in and out,” Goalie said. “And we still have a game going.”

“That we do,” said Guru. “Forget Uncle Sam, we're flying for ourselves,” he reminded her. “Two, where are you?”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara said as she tucked 520 right with the leader in Combat Spread.

“Tally on you,” Guru replied. “Sweaty?”

“On your six, and Four's with me.” she replied.

“Copy that,” said Guru. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS came back at once. “Camaro, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-six-five for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-five for seventy-five. Medium, going away,”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied. “Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro, First threats are Floggers. Second threats are Fulcrums, and third threat is Fishbeds.”

There were several whistles in cockpits when that reply came. MiG-29s? “Lead, two. Looks like they cared enough to send the best.”

“If they live long enough to get close,” Sweaty muttered.

Then the MISSILE light came on, and another strobe lit up not just Guru's but everyone's EW display. And a “2” was next to it. “SA-2 up!” Goalie said, just as the MISSILE LAUNCH light came. The SA-2 had fired.

“Has to be Hillsboro,” Guru said. “Time to the Fence?”

“Three minutes,” was Goalie's reply.

Guru responded by getting down lower, down to 350 feet AGL, and the others in the flight, seeing their leader drop low, followed. A few moments later, the SA-2 flew overhead a thousand feet above the strike flight, and headed off to the northwest. Then the SA-2 strobe went off, along with all the warning lights other than the SEARCH one. Then, finally, that one dropped off. “SAM went quiet.”

“They did,” Goalie said as the Route 174 Bridge over the Brazos appeared. The flak gunners-both East German and Libyan-opened fire, but it was too late, and not well aimed. “Brazospoint in one minute,” she called.

“Copy,” replied Guru. He was keeping his head on a swivel, even though they were now in the Nicaraguan II Corps sector. For no one knew if the Nicaraguans had been hit, and were thus likely to shoot. Then the Brazospoint Bridge appeared, and the Nicaraguan gunners stayed silent. “Flight, Lead. Stay on the east side of the river.”

“Roger that,” Kara replied, and the others echoed that remark.

“Thirty seconds to Glen Rose,” Goalie called. That meant the U.S. 67 bridge.

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS called out. “Threat bearing One-seven-five for forty. Medium, closing. Bandits are Floggers.”

“Lovely,” Guru muttered. He glanced at the EW display and saw it was clear. Maybe the bad guys have their radars off. Then, the A/A warning light came on, and four strobes lit up on the display. Then the Glen Rose Bridge appeared, and the East Germans on the west side started shooting. The 23-mm and 57-mm fire was close, but not threatening, as they flew by.

“Camaro Lead, Threat bearing One-seven-five for thirty-five,” the AWACS controller advised. “Stand by...Bandits have turned. Now bearing One-eight-five for forty. Medium, going away.”

“Must be low on fuel,” Goalie said.

“Here's hoping,” replied Guru. The A/A warning light went off, and the strobes went off as well. One minute to the Lake Granbury Dam, then another thirty seconds to the U.S. 377 Bridge at Granbury. Then the dam appeared, and the East Germans on the west side of the dam opened up. Again, the Nicaraguans stayed quiet. The same thing happened at the Granbury Bridge, then came the FLOT, and the I-20. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.”

“Army pukes like to shoot first and ask later,” Goalie muttered. The habits of the Army air-defense people were well known, and the I-HAWK battery defending the I-20 bridge over the Brazos had a habit of shooting first and sorting out the wreckage afterwards. Or so it seemed to aviators.

“No kidding,” Guru said as he climbed to altitude, his IFF transponder on, and then he turned his ECM off.

Once clear, the flight headed for the tankers. After the post-strike refueling, they headed back to Sheppard, with the sun getting low in the west. Once they arrived, Camaro Flight was cleared right in, as there were no other flights in the pattern. After landing, they taxied in to their dispersal area, and again, the news crew was filming. “They must think we're important,” Goalie said as they taxied past.

“They must think something,” Guru replied.

They found their squadron's dispersal then taxied into their revetments. Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, then Sergeant Crowley gave the “Shut Down” signal. The ground crew put the wheel chocks into place, and both pilot and GIB went through the post-flight checklist, then popped their canopies. The ground crew brought the crew ladder, and helped Guru and Goalie get unstrapped. Then they climbed down and did a post-flight walk-around. “Major? Lieutenant? How'd my bird do?” Sergeant Crowley asked.

“Blew some Libyans back to Tripoli,” Guru said.

“In pieces,” Goalie added.

“Hot shit, sir!” Crowley said, handing each a bottle of water. “Anything I need to know?”

“Five-twelve's working like a champ, Sergeant,” Guru replied. “No problems or issues, so get her ready for the morning. Get some chow first, though. That's an order.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “Soon as we get the post-flight done, then we'll get some chow, and get her ready for tomorrow.”

“Then get it done,” Guru ordered.

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “You heard the man. Let's get this bird ready for tomorrow.”

As they headed to the revetment entrance, Goalie nodded, “You still want to get him bumped up on the R&R rotation.” It wasn't a question.

“First admin thing I do tomorrow, unless it's processing a request for transfer,” Guru said.

“From Frank?” Goalie asked. Seeing the CO nod, she added, “One can hope.”

“One can,” Guru acknowledged. When they got to the entrance, Kara and Brainiac were there, waiting. “Well?”

“Got two launchers,” Kara grinned. “So did you.”

“We saw what was left,” Brainiac added.

Sweaty and Preacher, with KT and Hoser, came over. “Those Libyans shoot as if there's no tomorrow,” Sweaty said.

“No kidding,” Hoser said. “They're pretty wild.”

“Do they even aim?” KT asked.

“Remember, they do get lucky once in a while,” Guru reminded them. “Don't give them the chance. Come on, let's debrief. Then check your desks before heading over to the Club.”

“And the last night for those F-20 jockeys,” Kara spat.

“Go ahead and clean them out,” Guru said. “Can't get another go at them in the air, so...”

“With pleasure.”

“And Frank?” Sweaty asked. “He going to transfer?”

“Up to him,” Goalie said, looking at the CO.

“It is,” Guru said firmly. “His for the asking, and all he has to do is ask.”

Brainiac shook his head. “Why hasn't he?”

“Pride, arrogance, whatever,” Preacher said. “All that goes before the fall.”

“Just as long as when he falls, nobody goes with him,” Guru said firmly. “Come on. We're not off the clock just yet.” Then they walked back to the squadron offices. The debrief, then whatever paperwork occupied their desks, and then they could hit the Club.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 27: Time to blow off steam, while a certain officer is not too thrilled about the day:


335th TFS Offices, 1655 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat behind his desk, going over some papers. He scowled at some of what the AF bureaucrats sent his way, even though during the war, that species' numbers had been considerably reduced. With a warfighter's loathing for such creatures, the CO wondered what got into such people, bothering those doing the fighting with bureaucratic bullshit, with one memo criticizing what the author called “excessive” use of 20-mm ammunition in fighters. Typical of some unrated weenie who only flew a desk, Major Wiser treated that memo with proper respect, namely, he fed it to the office shredder. His desk now clear, he was satisfied, and was ready to head on over to the Officer's Club when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

His Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss,” he nodded. “Got a few things before we head over to the Club.”

“Fire away, Mark,” Guru said.

“Okay, first of all, aircraft status report for MAG-11. We'll have twenty-one for the morning,” Ellis reported.

“Kerry's bird is still down?” The CO asked.

“One more day at least,” Ellis said. “Maybe two.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, that's that. And we know that Frank's going to be grounded for at least tomorrow,” he said. “What's next?”

“Weather update. Still no change on that storm coming. Should hit the West Coast in two days, and we'll get it in three.”

“How bad out West?” The CO asked. His family lived in a small town in Central California's Sierra Nevada foothills.

“Doesn't say, other than 1-2 feet of snow in the Sierras. Those ski resorts would be happy for that-if they were open,” said the XO.

“Mammoth Mountain's still open for R&R, and if you do want to ski, it's pretty good. Never been there, but still..” Guru pointed out. “What else?”

“Supply requisitions,” Ellis said. “Nothing really important, and Ross has a few leads on laser bomb kits.”

Guru nodded as he signed the forms. “Just as long as he tells the scroungers the usual rules apply.”

“He reminded them,” the XO said. “And that's it.”

“Okay....” said Guru. He thought for a moment, even as his office radio, tuned to AFN, was playing Stand Back by Stevie Nicks. “Firefly and Rabbit are going to be celebrating tonight, while Frank's likely drowning his sorrows.”

“We'd best keep an eye on him, Boss,” Ellis pointed out. “No telling how he'll react.”

“Yeah. Pass the word when you get there: no razzing him or giving him a hard time. That can wait.”

“Will do,” nodded the Exec.

The CO glanced at the office clock. “Now we're off the clock.” It read 1702.


When Guru and Ellis got to the O-Club tent, the place was already rocking. Both Firefly and Rabbit were already at the bar, celebrating, and for once, didn't have to buy their drinks. The Ops Officer, Kara, and a few others were paying. Guru got to the bar and asked Firefly-who would have been in the Academy Class of 1986, but had been graduated early after the Academy's bug-out from Colorado Springs. “Well, Firefly? What can I say, but, well, Congratulations.” He held out his hand.

“Thanks, Major,” Firefly said. He was built like a football linebacker, and at the Academy, had been one. He came from a small town in Kentucky and had been glad to get a USAF Academy appointment. Either going down and working in a coal mine or leaving for the military was pretty much the only job option for a young person in that part of the country, and Firefly had said, “Didn't want to go below, so..”

“Just remember, until you get the formal orders, and that probably won't be for a week, ten days, you're still with us. So Twelve-hour applies,” Guru said.

“Got it, Boss.”

“You enjoy the evening, and well, I'll probably say this on your last day, but, hell, it's a shame to lose you,” the CO nodded.

“I'll second that,” Ellis said. He shook hands with Firefly.

“Thanks, sirs,” Firefly nodded.

“One other thing,” Guru said.

“Sir?”

“Don't get yourself killed before you leave. General Yeager'd be mighty pissed at that,” Guru reminded him.

“Yes, sir.”

Then the CO and XO turned to Smitty, the barkeep. “Smitty, got any Sam Adams today?” Guru asked.

“Sorry, Major,” the barkeep replied. “Not for another couple of days.”

“Then Bud for me, and the Exec.”

Smitty produced the two bottles, and Guru paid him. The CO then took a drink, and said to his Exec. “Last night for General Yeager's crew. Care to bet Kara's going to try and take full advantage of that?”

“She's lost to Yeager twice,” Ellis said. “She wants her money back.”

“Wouldn't you?” Guru asked. Then he noticed Goalie, Kara, Hoser, Brainiac, and Sweaty at the table their flight usually had. “Looks like my table's ready.”

“Same here,” Ellis said. “Any sign of Frank?” He was looking around.

“Not yet....wait,” Guru said. He noticed a table where Doc was sitting, and Frank was with him. “He's with Doc.”

“That's good, Boss,” Ellis noted. “He's not likely to go off half-cocked.”

“To be hoped for.”


Guru went over to his flight's table, and pulled up a chair. “Looks like this evening's off and running.”

“It is that,” Kara replied. “I see you talked to Firefly.”

“I did, and told him not to get himself killed before he's due to leave.”

“Yeah, that would make General Yeager more than a little upset,” Sweaty quipped.

“Talk to Rabbit yet?” Hoser asked as KT arrived.

“Not yet, but I will,” Guru said, pulling on his beer.

“Speaking of Yeager, here he comes,” KT said. “With his young punks.”

“Steady, girl,” Kara said. “And Ms. Wendt,” she added. The reporter was in an animated conversation with the General, and it looked like there was some mutual respect between the two.

Guru nodded. “Want to bet she does a story on him? Time enough before he leaves.”

“No bet,” replied Kara. “The camera crew's right behind.”

Goalie turned to her pilot and lover. “Notice Frank's with Doc?”

“I did,” Guru admitted. “Guess I'd better get this out of the way.”

Just then, Don Van Loan came over. “People, got the papers. L.A. Times for the boss-man, Orange County Register for his GIB, and who wants USA Today or Stars and Stripes?”

“I'll take USA Today,” Sweaty said.

“Stars and Stripes for me,” Hoser added.

The CO took his copy of the L.A. Times, and scanned it. “Well, looks like things are interesting down in Austin. Says here that SOB Hall just fired his Commerce Secretary and his, uh, what we'd call 'National Security Advisor.'”

“A purge?” Goalie asked as she went over her hometown paper. “Nothing in here about that.”

“Yep. They got accused of 'Counterrevolutionary Deviationism and of being Enemies of the People.' Your typical Stalinist bilge for disagreeing with El Supremo,” Guru quipped.

“USA Today's got it,” said Sweaty.

“Maybe these bastards start killing off each other,” Hoser said.

“Maybe,” Kara said. “Don't count on it. Want to bet those two might have been caught trying to bail out on the Reds?”

“And next thing is, they're posing for a firing squad,” Guru fnished. “Typical.”

“Says here in the OCR that things in West Germany are getting interesting. The Greenies found a new Vice-Chancellor. She's the daughter of an American GI.”

Their RAF Liaison Officer, Flight Lt. Steve “Jack” Lord came in. “More from West Germany, I see. BBC says the Mayor of Munich came out and said that the Army should 'Restore Germany's commitment to freedom and liberty.'”

“A mayor asking for a coup?” Kara was incredulous, and so were the others.

“How many at the rally?” Goalie asked.

“The estimate was 150,000,” Jack said.

General Olds and Colonel Brady came over to the table. Both had been talking with not only the two lucky F-20 transfers, but also General Yeager. “Any news, Major?”

Guru relayed what he'd read, and Jack did the same from what he'd heard on the BBC.

“Hope those sons-of-bitches start killing each other off down in Austin,” Olds said.

“I'll drink to that, General,” Guru smiled.

Colonel Brady said, “I'd say we all will.”

“No argument there, Colonel,” Olds said.

Sin Licon, one table over, added, “General, when you have the mayor of a major city calling for a coup? There's only one question now.”

“When?”

“Yes, sir. Like I said earlier: two weeks from now is the soonest. Most? One month,” the intel officer said.

“Sooner the better, Captain,” Olds nodded. “Once West Germany goes, the rest fall into line.”

“One other thing here,” Goalie said, reading from the Orange County Register. “The Quisling government down in Austin tried sending a delegation to the UN again. Trying to claim our seat.”

“Again? How many times have they tried?” Colonel Brady asked.

“Several,” Sin Licon replied. “How'd it go this time?”

“Says here the Swiss wouldn't let them into the country. Put them on the next airliner back to Havana,” Goalie said as she scanned the article.

Guru nodded. “Well, General, that serves the bastards right. Too bad the CIA couldn't snatch them in Geneva.”

“Hustle 'em onto a G or a Lear bound for the UK, then Stateside?” Kara asked.

“Don't think the Swiss would go for that,” General Olds said. “Even they have limits.”

“General,” Brady said. “I'd jump at the chance to grab some of their people, no matter where.”

“Point taken, Colonel.”

Guru then looked over at the table where Doc was talking to Frank. “Excuse me, sirs, but I've got some squadron business to take care of.” He nodded in that direction.

“Don't envy you, Major,” Olds said, and Brady nodded.

“Good luck,” Kara warned Guru.

Guru nodded. “Thanks.” He then headed on over to the table in question. “Doc,” he said to Doc Waters.

“Boss,” Doc said cheerfully.

“Frank,” Guru said. “Before you say a word, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry you didn't get that F-20 slot.”

“Major...” Carson grumbled. “Did you...”

“Did I tell Yeager not to take you? The answer is NO. I didn't. He was talent-scouting people, and had an idea of what kind of pilots he wanted,” Guru said. “But I won't lie: he did look at your 201 File and Flight Record.”

“I don't get it...” Frank said. “I should be going to Edwards.”

“What we want and what we wind up with are two different things at times,” Doc said. “I would've loved to have gone to Harvard Medical or Johns Hopkins, but there was no way I was getting in. Wound up going to Indiana, and that was that. Plan A doesn't work out sometimes.”

“Same here,” Guru said. “I wanted to go to either Annapolis or the Springs, but didn't have the grades. Wanted ROTC but there was a waiting list at the school I went to, so...”

“OTS won out,” said Doc.

Guru nodded. “It did. Now, Frank?” He got into Carson's face. “You're not flying tomorrow or the next day. You have a right to have a good dinner and then get sloppy drunk. Don't worry about your wing crew, because they'll be flying with Dave Golen and Flossy. Brian'll take over as Day-shift SDO for a couple of days. Enjoy the time off, and come back in a couple of days, ready to go. Comprende?”

Carson glared at him, then said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, Doc, you're a witness,” Guru said. He got back into Carson's face. “When you come back in a couple of days. I do NOT want to have to write any letters because of anything you do in the air. Do you understand me?”

Carson stared at Guru. It still galled him that this...peasant from some hick town in California who had gone to an equally hick school was now his CO. But he kept those thoughts to himself. “Yes....sir.”

Both Guru and Doc heard the contempt in Carson's voice. “All right, Frank. Just remember what I said,” Guru nodded. “Doc,” he said. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Will do, Boss.” Doc replied.

“Okay, Doc. You have a good evening yourself.”

“Thanks, Boss.”


Guru went back to his flight's table. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

“Hoping Frank would take a swing at you?” Goalie asked.

“Then we would be rid of him,” Kara smiled.

“He may be snotty, but he's not that stupid,” Preacher observed. “Still, no telling what he'll do.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Guru said.

Just then, the restauanteurs and the Marine Mess people they worked with came in with dinner. “People, we've got Chicken-fried steak-well, it's Bison, but done Chicken-fried style, or Meat Loaf. With all the fixings,” one of the restauranteurs turned Marine Warrant Officer said. “Come and get it.”

After people got what they wanted, they dug in. “Well, General Yeager's people leave tomorrow,” Guru said.

“Where to?” Hoser asked.

“Roswell and the ROKs,” said Guru in between bites of Chicken-fried Bison steak.

“They go, and the RAF comes,” Kara said. “More meat on the table.”

“Down, girl,” Goalie said.

“Wouldn't be good allies and hosts if you fleece them their first night,” Brainiac quipped.

Guru smiled. “He's right. Still, Kara? No, uh, 'debt collections' their first few days. Okay?”

“Major, you know me!” Kara shot back.

“We do,” the CO replied. “Just go easy on them the first few days.”

Kara nodded. “Okay, Boss. I'll go easy for a week.”

“Fair enough.”



Then the CBS Evening News came on the Club's big-screen TV, and the Most Trusted Man in America came on. “Good evening from Los Angeles,” Walter Cronkite began. “In Southern Arkansas, U.S. Forces repelled an attack by two Soviet divisions aimed at Texarkana. Our Bob Simon has a report.”
The view shifted to show tanks and APCs, with AH-1 Cobras overhead, advancing.

“Here, with the Seventh Armored Division, we're just east of the Red River. The Soviets came up from the east, hoping to get across the river, and maybe push towards Texarkana, but the Army was waiting for them,” Simon said to open his report. “And they ran into a hornet's nest.” Then the image shifted to show burning T-62 tanks and open-topped BTR-60 APCs, and corpses in Soviet battle dress littering what had been some farmer's field. “Now, the Seventh Armored is pushing them back.” Simon was then talking with an Army major. “Major, your battalion's been busy. How are things going?”

“Pretty hard, but we're pushing these guys back. They thought they could bounce over the Red River, but with the bottomlands and one road, well...you get the idea.” The Major waved over the fields on both sides of U.S. 82, littered with burning and wrecked armored vehicles. “But these Russians are tough. They may have old equipment, but they know how to use it, and it hasn't been easy.”

“How tough are they?”

“Pretty darned tough, I'll grant you. Haven't taken that many prisoners, but those we have taken? The officers are mostly Russians, but the enlisted? Had to find someone who knows Central Asian languages, let's put it that way.”

Then footage of M-109A3 howitzers firing to the east, and then American vehicles entering a town, as Soviet prisoners were marching west. “And so, the town of Lewisville, Arkansas, is back in American hands.” Joyful civilians were welcoming the soldiers, and identifying collaborators, who were promptly taken into custody by the Army. “But it's not over yet. Bob Simon, CBS News, with the Seventh Armored Division, Southern Arkansas.”

“In Philadelphia, the investigation into the staff of Senator William Proxmire continues, with the Senator himself being interviewed by the FBI,” Cronkite said. “Phil Jones, our Senate correspondent, has the latest.”

“Senator William Proxmire went into the Philadelphia FBI office today, to meet with agents investigating at least two of his staff members now in custody for alleged contacts with Cuban intelligence,” Jones said. “Sources say the Senator is still not a target of the investigation, but that information that the Senator may have, with his positions on both the Senate Budget and Foreign Relations Committees, were obtained by the staffers and passed on to the Cubans. So far, the Senator has denied any knowledge, but sources say that Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell is considering asking Senator Proxmire to take a temporary leave of absence from both committees, pending the outcome of the investigation. When asked, both Senator Mitchell and Senator Proxmire replied with a terse 'No Comment.' Phil Jones, CBS News, Philadelphia.”

After a few more reports- including one from an Armored Cavalry unit on the Alberta-Montana border, and another from a destroyer on the Yokohama-Los Angeles Convoy Route, the final report shifted to Tulsa, Oklahoma, getting ready for their first holiday season since liberation, and though times were tough, with rationing still in force, electricity supply spotty, things seemed to be looking up. Though the ruins of the Oral Roberts University and the still unrepaired damage to parts of Tulsa International Airport showed. “But we're still here,” one resident said. “And glad the troops in the street are Americans,” he added as the camera showed an Army patrol in jeeps and Humvees, and ComBloc EPWs engaged in street-sweeping and general cleanup.

“And that's the way it is. For all of us at CBS News, Good night,” Cronkite signed off.

“Score a few for the good guys,” Colonel Brady said when the news went off, and AFN began showing a replay of a 1984 Los Angeles Lakers-Phoenix Suns basketball game.

Heads nodded at that. Then someone asked, “And what happened to Roberts?”

“Good question,” General Yeager said. “Want to bet that TV preacher bailed when the Russians got close enough to Tulsa to see the red flags flying from the tanks?”

“No bet,” Kara replied, “Sir. That's one bet I wouldn't take.”

Then Jana Wendt, their attached news reporter from 9 News Australia, asked, “Who's this Roberts fellow?”

“Think fire-and-brimstone preacher, with a TV show-and making money selling that show to TV stations, asking viewers to send him donations, stuff like that. Big money,” Sin Licon replied.

“And big hypocrites,” Kara spat. “Want to bet he had an offshore account with some of that money, and he's sitting on some beach in the Caribbean, with a nice house and his mistress?”

Guru nodded. “No takers, because that's probably what happened. Lots of those folks dropped out of sight once the balloon went up.”

“With that,” Kara said, time to make some folks lose their money.” She went over to a pool table.

Guru went to get another beer, and turned to have a look at Frank's table. He was on his third, while Doc was still on his first. Both were still talking, which was good. Guru paid Smitty, then went back to his table. “Never thought I'd say this, but tonight? I actually feel sorry for Frank.”

“Why's that?” Goalie asked.

“Because if he'd gotten in-which was highly unlikely once General Yeager saw his 201 File and Flight Record, by the way, everybody'd be happy. Now...” Guru's voice trailed off.

“Now we have to wait for the other shoe to drop,” Sweaty finished.

“Not good,” Preacher observed.

“Not good,” Guru agreed. “Only two questions: When, and how bad?”


Kara was busy at the pool table, and first Pruitt, then Prada, challenged her. Both tried, but found their wallets lightened by $50.00 each. When Pruitt came back, he grumbled, “Did they ban her from those college hangouts?”

“You'd have to ask them,” Goalie said.

Prada shook her head. “Just asking, but has a girl lost to her and can't pay?”

“Not that we know of,” Sweaty replied.

“All we know is that she-and a dozen other officers of both genders rented a beach house on the north shore of Oahu once for a three-day weekend,” Guru said. “All pilots and GIBs upset they were stuck on the ferry run instead of in combat like they had trained for.”

“And?” Prada asked. She was curious.

“And that's pretty much all we know,” replied Guru. “Though Kara has hinted that clothes and inhibitions were shed once they were on the property.”

“Lovely.”


“Fifteen minutes to Twelve-Hour!” One of the Navy flight surgeons announced.

“Major,” Colonel Brady said to Guru. “We've got some business to take care of.”

“That we do, sir,” acknowledged Guru.

Both went to the bar and rang the bell. “Okay, people!” Brady said. “Quiet down for a few minutes. First, General Yeager and his people will be leaving tomorrow, and their visit was an....interesting one. Forty years plus in between kills is a record that will probably never be broken,” Brady quipped, and there were howls of laughter at that. “And they engaged the 335th, with General Olds in the back seat of one of the F-4s, and fought them to a draw.”

“You all were lucky,” Yeager said in his West Virginia drawl.

“Damn right,” Clancy muttered, though only Pruitt and Prada could hear.

“Probably the first DACT in a long time where everybody involved was an ace, Colonel,” Olds added. “And that's a fight I wouldn't have missed for the world.”

“Wasn't there, but General, I'll take your word, and those others who were there, for it,” Brady replied. “And General Olds will be heading on himself in the afternoon.”

Olds stood up, and took the mike. “I'll say this. You all in MAG-11, whether Air Force, Marines, or Navy, are doing one hell of a job. And I was glad to be among fighter pilots who've been doing what fighter pilots do. Kill other airplanes. Those of you, Air Force or Marine, who fly Double-ugly? You've proven time and again that the F-4, properly handled, can still be a distributor of MiG parts! When I get back to Nellis? I'll brief General Tanner on my visit, and tell him that if anyone suggests changing things here? Tell them to shove it, because you all don't need to change a damn thing.” He handed the mike back to Colonel Brady. “Colonel.”

“Thank you, General,” Brady said. He passed the mike to Guru. “Major.”

“Thanks, Colonel,” Guru said. “Well, General Yeager's gain is our loss. Firefly and Rabbit? Stand up, guys.” The two stood up. “You guys are headed to Edwards, and the F-20 transition, and are probably going to have Prada as your flight instructor. All I can say is, Good luck, and enjoy your time off the firing line.” Applause followed at that. “But you've still got ten days with us, and I think General Yeager will appreciate the advice I'm about to give you: Don't get yourselves killed before you head back to California.”

Firefly grinned. “Do my best, Major.”

“Same here, Major,” Rabbit added.

“One other thing: your last night? We'll make sure you have a decent enough good-bye bash,” Guru said.

“Concur, Major,” Brady said. “Now, people, ten minutes to Twelve-Hour.”

Guru went back to his table and finished off his beer. “Once they all leave, we get back to normal.”

“For a couple days,” Goalie reminded him. “Then our British cousins show.”

“Yep,” Guru nodded. “Two people separated by a common language and all, but be glad for one thing.”

“What's that?” Sweaty asked.

“They speak Phantom, not Tornado or Jaguar.”

A few minutes later, the clock hit 1900. “Twelve-hour now in effect!” Doc Waters announced.

People on the flight schedule either turned in their drinks, or poured them out. One not affected by that was Major Carson, who people noticed had four beer bottles on his table, and was working on a fifth. For once, he was obeying an order Guru had given him.

“Another day done,” Goalie observed.

“And another tomorrow,” Guru reminded her-and the others. “Still got a ways to go.”

Things went on until 2100, when Doc called, “Aircrew curfew for those flying in the morning.”

Those so affected went off to the various squadrons' officer country, for sleep beckoned. Because 0430 wasn't that far off. And a new day of flying was on the agenda.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 28: The next day.... The 335th has the ATO, while the F-20 guys are packing up for their next stop:

335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 14 November, 1987, 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser walked from Officer Country to the squadron's office. He took a look to the east, and the first faint hints of dawn were breaking. Clear skies for the most part, and that meant good flying weather. With a storm due to hit the West Coast the following day, and in their Area of Operations the day after that, it was a given that Tenth Air Force would try and get in a maximum effort. Then the RAF was coming to their little corner of the war, and having dedicated strike or recon escort was a good thing. At least they speak Phantom, and not Tornado or Jaguar, the CO thought. That, and how two people separated by a common language would get along-especially with Frank likely to be in a foul mood-was on his mind as he went in the front door. The Night-Shift SDO, Hacksaw, was there, “Morning, Hacksaw,”

“Morning, Boss,” Hacksaw replied. “Cold's getting better.”

“Good to know,” the CO said. “See Doc yet?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Hacksaw said. “Still got the sniffles, though.”

“Been there, done that,” Guru said. “Listen to Doc, like I said. You'll be back flying after the weather stand-down.”

“Can't wait, Boss, and yeah, I know, I haven't missed a damn thing.”

Guru nodded. “You have been listening. You do know about Major Carson?”

“Word's gone around, Major,” said Hacksaw. “And the XO passed the word about not razzing him.”

“Good. Speaking of which, the XO in?”

“He's in your office.”

“Thanks,” Guru said. He paused to listen to the radio on Hacksaw's desk. “What's Wolfman Jack been playing this morning?”

“A mix. Little River Band, Journey, Rolling Stones, Blue Oyster Cult, that new all-female group, The Bangles, Wang Chung, Tears for Fears,” the SDO said.

“And that one was Everybody Wants to Rule the World.”

“That it was.”

“Okay, you do know Brian Slater's taking Digger's place as Day-Shift SDO?”

“XO told me, Boss.”

“Good,” Guru nodded. “Get him up to speed, grab yourself something to eat, then find your bunk.”

“Will do,” Hacksaw said.

“Thanks, Hacksaw.”

Guru then talked with the night-shift enlisted people, then went to his office. Sure enough, the XO was waiting for him. “Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis replied. “Got the usual stuff here,” he said, handing his CO a cup of cocoa. “Morning reports for Tenth AF and MAG-11.”

Guru took the clipboard from his Exec and scanned both reports, then he signed them. “That's done. What else do you have?”

“Weather update. No change in that storm. Hits the West Coast early tomorrow morning, and then we feel it the day after,” Ellis said.

The CO nodded. Nothing new there. “General Olds leaving today?”

“Nothing on that,” the XO reported. “He may be waiting until General Yeager's people go.”

“Speaking of which, when are they wheels-up?” Guru asked.

“Probably after the second round of missions,” replied Ellis. “1100 or 1130. General Olds probably wants to be here. He may want to stick around for the RAF's arrival.”

“He can do that,” said Guru. “Anything else?”

“Admin-wise? That's it. Kev O'Donnell says Kerry's bird will be ready tomorrow morning. It'll need a check flight before it can get on the schedule.”

“Let Kerry and Pat know, and tell them to hit Early-Bird tomorrow morning. They can get the check flight out of the way, then turn their bird around for combat.”

“Sounds good, Boss,” said Ellis. “And that's it.”

There was a knock on the door right after. “Yeah?” The CO said. “Show yourself and come in!”

The door opened, and Goalie came in, her blond hair already tied up in a bun, and her hands full with two cups of steaming liquid. “Morning, guys. Just bringing the CO's hot chocolate.” She handed one of the cups to Guru.

“Thanks. Now, you have a good night's sleep?”

“Sure did, and ready to get going. Now, when's the other shoe going to drop on Frank?” Goalie asked.

“Good question,” Guru said. “I'll bet any amount of money that what he's going to do is try and do something that he hopes will impress folks with stars on their shoulders.” He looked at his XO and GIB. “Not that he's done much with both General Olds and General Yeager, but he's probably heard talk that Sundown Cunningham may be paying us a visit.”

“And he thinks that if Sundown hears about him doing something, Sundown asks why Frank's stuck here and not where he can really do some good,” Goalie replied. “But we all know what's likely to happen instead.”

Ellis nodded. “Sundown kicks Frank's ass onto the first C-130 or C-141 out of here-and into a dead-end job someplace.”

“Happy day when that happens,” Goalie smiled.

“It will be,” Guru said. “Now, with this weather coming in, Tenth Air Force is going to have a maximum effort today and tomorrow. We're going to be pretty busy.”

“As long as it's not CAS,” Ellis said. “Had enough of that a few days ago.”

“Ours is not to reason why, ours is to go fly,” the CO reminded him. “But yeah, I'd rather leave CAS to the folks who specialize in it.” Guru glanced at the clock on the office wall. “0550. Let's go eat.”


When the three officers arrived at the Officer's Mess Tent, they found the usual crowd milling about, waiting for the Chow Tent to open up. Guru found General Olds talking with Colonel Brady, and he went on over. “General, Colonel,” he said, sketching a salute.

“Major,” General Olds replied. “Looks like a good morning to fly,” he said, motioning to the east, where the sky was turning more and more bright.

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. He scanned the crowd. “And a certain officer took my advice-for once.”

“That snotty Major?”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir. I told him to get sloppy drunk, then sleep it off. Because I gave him today off, and tomorrow, as well. For once, I'm actually feeling sorry for him.”

“I've seen his file,” Olds noted, shaking his head. “And I know what you mean. If he'd been accepted, he'd be out of your hair, Major.”

“That he would, sir,” Guru replied. “But General Yeager did see both his 201 File and his Flight Record, and so...”

“And so, there's a ton of pressure building on him, and sooner or later, it'll pop,” Colonel Brady observed. “Just hope nobody but him gets killed, Major.”

“Sir, I told my people that. Now, all we can do is wait and see what happens. And how he'll get along with the RAF when they get here.”

“Speaking of which, Major,” Olds said. “I'll be here when they arrive, but will be departing that afternoon. When I get back to Nellis, I'll brief General Tanner on what you all have in mind for them, Colonel, and Major.”

Colonel Brady nodded, as did Guru. And both replied, “Yes, sir.”

“And Major?” Olds said. “Don't be surprised if you get a call to come to Nellis in a week or so. There's that little project of yours, and General Tanner will want to hear from the folks planning it. You and Lieutenant Eichhorn.”

Hearing that, Goalie gulped. Briefing a general and staff? “If you say so, sir.” She looked at Guru and nodded. He nodded back.

“Sir, that means space-available on a C-130 or C-141,” Guru pointed out.

“Not necessarily,” Olds replied. “If the orders say 'Fastest available transportation', you can take your bird.”

“Uh...yes, sir!” The CO said.

Just then, the Marine Mess Officer came out and flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's on, people!”


After breakfast, the crews went to their briefing rooms while the flight leaders headed to Ops to get their mission packets. When Guru arrived in Ops, the Ops Officer was waiting. “Don,” Guru nodded.

“Boss,” Don Van Loan nodded back. “CO gets the first one, right out of the gate.” He handed Guru a mission packet.

“Where are we going?” Guru asked as he opened the packet.

Van Loan showed him on a JOG chart. “Town called Walnut Springs. Eleven miles north of Meridian and Twelve miles south of Glen Rose, on Route 144. There's a Soviet tank regiment that's set up shop there. Intel thinks they got mauled pretty good a few days ago, and they're reorganizing and refitting there. The battalion laagers are marked on the photos.”

“And somebody wants their HQ taken out as well. IF we can ID them,” Guru said. “In that case, if we can't ID them, then we drop on the battalions.”

“Just what I'd do,” Van Loan said. “Oh, this is the AO for 4th Guards Tank Army, so expect regimental level air defense on up, Sin Licon says.”

The CO shook his head. “Of all the things to get off to a good start in the morning. Thanks, Don. You have a good one, and be careful.”

“I know, you don't want to break in Kara as Ops.”

“That, and I'm not ready to be Exec yet,” the Ops Officer laughed. “Be careful out there.”

“Will do,” Guru said. He headed for his flight's briefing room. When he got there, he found the members of his flight ready, and with a visitor: General Olds. “General, everybody. Hope you all had a good breakfast, because with this storm coming in a couple of days, we're going to be busy.”

“Things usually are, Major,” General Olds said.

“Yes, sir, they are. Okay, here's our mission.” Guru tapped the town on a TPC chart. “Here's the town of Walnut Springs. In and around the town is a Soviet tank regiment. Intel says they got shot up during that fracas when we ran into the ZSU-30s, and they got pulled back there to rest and reorganize. We're making sure they don't have any easy days behind the line.”

Kara looked at him. “So who hits what?”

“Good question. The regimental HQ is one of the targets, but chances are, it's in the town itself. This is not a collection of ruins, people. So we hit the actual maneuver battalions-they're laagered outside of town.” The CO said, passing around some RF-4C imagery.

“Defenses?” Sweaty asked. “Let me guess: the usual regimental level SA-9s or -13s, and Shilkas.”

“Good start,” Guru nodded. “This is the AO for 4th Guards Tank Army, Intel says, so expect anything from regimental level to Army level. We're out of range for the Waco and Hillsboro SA-2s, so be glad for that. But SA-4 and possible SA-11 are in the area.”

Hoser looked at his CO. “Any Weasels coming?”

“Negative. Just us and our ECM pods. Give some phony 'Magnum' calls and we just might scare those chumps off the air.”

“MiG threat, Boss?” Kara asked.

“Same as yesterday. And the MiGs at the old Connolly AFB in Waco are the closest,” Guru reminded them.

“Aren't some of them Libyan?” Asked Brainiac.

The CO nodded. “Some are. Intel says some of the pilots, though, may not be. They may be coming from any number of 'Socialist' countries that Qaddafi bankrolls or supports.”

KT asked, “Weather and bailout areas still unchanged?”

“You answered your own question,” the CO smiled. “One other thing: Intel now says they may have as many as five Mainstays in theater.”

“Five?” Goalie asked. “Intel's full of good news today.”

“Yeah. And we're all familiar with their motto: 'We're betting your life.'”

Sweaty then asked, “What's the ingress route?”

“Coming to that,” Guru said. “After the pre-strike refueling, we follow the Brazos until we get to Lake Whitney. A mile short of the dam is when we turn right, at a place called Long Branch-and here's the coordinates for the INS.” Seeing as he had everyone's attention, Guru continued. “We go west until we pick up Route 22, then follow it to Meridian. Turn north, following Route 144. The pop-up point is just south of the town, where the road goes between two hills at a place called Corn Gap-and yes, they gave us the INS coordinates. Pop-up, ID your drop point, release, then get your asses back to the Brazos as quick as you can. Follow the river back north, and clear the I-20.”

“Sounds good,” Kara said. “Ordnance loadout?”

Guru checked the mission outline. “No CBUs this time-they're too close to the town. So we each get six M-117Rs on the centerline, and six Mark-82 Snakeyes on the inner wing stations. Plus the usual air-to-air, ECM, and wing tanks, with full gun.”

Heads nodded at that. Nothing new here. “And how many more today?” Preacher asked.

“Should be four,” Guru replied. “Emphasis on should, because if people start hollering for CAS.....”

“Lovely,” KT spat.

“Yeah. Anything else before we gear up? Because we're going to be first out the gate.”

“Anyone notice Buddy?” Hoser said. “He must've followed you in, Boss. He's sound asleep.”

There were some chuckles at that, then Guru said. “Good. That means it should be an easy one. Emphasis on should.” He then turned to General Olds. “Sir, anything you'd like to add?”

“No, Major,” Olds said. “Other than good luck, have a good mission, and bring everyone back.”

“Thank you, sir, and we'll do our best in the latter. No guarantees in this business,” Guru reminded the General.

“As I'm well aware, Major. Still.....” Olds said. “You can only do what you can.”

“Yes, sir.” Guru then said, “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right, we're supposed to be first out the gate. Time to gear up. We'll meet at 512.”

As people got up to head to their respective locker rooms, General Olds came over to Guru. “Major, good brief. Like I said: good luck, and bring everyone home.”

“Do my best, sir,” Guru replied. They shook hands. “And sir? Since tonight's your last night here, you can officiate when we give Buddy his honorary commission.”

“Be glad to, Major. Now get going.” Olds said.

After handing the briefing material to an Ops NCO who was waiting outside, Guru went to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. When he came out, Goalie was waiting as usual. “Ready to start the morning off with a Snakeye wake-up call?”

“As long as it's Ivan who's getting the 'Good Morning' presents,” she smiled. “Let's not keep them waiting.”

Pilot and GIB headed on out, and the sun was just starting to come over the eastern horizon. Just outside was the team of Dave Golen and Flossy, with their GIBs,and they were talking with the temporary members of their element, Capt. Sean Hennings and 1st Lt. Melissa Brewster, who were normally wingmates to the despised-and temporarily grounded-Major Frank Carson. “Dave,” Guru said. “Getting set with your new wingmates?”

“We're just about ready,” Golen replied. “They're good enough to have survived this long with Frank, and that's no mean feat, so I understand.”

“Okay,” Guru nodded. “Sean, you and Melissa listen to what Dave, Terry, Flossy, and Jang have to tell you. You may only be flying with them for a couple of days, but still...”

“Roger that, Major,” Hennings said.

“Good. Melissa?”

“Clear as a bell, Major,” replied Brewster.

Guru nodded. “That's good. All right, you all have a good one. Dave? Where are you all headed?”

“Someplace called Morgan, west of Lake Whitney. You?” Golen said.

“West of there, near Walnut Springs. You hit MiG trouble, holler,” Guru replied. He checked his call sign for the day. “We're Rambler Flight. You?”

“Mustang,” said Golen. “If they go for you, call out. We'll be there.”

Both Guru and Golen shook hands on that. “Be careful out there,” Guru warned.

“Likewise,” their IDF “Observer,” replied.

Guru and Goalie then headed to the squadron's dispersal area, and the revetment where his aircraft, 512, was parked. The rest of the flight was waiting just outside the revetment. “Okay, people,” Guru said as he got ready to give his final instructions. “Usual procedures on the radio.”

Heads nodded at that. Call signs between them, mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. “And this is just the first one,” Kara observed. It wasn't a question.

“Right on that. Just hope they don't holler for CAS, and personally, I'd rather leave that to the Hog and A-7 drivers, and the Apaches. Anything else? Okay, one last thing. Watch for those big tracers. We had ZSU-30 not too far from where we're going, so be careful. Call out if you see those basketball-sized tracers, and if they do appear at the target? Abort. Got it?”

“Got it, Major,” Sweaty replied. When his flight used his rank in reply, it was a sign the subject was a serious one.

“Good,” the CO nodded. “Meet up at ten grand overhead. Time to fly,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let's hit it.”

The crews went to mount their aircraft, and both Guru and Goalie went into the revetment. Their Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their usual preflight walk-around, then after Guru signed for the aircraft, they mounted the Phantom and got into their seats. After getting strapped in with the ground crew's help, the pilot and GIB went through their preflight checklist. “At least Frank's off today,” Guru noted as they did the check.

“Which cuts down the chance of losing a perfectly innocent GIB and wing crew,” Goalie observed. “Ejection seats?

“Armed top and bottom,” replied Guru. “And you're quite right. Check yours. INS and Arnie?”

“Seat's ready. Arnie and INS ready to go,” Goalie called back. “Problem is, after the stand-down, they go back up together.”

“Unfortunately,” Guru said. “No way around that. Checklist complete?”

“Checklist complete and ready for engine start.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He gave his CC a thumbs-up. Sergeant Crowley then gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running, and during the warm-up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

The tower controller came back at once. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number one in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead is rolling.” Guru then gave another thumbs-up to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The Crew Ladder was pulled away, the chocks pulled from the tires, and Crowley then gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru then released the brakes, and applied power. He taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as the big Phantom cleared the revetment, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute. Guru and Goalie returned it, then Guru taxied towards Runway 35L, and the other three F-4s in the flight followed.

When they got to the holding area, sure enough, they were the first in line, though two Marine flights, and another 335th flight, were behind them. In the holding area, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, which made the ordnance now “live”. Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight requesting clear to taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-eight-zero for five,” the controller called.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520, getting into position on his right. He and Goalie did a final cockpit check, then he called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower, as usual, didn't reply by radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for Takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“All squared away back here,” she replied. “Time to go to work.”

“It is that,” Guru replied. He glanced to his right, and saw Kara and Brainiac in 520. They gave a thumbs-up, which 512's crew returned. Then a last check of his instruments. Time to go. “Canopy coming down,” Guru called as he closed and locked his canopy.

“Copy that,” Goalie said as she did the same.

“Time to go,” Guru said. He applied full power, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn. Once airborne, they met up at FL 100, then headed south for their tanker rendezvous.


Over Central Texas: 0750 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, having just crossed the FLOT into enemy territory. The pre-strike refueling had gone off without a hitch, and the refueling track was a busy one, with KC-135s, KC-10s, and Marine KC-130s serving strike flights, CAP F-15s and F-16s, and the occasional recon platform before going about their business. Now, they were going in at 450 feet AGL, following the Brazos River, and, as usual, just inside the Nicaraguan sector boundary. While the pilots maintained their visual scanning, and kept an eye on their instruments, the WSOs were handling the navigation.

Guru had his head on a swivel, as usual, watching for threats, checking his EW display, and then his instruments. “Granbury Bridge coming up,” he noted. The U.S. 377 bridge over the Brazos served both the Nicaraguans and the East Germans.

“Got it,” Goalie replied. She was using the INS and the ARN-101 DMAS, but was also doing things the old-fashioned way: with a stopwatch and map. “Flak at One,” she called.

Guru glanced to his One O'clock. Sure enough, the East Germans on the west side of the bridge were shooting, as usual. “East Germans are awake,” he noted. The 23-mm and 57-mm flak was close, but not dangerously so.

“And...now,” Goalie called. The flight came close to the Bridge, and this time, there was no traffic crossing the Brazos. “One minute thirty to Glen Rose Bridge.”

Guru nodded. “Roger that,” he replied. Then he checked his EW display. Sure enough, a strobe appeared, and the warning light SEARCH came on. “Red AWACS again.”

In her cockpit, Goalie shook her head. “Somebody ought to do something about those.”

“Maybe somebody's going to do just that,” Guru said.

“Hopefully,” Goalie replied. “Dam coming up, and flak ahead.”

The strike flight passed by the Lake Granbury Dam, and the AAA batteries on the west side of the river opened up. Again, those were East Germans, while the Nicaraguan gunners on the east side stayed quiet. Then they turned south for the Glen Rose Bridge. “How long until Glen Rose?” Guru asked.

“Forty-five seconds.”

“Copy.” Guru checked his EW display again, then called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

An AWACS controller came back to him right away. “Rambler Lead, Warlock. First threat bearing One-seven-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-zero for seventy-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru replied.

“Glen Rose Bridge at One, with flak,” Goalie called.

“Got it,” Guru said as the 23-mm and 57-mm sites on the west side of the bridge opened up. Again, the gunners were not accurate, but they did put a lot of flak in the air. “That's Glen Rose. How long to Brazospoint?”

“Forty-five seconds to Brazospoint,” Goalie responded. “One minute thirty to Route 174 and the north side of Lake Whitney.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. One thing about going in at 500 KIAS at 450 feet AGL, it gave the bad guys on the ground a hard time to aim at you.

When they got to the Brazospoint Bridge, the gunners on both sides opened fire, and that was a sign they were now in the Libyan sector. Though the East Germans were measured, the Libyans, when they started shooting, were wild with their fire. “Forty-five seconds to the 174 Bridge.”

“And more Libyans,” Guru said. A quick glance at the EW display showed the strobe still there, and the SEARCH warning light on. That Mainstay again....“Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Warlock. Threat bearing One-six-five for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-nine-nine for sixty-five. Medium, closing.”

Guru replied, “Roger that, Warlock.”

“Still got that Red AWACS,” Goalie snorted. “Coming up on the 174 Bridge.”

Guru nodded, then shot a quick glance to the right. Kara in 520 was tucked right with him, and a glance to the left had Sweaty in at their Seven O'clock. That meant Hoser was in their six. “Copy that,” he replied. “And there's the bridge, with the flak.” Tracers and puffs of 57-mm fire came up.

“Right on time,” Goalie called. “Lake Whitney dead ahead. Starting the clock.”

“Turn point in when?”

“One minute thirty.”


Rambler Flight flew past the bridge, then right over the lake. On both sides of the lake, locals as well as Soviet or East German soldiers were trying their luck at fishing. When the locals saw the F-4s go by, many waved, even if the crews couldn't see them doing so, while the Soviets and East Germans were wondering where their own air-defense people, and the Air Force for that matter, were. The sound of the aircraft thundered over the lake, and though most of the locals were happy to see the USAF over the lake, there were some who grumbled. Not that they weren't glad to see American aircraft, far from it, but the planes were scaring away the fish.

Oblivious to that, Guru and Goalie concentrated on flying as the turn point came up. They were short of the dam, as planned, and directly east of Long Branch. “Turn in when?” Guru asked.

Goalie gave the count. “Turn point in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, then lined up on the new course of two-seven zero. “Time to Meridian?”

“One minute thirty.”

“Copy.”

The flight picked up State Route 22, and there was some military traffic on the road, but no one shot at them. They were too fast, and by the time several Soviet soldiers got their SA-7s or -14s out, Rambler Flight was gone.

“Meridian coming up,” Guru called.


In Meridian, the Soviets from the 254th Guards Motor-rifle Regiment were still busy, trying to get the Regiment ready to go back into combat. The Regimental Commander was furious at the delay, but that was the least of his problems. The Zampolit was still a pain in the ass, and the Major wondered why the man had the luck to survive, when most of the senior officers in the Regiment were either dead or in the hospital. Though not a religious man, he did remember the stories his grandmother had told him, and wondered if the God whose existence the Zampolit regularly denied had a hand in keeping the man alive. Then the Rear-Area Protection troops were another problem. Fat, overage reservists with antiquated equipment-some of their artillery pieces were leftovers from the Great Patriotic War, the Major had found out, and were they interested in doing their mission? Not particularly, for they were mainly concerned with keeping the roads open, and content to do just that by sitting on their asses in the town, and any kind of serious anti-guerrilla missions were not on their agenda. Not that there was any serious Resistance activity to start with, but the occasional slashed tire, anti-Soviet graffiti, cut telephone lines, and so on were enough to show that there was underground activity, but that things could be more serious if the Resistance wanted to make it so. If the Americans came south, and the battle lines came closer, the Major thought, then the Resistance would come out of its lair and make their presence known.

The Major's thoughts were interrupted by the air raid alarm. He went to his office window at City Hall and looked outside, and saw four F-4 Phantoms in a diamond formation fly past overhead, followed by the rumble of their engines. Cheers came from some of the townspeople while his air-defense people tried to get their Strela shoulder-fired missiles into action. By the time the missile gunners were ready, the planes were gone. How many times had that happened? The Major decided to go find his air-defense commander, and give him a serious dressing-down. For if the Americans came again, it might not just be a flyby, and the regiment would pay for it....


“Ten miles to Walnut Springs,” Goalie called. “Forty seconds.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. '”Set up the ordnance.”

“Got it,” replied Goalie as she worked the armament control panel. “All set: everything in one pass.”

“Good,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Music on, switches on, and stand by to pull.” That meant to turn on their ECM pods and arm weapons.

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

“IP in ten,” Goalie called. “Stand by.....and...and....PULL!”

Guru put 512 into a forty-five degree climb, and as he did, Walnut Springs appeared just ahead and to the left. And the signs of armored vehicles laagered outside town appeared. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Time to go to work.”

“Ready back here,” Goalie called.

“Time to go in.” Guru rolled in on his bomb run.


In Walnut Springs, the Acting Commander of the 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division's 228th Tank Regiment was not a happy man. He had been in command of the 3rd Battalion during the Regiment's, and the Division's, initial combat experience, he had thought all of his training and experience would have prepared him for that day. Actual combat had taught him otherwise. The regiment had deployed according to doctrine and battle drill, and had expected to be overruning scattered groups of American paratroopers, only to face an armored brigade, and then be taken in the flank by an Armored Cavalry Regiment. And that was just the enemy on the ground! For American aircraft and attack helicopters had raised merry hell with the Regiment, and finally, the order had been given to fall back. The Regimental Commander, his staff, and the entire Regimental Headquarters element, had been hit in an air strike, then by artillery, and were all either dead or in the hospital. The Major-a Beylorussian from Mozyr, was the senior surviving battalion commander, and had thus inherited command of the regiment. His own battalion's casualties had been serious-nearly fifty percent, and the other two were worse. First Battalion's losses were so high the senior surviving officer was a Senior Lieutenant who had commanded a platoon in the Third Company, and things were only marginally better in Second, where the acting commander was a Captain and had commanded the Second Company. The motor-rifle battalion had, for all practical purposes, been wiped out, with only a handful of BMP-2s left, and no surviving officers. The artillery battalion's commander had also been killed, and the air defense battery had been wiped out, with not a single 2S6 Tunguska gun/missile launcher surviving, and only one Strela-10 (SA-13) launcher left. Shaking his head, he got up from his desk in what had been, prewar, what the locals called a “Sheriff's Substation” and went outside. Though his regiment was just starting the process of reconstitution, he wondered how long it would be before new T-72Bs, BMPs, and air-defense vehicles would arrive, and not to mention what kind of replacements would the regiment-and the division for that matter, receive? New arrivals fresh from training, or, dared he hope, combat-experienced veterans from the hospitals or a division that had been too badly shot up to be reformed?

The Major took a look around. Though the Regimental headquarters, such as it was, along with support services, the engineers, artillery, and what air-defense assets they had, along with the few surviving motor-rifle troops, were in town proper, the three tank battalions, along with a truck park that didn't concern him, were all arrayed in a circle around the town. As for the garrison? A company of reservists from Minsk who had been out of uniform for twenty years, with old BTR-152 APCs and T-34/85s that, when he asked how old they were, the tank platoon commander had shown him a data plate. The tank had rolled out of the Chelyabinsk Tank Works in 1946! They had better hope the front doesn't move south anytime soon, for they would be swatted aside like so many flies, the Major knew. And the local population? A “live and let live” attitude had developed, and for once, the Major was glad that the Zampolit wasn't causing trouble. The man had been the artillery battalion's Zampolit, and who had been a newcomer to combat like everyone else, was more concerned with working among the men instead of giving the locals any problems, and for that, the Major was grateful.

Then a shout attracted his attention, and several soldiers pointed to the south. Specks in the sky, and they were coming closer and growing larger. He knew right away what that meant. Air attack. “AIR ALARM!” The Major shouted, then he ran for a slit trench and jumped in.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called. As he rolled in on his run, a few tracers started to come up. Machine guns, most likely, or 23-mm. A quick glance at the EW display showed no radars, so it was optically aimed. No matter. Guru aimed at a field northwest of the town, where a dozen tanks and a few trucks had been spotted on the imagery. Sure enough, the tanks and trucks were still there. Good. Ignoring the tracers, and even an SA-7 type missile that flew past on the left, Guru lined up the tanks in his pipper. “Steady.....Steady......And.....NOW!” He hit the pickle button, and released his Mark-82s and M-117s onto the tank laager. He pulled up out of the dive and began jinking to avoid any flak. “Lead's off safe,” Guru called as he headed for the Brazos.


“Of all the...” the Major muttered as Guru's F-4 came over. Instead of releasing on the town, the aircraft dropped its bombs on the field where the remnants of First Battalion were laagered. The aircraft pulled up and away, and a dozen bombs exploded in its wake. Clouds of dirt rose, then a couple of fireballs as well, signaling the death of tanks. Then the Major ducked back into the trench, for he knew from experience that American aircraft didn't attack alone.


“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “Got a couple of secondaries!”

That meant a couple of tanks, or maybe ammo trucks, Guru knew. “How big?”

“Big enough,” Goalie replied as another missile flew down their right side by about a hundred feet.

“Have to take what we get,” said Guru as he picked up the river.

“Two in hot!” Kara called as she took 520 in on her bomb run. She saw where the CO had placed his bombs, and picked up some tanks in a field to the southwest of the town. Your turn to die, Kara thought as she came down on the target area. She, too, ignored the light flak coming up, along with a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, and centered some tanks in her pipper. None of the tracers were the basketball-sized ones, and that was a good thing.....“Steady.....And...And.....HACK!” Kara hit the pickle button and released her bombs, sending them onto the Russians below. Pulling up and away, she, too, began jinking to avoid any flak. “Two's off target.”

“Not a good day,” the Major said to himself as Kara's F-4 came in and released its bombs. Second Battalion was there, and right away, the Major knew that they would get a pounding. A dozen more bombs exploded, and there were a couple of fireballs, then came another, larger one. Fuel truck, the Major thought. This is not good, he knew. He stepped out of the trench, had a look around, then someone, who he didn't know, pulled him back into the trench. Before the Major could say a word, that someone said, “More aircraft, Comrade Commander.”

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted as 520 pulled away. “And we got a big secondary!”

“How big?” Kara asked as she jinked left, then right, then picked up the CO's trail as she headed north.

“Fuel big,” the GIB called.

Kara grinned underneath her oxygen mask. “Hot damn!” Then she added, “Pardon the pun.”

“Hot for somebody back there.”


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. She picked out a laager to the northeast of the town, where some tanks were parked in a field near a ranch pond. Okay....your turn to burn, bleed, and blow up, Sweaty thought as she lined up a dozen tanks in her pipper. She, too, ignored the flak coming up, and even a missile-this one larger than an SA-7, which, thankfully, didn't track. The tanks grew larger in her pipper......... “And...Steady....Steady......HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and sent her bombs down on the Russians below. She pulled up and away, jinking as she did so. No sense in giving the gunners down below an easy shot, she knew. Then she made the call. “Three's off.”


“Sookin sin,” the Major muttered. Son of a bitch. He glanced up from the trench to see Sweaty's F-4 pulling up from its run, and he felt the concussion of the bombs going off. The Major lifted his head to see several smoke columns rising, which meant more tanks had been hit. That had been where his former battalion had been laagered, he knew. Shaking his head, he ducked back into the trench as the anti-aircraft gunners kept firing. More Americans coming in.....


“SHACK!” Preacher yelled. “Good secondaries!”

“How many?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to throw off any flak gunners.

“A few good ones,” replied Preacher as an SA-7 type missile flew above their aircraft.

“Their lucky day,” Sweaty grinned beneath her oxygen mask, then she leveled out and headed for the Brazos.


“This can't be happening,” the Major overheard someone say in the trench. He turned, and found the Political Officer for the Regimental Support Battalion there. The Major said nothing as he stood up in the trench. A quick look around revealed the single Strela-10 launcher vehicle rolling up, and swiveling the missile launcher. Then the anti-aircraft gunners turned their ZU-23s to the south, and kept firing. Another American, the Major knew, and he ducked back into the trench.

“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came down on his run. He saw where the others had made their runs, and also knew that dropping on the town, where the Reds had their Regimental HQ, was not an option. But some trucks in a field southeast of the town, though.....You saw your last sunrise, Hoser said to himself as he came down. The trucks grew larger as he dove,and Hoser centered several in his pipper. Like the others, he ignored the flak and the shoulder-fired missiles that came up. “And.....And.....And....NOW!” He hit the pickle button, and released his Mark-82s and M-117s onto the truck park. Hoser pulled up and away, jinking to avoid flak. “Four's off target,”

“NYET!” The Major shouted as Hoser's F-4 made its run. He watched as a dozen bombs came off the aircraft, and he knew that the truck park was the target. Thankfully, none of the vehicles from the regiment's support battalion were there, but some supply officer wasn't going to be happy that some of his trucks had gone up. Sure enough, the bombs went off, and several fireballs came up as cargoes were hit. And to his dismay, none of the anti-aircraft fire came anywhere near the aircraft. The gunners in the material support battalion were the least trained, he knew. When the guns fell silent, the Major got out of the trench. His Chief of Staff-who had held the same job in Second Battalion, turned to him. “Get medical parties to the battalions. Contact them and find out how many tanks we've lost. Time to get some order out of this mess. And this may just be the first one.”

“Comrade Commander?” The junior Party Hack asked. The man still seemed too eager, the Major thought. Maybe going back to the front might cure him of that.

“This might just be the beginning. We may have air raids all day,” the Major said. He turned back to his Chief of Staff. “Pull the battalions back. Closer to the town.”

“Right away, Comrade Commander,” the Chief said.


“SHACK!” KT said. “Got some secondaries, and you might have gotten a couple of fuel trucks!”

Hoser smiled beneath his mask. “How big on the secondaries?”

“Big enough.”

“Good for a wake-up call,” Hoser said as he picked up his element leader, and formed up with Sweaty.


“Four in, four out,” Goalie called as Hoser's call came over the radio.

“Still got a game going,” Guru reminded her as he picked up the Brazos River. “Two, where are you?”

“Right with you, Boss,” Kara replied.

Guru glanced to his right, and Kara was right with him in Combat Spread. “Copy, Two, and where's Sweaty?”

“On your six,” Sweaty called back. “Got Hoser with me.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He glanced at his EW display. That Red AWACS still had them, and a faint strobe came up to the southeast. Too weak to show what it was, though. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-seven-zero for forty. Medium, Closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock,” said Guru. “Do you have bogey dope?”

The controller came back at once. “Rambler, Warlock. Closest threats are Floggers. Second threats are Fulcrums.”

Whoa....MiG-23s and MiG-29s. “Copy,” Guru replied. “Floggers and -29s.”

“Glen Rose bridge in thirty,” Goalie said. “They cared to send the very best with the Fulcrums,” she added.

“Flight, Lead,” Guru said. “Get down lower, and follow me,” he called. He took 512 down to 350 feet AGL, and the others followed.

“Bridge at Eleven,” Goalie called. The Glen Rose Bridge appeared, and the East Germans opened up as usual, though the strike birds were too fast to really track visually. The 23-mm and 57-mm fire was too late as Rambler Flight flew past. “One minute to the Dam, then thirty seconds to Granbury.”

“Got it,” Guru said. He glanced at the EW display again. The Red AWACS still had them, and the strobe to the southeast was a little stronger. Then the A/A light came on. Air to air radar, he knew. Then a “23” appeared next to the strobe. MiG-23s with High Lark radar were looking for them. No way...too low, and too fast....

“Dam coming up,” Goalie called. “Flak at Eleven.” The flak gunners around the Lake Granbury Dam started shooting again. “They don't give up.”

“They've got to earn their pay,” Guru quipped as the strike flight flew past the dam. “Thirty seconds to Granbury?”

“Roger that,” Goalie said.

“Rambler Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS called. “Bandits bearing One-seven-zero for thirty. Medium, still closing.....Wait....Now turning away.”

“They don't want to play, Boss,” Kara quipped. She was looking for her tenth kill, and that would make her a double ace. First female in the squadron to get that, and maybe the Tenth AF, for all she knew.

The CO knew Kara wanted a fight with MiGs....“Day's still young,” Guru reminded her. “Flak at Eleven,” he added as the East German gunners at the Granbury Bridge opened up.

The flight blew past, and the Red search radar dropped off the display as they headed north. Then the twin ribbons of concrete that were I-20 appeared, and as a rule, everyone turned on their IFF transponders. The I-HAWK battery defending the Brazos River Bridges on I-20 was very trigger-happy, or so it seemed to the fast-jet people. “Crossing the Fence....now,” Goalie said.

Once clear of the FLOT, the flight climbed, and turned off their ECM pods. Then they met up with the tankers for the post-strike refueling. Things were busy, as usual, as the tankers topped off strikes headed south, and gave those headed back what they needed to get home. Then Rambler Flight headed for Sheppard.

When they got to Sheppard, two flights, both Marine, were ahead of them in the pattern, along with a vanilla C-130 and what looked like a Special-Ops Herky-bird. Then it was their turn to come in. After landing, the crews noticed one thing. The news crew wasn't filming as they taxied back to their squadron dispersal. “Must be a slow day,” joked Guru. “That, or they've got enough footage of us going out and coming back.”

“What'll they do with all that?” Goalie wanted to know.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Guru said. “Probably sell it for use in documentaries-and any generic footage of F-4s might be good enough for somebody.”

The flight taxied into the squadron dispersal area, and found their revetments. After taxiing in and shutting down, Guru and Goalie popped their canopies. “One and done,” Guru said. “Three more to go.”

“We hope,” Goalie added as they went through the post-flight checklist.

“Yeah,” said the CO. “A no-CAS day would be good.” And those, everyone knew, meant at least four, and up to six, missions in a day. Even as the days grew shorter, CAS meant rapid turnarounds.

The ground crew brought the crew ladder, and both pilot and GIB climbed down. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief was waiting. He handed both crewers a bottle of water, then asked, “Major, how'd it go?”

“Gave some Russian tankers a morning wake-up call,” Guru told his Crew Chief.

Goalie added, “The ones who survived, that is.”

“Good for them, sir, and ma'am,” Crowley said. “How's my bird?”

“Five-twelve's working like a champ, Sarge,” Guru replied. “Pull the strike camera footage, then get her ready for the next one.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “You heard the man,” Crowley told the ground crew. “Let's get the CO's bird ready for another round.”

Guru and Goalie then headed for the entrance to the revetment. “Remind me today to bump him up in the R&R Rotation,” Guru said. “He deserves some time off.”

“You still serious?” Goalie asked. “First time I can think of where you say, 'Take two weeks, enjoy yourself, have time with family if you can. By the way, that's an order'?”

“Something like that,” said the CO. They got to the entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac waiting, as usual. “How'd it go for you guys?” Guru asked.

“Gave those Red tankers a nice wake-up call,” Kara grinned. “Got some secondaries, and you did, too,”

“Their lucky day,” Guru nodded as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT came over. “Well?”

“Got some tanks,” replied Sweaty. “Maybe a supply truck or two.”

“Truck parks still blow up good,” Hoser added.

Then Preacher added, “And they weren't shooting well.”

“No, but they could have gotten lucky,” Kara replied. “Some grunt Ivan might be a crack shot with an SA-7 for all we know.”

“Maybe they had one, and he got himself killed,” Brainiac added.

“Save it for the debrief,” Guru reminded them. Then he took a look at the revetments where the F-20s were parked, and the activity within, as the Tech-Reps were busy about the aircraft. “Looks like the F-20 folks are getting ready to leave.”

“Any idea when?” Kara asked. “Good to see them go.”

“Sometime before noon,” Guru said. “Then the RAF comes tomorrow.”

Kara nodded back. “As long as those RAF guys speak Phantom,” she said.

“Amen to that,” Preacher added.

“Not arguing with you two,” Guru said. “Let's go. We need to debrief, then if the armchair warriors have anything for us, take care of that. Then we get ready to go and do it all over again.”

“Maybe we'll get some MiGs,” Sweaty said.

“You're not the only one thinking that,” Guru smiled. “Come on: let's get back to the office. The morning's still young.”

“And some Russians and East Germans need to have seen their last sunrise,” Hoser said. He'd been shot down once, and that was enough, he thought.

“True enough,” Guru replied. “Let's go.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part 29: Another mission, the 335th finds out the RAF has left Bermuda for CONUS, and both Generals Olds and Yeager sit in on the brief:



335th TFS Offices, Sheppard AFB, TX:; 0930 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser got up from behind his desk. After debriefing the day's first mission, he and the other crew in his flight had gone to check their respective desks for paperwork. So far, there hadn't been much to concern him, though that wouldn't last. The CO went to his office window and looked outside. F-4s and F/A-18s taking off and landing, and even a C-130 coming in. All the sights and sounds of a base at war, and he wondered what it would be like when the war ended. Still a long way from that, Guru thought. Long haul to the Rio Grande, and longer still to Mexico City. If Mexico got knocked out of the war, would that be enough to get the Russians to throw in the towel?

With that thought in mind, he went out of his private office and went into the squadron office. Guru went to the SDO's desk and found Lieutenant Brian Slater, who was normally Major Frank Carson's GIB. “Brian,” the CO said. “Not the way you thought you'd spend a day off.”

“Major, in ROTC, they said there'd be days like this,” Slater replied. “That's what First Lieutenants are for.”

“Been there, done that,” Guru said. “You do get tomorrow off, then there's the stand-down.”

Slater grinned. “There is that, Major.”

“When it comes, enjoy the time off. Now, did you pick up anything about Frank?” The CO asked. He was concerned that Major Frank Carson, Slater's pilot, would go and do something stupid now that he had been rejected for the F-20 program.

“No, Major, I haven't noticed anything unusual, and before you ask, the last two yesterday? Nothing stupid like getting into a pissing contest with a Triple-A battery or a SAM site.”

Guru was relieved when he heard that. Still....”Okay, Brian,” he told the young GIB. “If you see him acting strange, you have my permission to confront him, Even if you have to do the old movie standby of shoving him into a wall and asking 'What the hell are you up to? Trying to get both of us killed?'”

“Major, you did tell me that yesterday,” Slater told his CO.

“I'm reminding you. I told him last night that I do not want to have to write any letters because of any antics he pulls in the cockpit. He may or may not have listened to me. He may listen to you.”

“I doubt it, Boss. To him, I'm a lowly First Lieutenant from some small town in Iowa and...”

“And are one of the 'peasants,'” Guru finished. “Tell him when you do confront him that if he fucks up? You die six feet behind him. Remember what I said. And if he does start getting stupid? You tell me, the Exec, Ops, or Doc. Word'll get back to me one way or another if I'm not around.”

Slater nodded. “Will do, Boss.”

Then the Exec came in. “Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said. “Got a couple of things for you.” He handed the CO a message form. “For Colonel Brady and info to you.”

Guru scanned the form. “Well, the RAF left Bermuda an hour ago. They're on their way to Dow AFB in Maine. Then they come west. RON at either Chanute or Scott, then tomorrow...”

“Our British cousins come to this corner of the war.”

“They do, and I'll bet that if they had a choice about being reassigned? Coming here is a whole lot better than up in Canada,” Guru said. “Okay, they'll be using the billeting Yeager's people are vacating?”

Ellis nodded. “They will be, Boss.”

“Make sure it's all cleaned up. Wouldn't want to give our guests a bad impression,” Guru said.

“At least it's warmer here than up north,” Ellis remarked. “I'll talk to Chief Ross, and it'll get done.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Nope, other than your flight's birds will be ready in twenty minutes.”

Guru sighed. About what he expected. “And we earn some more flight pay.”

“Oh, almost forgot this, Boss,” Ellis said. “Colonel Brady wants folks to help with Toys for Tots, just like we did in '85 and '86 at Williams.”

“Mark, that goes without saying,” the CO replied. “All right, let people know. In their next letter home, ask for a toy that's new and unwrapped in the next package.”

The XO smiled. “Boss, that's an order I'll be glad to pass on.”

“After two years without? Kids around here will be glad to see Santa's back. Just like the local high schools. This being Texas, what was one of the first things they did?

“Start up their football teams.”

“One sign of something resembling normal,” Guru said. “Okay, guess it's time to find out what the ATO has for us.”

“Just be careful, Boss,” Ellis reminded his CO. “Don't want to be CO just yet.”

“And if anything happens to either one of us,” Guru said. “Don becomes XO, and Kara takes over Ops. And they're not in the mood for that just yet.”

Laughing, Ellis grinned. “That they're not. Have a good one, Boss.”

“You have a good one yourself.”


Guru and Ellis headed towards the Ops Office, only to be found by Capt. Ryan Blanchard, who headed up their Combat Security Police detachment. She was decked out in full tactical gear, and had her M-16 as well. “Ryan,” Guru asked. “Getting ready to do a perimeter sweep?”

“Something like that,” she grinned. “Anyway, just came from a meeting with the Army, Marines, Air Base Group, and Resistance people concerned with Base Security. We're getting some more Combat Security Police for the Air Base Group.”

“How many?” Ellis asked.

“A full squadron's worth. That's three hundred and fifty people,” Blanchard said. “The Army and Resistance think there's still a threat to the base.”

The CO frowned. “After what Cubans and Spetsnatz did on Day One? Not surprised. That PSD scum say anything?”

She shook her head. “Not much else than we already know. Got the impression he knew more than he was willing to say. But he did say this: 'I'm not the only one.'”

“Maybe he'll start talking when they're walking him out to pose for rifle fire or arrange his necktie party,” Ellis quipped.

“Maybe,” the ex-deputy sheriff said. “Seemed pretty proud of what he was doing, though. We're through with him, though. The Army has him now, and the trial's in a couple of days.”

Guru nodded. “And that means the firing squad or hanging's next week.” It wasn't a question.

“That's about it, Boss,” said Blanchard.

“Keep me posted,” Guru said. Blanchard nodded, and turned to leave. “Ryan?” The CO asked. “Did you kick this guy's balls into his throat?”

She was indignant. “Boss, you know me!”

“I know. We're still supposed to be the good guys.”

“I was tempted, believe me. But I could've done a lot worse. Like taken some pliers and crushed those balls-and then kicked what was left into said throat. But we're not the KGB or GRU.”

“Exactly,” Guru reminded her. “Now, when those RAF guys get here, they're bringing some RAF Regiment types for security. Touch base with 'em, and bring them up to speed on base security.”

Blanchard nodded. “Will do, Boss.”

“Good,” replied the CO. “You have a good shift, and be careful. EOD's still checking for booby traps and unexploded ordnance.”

“We've heard-literally,” said Blanchard. “Thanks, Boss.”

“Anytime, Ryan.”


Guru and Ellis went to the Ops office, and found the Ops Officer waiting. “Well, Don? What's on the table for us?”

“Boss,” said Van Loan. “And XO.” The Ops Officer handed the CO a mission packet. “Here you go, and one for the Exec.”

Both opened their packets. “Town called Hico. We've flown past it several times,” the CO observed.

“Dublin for us,” Ellis said. “Southwest of Stephenville.”

“Both are in the East German sector, in case you're wondering,” Van Loan told them. “And that means Army-level air defense.”

“You're full of good news this morning,” the XO said.

“Down, boy,” Guru said. “And you're going somewhere potentially just as bad?” He asked his Ops Officer.

Van Loan nodded. “Not Stephenville, but somewheres close.”

“Okay,” Guru said. “Be careful, both of you. Don't want a rash of promotions because you two went down, and I know, the same goes for me, too.”

Van Loan let out a laugh. “I was going to say that, Boss. Don't want to be XO, and Kara doesn't want to be Ops. Yet.”

Hearing that, Kara got up. “I do resent that,” she said with a tone of mock indignation. “But you all know me and paperwork.”

“All the more reason for the three of us to come back,” Ellis laughed.

“It is that,” the CO agreed. “Kara? Round our flight up. Briefing room in ten.”

Kara nodded. “On my way,” she said, heading out the door.

“Good luck, guys,” Guru said as he headed out. “Both of you.”

“Likewise,” the XO replied, and so did the Ops Officer.

Guru then headed to the Briefing Room, and found two familiar faces waiting. Generals Olds and Yeager. “Sirs,” Guru said, sketching a salute.

“Major,” Olds said. “Thought I'd sit in, and General Yeager hasn't had the chance so far. Since he's leaving in a couple of hours....If the Squadron Commander has no objections?”

Guru nodded politely. “Not at all, sir.” He opened the door to the briefing room. “Generals,” he nodded.

The two generals went in, followed by the CO. As they did, Goalie started to come to attention, but Olds raised his hand. “Enough of that. We're on a base at war, and like General Tanner said, we can drop the jumping up and down nonsense.”

“Yes, sir,” Goalie said.

“General Yeager wanted to see a briefing before his people got ready to leave, and so...” Olds said. He noticed another visitor, this one four-legged and sound asleep. “And I see we have another distinguished guest.”

“Buddy was here when we got here,” Kara said. “Sir.”

“He woke up, looked at us, then he went back to sleep,” Hoser added.

KT added. “Hope he stays asleep. The CO, Brainiac, “ she indicated Kara's GIB-”along with Hoser and I have been skydiving. Don't need to do that again.”

“No arguing that, Lieutenant,” Olds nodded. “Let's get with it, Major.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru replied. “Okay, people, we're headed to a place we've flown by quite a bit, but haven't hit. Hico.”

“What's there?” Goalie asked.

The CO tapped a recon photo-probably from an RF-4C. “Right here, at the U.S. 281 bridge over the North Bosque River. Southwest corner of the bridge? There's a fuel dump. Sweaty? You and I have the dump,” Guru saw Sweaty nod, then he nodded at Kara. “Kara? You and Hoser take the target just south of that. South of the 281-F.M. 133 intersection is a bombed-out ranch. There's a couple of ranch ponds on the imagery, and use those to ID the target. There's a truck park.”

“So we get to turn it into a junkyard,” Kara observed. It wasn't a question.

Guru nodded. “That you do. No CBUs, though. Not this close to the town.”

Braniac spoke up. “So what's the ordnance load, Boss?”

“Element leads-that's me and Sweaty-get a dozen vanilla Mark-82 Snakeyes. Kara? You and Hoser get six vanilla Snakeyes and six with Daisy Cutter fuze extenders,” said the CO.

Sweaty asked, “What's the MiG threat?”

“Unchanged since this morning,” Guru replied. “MiG-23s at James Connally AFB near Waco and Brownwood Regional, along with Temple Airport MiG-21s at Brownwood, Waco Airport, and Gray AAF at Fort Hood. They share that with MiG-29s. More Fulcrums and the Su-27s are at Bergstrom AFB near Austin. We still have our full air-to-air load: two AIM-7Fs, four AIM-9Ps, usual ECM pods, two wing tanks, and full gun.”

“Lovely,” Hoser said. “And ground defenses, Boss?”

“Good question, Lieutenant,” Yeager said, speaking for the first time.

“General,” Guru said. “This is in the East German rear, so anything is possible. We're in SA-4 range of Stephenville, and there's a Soviet-manned SA-2 site about twenty miles south at Hamilton. At the target? Anything from MANPADS up to SA-9 or -13 protecting the trucks, and guns? Small-arms up to 57-mm. No ZSU-30s in the area, but....if you see any basketball-sized tracers? Abort.”

Heads nodded at that, then Olds said, “Good advice, Major,”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied. “Now, weather and bailout areas are unchanged. And the ingress route? We go in following the Brazos,” he traced the route with a covered ballpoint pen. “One mile north of the dam, we turn west, and head for Meridian. Then we turn southwest, for a town called Fairy, at the junction of F.M. 219-F.M. 1602. We turn north, following 1602. Just south of town, about a couple of miles, is a large ranch pond. That's the pop-up point. ID the target, make your run, then get your asses down, form up, and head west. Keep heading west until Proctor Lake, then turn north. Follow the Leon River until I-20.” Guru had a look at his people. “Any more questions?”

“We getting Weasels?” Hoser asked.

“Nope, just us, our ECM pods, and some phony 'Magnum' calls,” Guru answered. “That'll have to be it. Anything else?” Heads shook no. He looked at the dog, who was still sound asleep. “Hope Buddy's right, and it's an easy one. Gear up and let's get ready to fly.”

As people flled out, and an Ops NCO came to collect the briefing materials, the two Generals came up to Guru. “Major,” General Olds said. “Good brief.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied. “Just hope Buddy's like Roscoe was at Korat, back in the day.”

“Never did see him,” Olds admitted. “But we did hear about him. Anything to add, Chuck?” He asked Yeager.

“Short and simple, Major,” Yeager added. “Just bring everybody back.” He and Guru shook hands.

“Do my best, sir,” Guru said. “No guarantees of that in this line of work.”

“As we all know,” Olds said. “Good luck out there, Major.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I'll second that,” Yeager added.

“Thank you, sir.”

Guru then headed to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. When he came out, Goalie was waiting, as usual.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Time to go to work, and earn our flight pay,” the CO quipped. “Just hope Buddy was on the ball.”

“You're not the only one thinking that.”

Pilot and GIB headed on out, and they found Dave Golen, Terry McAuliffe, Flossy,Jang, and their temporary flight mates, Capt. Sean Hennings and 1st Lt. Melissa Brewster, who were normally Frank Carson's wingmates, “Dave, you guys doing fine together so far?”

“We are,” Golen replied. “And these two”-he nodded at Hennings and Brewster-”are glad to be flying with someone other than Frank.”

“Okay, consider Major Golen to be your older brother from another mother. He's on his third war, so he's been there and done that,” Guru told them.

Hennings and Brewster both nodded. “Gotcha, Boss.”

“Good,” the CO said. “Dave, where you headed?”

“Chalk Mountain, east of Stephenville. You?” Golen asked.

“South of there. Town called Hico. If you hit MiG trouble? Holler. We'll be there.”

“I'd say the same for you,” Golen said.

Both shook hands on that. “Good to know,” Guru said. “Good luck, and be careful out there.”

“Likewise,” Golen said.


Guru and Goalie then headed out to the squadron's dispersal, and found the rest of the flight waiting at the revetment for the CO's bird. “Okay, folks. Gather 'round, and usual procedures on the radio.” That meant call signs between them, and mission code to AWACS and other parties.

“Got it,” Sweaty nodded.

Kara said, “Notice the F-20 people? Those birds might just as well be Thunderbird mounts. They're that clean.”

“Northrop probably wants 'em that way,” Hoser spat. “Have to impress the ROKs and all.”

“They need to fill their order book for after the war,” Goalie noted.

Guru nodded. “I'll go along with that. People, one last thing: Inbound, it's Nicaraguans and Libyans east of the Brazos, and East Germans on the west. Russians west of Lake Whitney, then more East Germans at the target. On the way out? Russians west of the Leon River and Proctor Lake, with East Germans on the east. Treat them all as Cat I Soviets. Got it?”

“Got it, Major,” Kara said.

“Any other questions?” Heads shook no. Guru clapped his hands. “Meet up at ten grand overhead. Now let's go fly. Time to hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into 512's revetment, they found the aircraft fully armed as briefed, and the ground crew waiting. “Major, Lieutenant?” Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief said, snapping a salute. Five-twelve's ready to go and kick some more Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said as he and Goalie returned the salute. Then they went about doing the usual preflight walk-around, before mounting the aircraft and strapping into their seats. Then pilot and GIB went through the preflight checklist.

“Arnie?” Guru asked. That meant the ARN-101 DMAS and the INS.

“All set here,” Goalie said. “The INS is all programmed and set. Ready to see those F-20s go?”

“You're not the only one,” Guru said. “Be glad to see them leave, though we've got some business to take care of with them-once this war's over.”

“Those of us who are still alive,” Goalie reminded him. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom,” replied Guru. “And there is that little detail to keep in mind,” he added. “All set?”

“All set. Preflight checklist complete and ready for engine start.”

Guru then gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief. Sergeant Crowley returned it, then gave the “Start Engines” signal. First, one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running, and were warming up. Once the warmuip was finished, Guru called the Tower. “Sheppard Tower, Rambler Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” a Tower Controller replied. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Charlie. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number four in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead is rolling.” Guru then gave another thumbs-up to Crowley, who returned it, then waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the wheels, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, and taxied 512 out of the revetment. After clearing the revetment, Crowley snapped another salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. As Guru taxied 512, the others in the flight fell in behind him, and he led them towards Runway 35C. When they got in line, there was a C-130 up front, with a pair of Marine flights-one of Hornets, the other Phantoms, ahead of Rambler Flight. After the Herky-bird took off, then it was the turn of the F/A-18s, then the Marine F-4s.

When it was Rambler's turn, Guru taxied into the Holding Area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then it was time. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

The reply came at once. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-nine for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and then Kara in 520 followed, moving into his Five O'clock position. Guru glanced to his right, as did Goalie, and they exchanged thumbs-ups with their wing crew. Then a final check, and all was ready. “Ready back there?” Guru asked Goalie on the IC.

“All set,” Goalie replied. “Time to fly.”

“It is that,” said Guru. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower replied by flashing a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said. He pulled his canopy down and locked it, and Goalie did the same. A quick look saw Kara and Brainiac in 520 had done it as well. They were ready.

“Time to hit the sky,” Guru said. He applied full power to the throttles, released the brakes, and the big Phantom thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right alongside. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty's element. They met up at FL 100, then headed south for the tanker track and their pre-strike refueling.



Over Central Texas, 1030 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, following their pre-strike refueling. The tanker track was a busy one, with KC-135s, KC-10s, and Marine KC-130s busy passing fuel to aircraft that needed it, and as the crews topped off their tanks, they also noticed the F-14s and F-15s orbiting on CAP. Not only were they protecting the tankers, but there were other high value assets-like AWACS and RC-135s-around, and those needed protection. Ivan had come north after the AWACS in the past, and they would likely try again.

As the strike flight headed south along the Brazos, Guru had his head on a swivel. He was checking his instruments, then he was keeping an eye out for threats, then checking his EW display. So far, so good. All clear, and even the Red AWACS to the south wasn't showing up. Had somebody done something about it? Guru hoped so. “Granbury coming up?”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. She was paying attention to the navigation, and not just with the DMAS and the INS, but also the old-fashioned way: compass, stopwatch, and a map. But she, too, like the other GIBs, also scanned visually for threats, and checked her own EW display. “Sky's clear.”

“For now,” Guru said. Then the U.S. 377 bridge appeared, and the East German flak gunners opened up, as usual, from the west side. The Nicaraguans to the east, though, rarely shot at them, unless they had been attacked earlier, and this time, their guns stayed silent.

“No traffic on the bridge,” Goalie observed as Rambler Flight blew past.

“Maybe next time,” Guru said. “Granbury Dam next up.”

“Copy that,” Goalie replied. “Forty-five seconds. One minute thirty to the Glen Rose Bridge.” That was U.S. 67.

The flight continued south, hugging the east shore of Lake Granbury, and as the Dam became visible, the AAA from the west side came up.

“East Germans are active today,” Guru observed as the flak puffs appeared. None were close, but still, some East German might get lucky....fortunately, Rambler Flight was too fast to track visually.

“We're not the only ones who have to earn our pay,” Goalie quipped. “Forty-five seconds to Glen Rose.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He checked his EW display and a strobe appeared, followed by the SEARCH warning light. “Got a strobe at One,” he called.

“Got it,” Goalie said. “Want to bet it's that Mainstay again?” She was referring to the Soviets' Il-76 Mainstay AWACS, of which there were several in theater.

“No bet,” Guru replied. Hopefully, they were far enough away, and too low, to be picked up. He called their own AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Warlock,” an AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-six-five for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-five for eighty. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru replied. Almost immediately, the Glen Rose Bridge appeared. And so did the AAA from the west side of the Brazos.

“Glen Rose,” Goalie called. “East Germans are right on time,” she said as the flak-both 23-mm and 57-mm-came up. “Thirty seconds to the Brazospoint Bridge, and two minutes to the North Lake Whitney Bridge,” she said. The latter was State Route 174. But the former, though, signaled Libyan-occupied territory, and the Libyans would shoot. And keep shooting even after the strike birds had left.

“Got it,” Guru said. A quick look at the EW showed that strobe still there. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he ordered. That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

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

Goalie checked her map, then the INS, then called, “Brazospoint coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru said. And this time, there was flak coming from both sides as both East Germans and Libyans were shooting. One could tell the difference, though. The Libyans hardly aimed and simply sprayed fire into the air. The East Germans at least tried to hit what they were aiming at, but the F-4s were too low and too fast to properly track.

“One minute thirty to the 174 Bridge.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. Then he got on the line to the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats.”

The controller replied at once. “Rambler, Warlock. Threat bearing One-seven-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-nine-zero for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for seventy-five Medium, closing.”

“Roger that, Warlock,” said Guru.

“One minute to North Lake Whitney,” Goalie said.

“Lead, Sweaty. Those Libyans are still shooting,” Sweaty called.

Beneath his oxygen mask, Guru smiled. Qaddafi's boys were living up to their reputation. “Let'em,” he replied.

Goalie then called, “Thirty seconds.”

The flight thundered along the Brazos, and then the Route 174 Bridge appeared. Guru made the call. “Bridge dead ahead,” he said. “Flak at Eleven, and at One.” The Libyan and East German gunners were quick to shoot as soon as the American aircraft appeared. “Follow me.” He dropped even lower than their initial ingress altitude of 450 feet, down to 300, as they blew past the bridge and Lake Whitney opened up.

“One minute thirty to turn point,” Goalie said after they went past the bridge.

“Got it,” Guru said. He checked the EW display. The strobe was still there, but not as bright. Good. Maybe dropping lower over the lake meant that the Mainstay had lost them-if it had acquired them in the first place.


As Rambler Flight headed south, the usual mix of locals, Soviet, East German,and Libyan soldiers, all looking to supplement their rations with a fresh catch from the lake, were fishing. Some had rowboats, but most were fishing from the lakeshore. The locals waved at the F-4s as they flew by, not knowing if the pilots could see them, while the soldiers more often as not, looked at each other. If the Yankees were flying into liberated territory with impunity, even if the Socialist Bloc Air Forces controlled the skies, then that boast made by many a political officer was clearly untrue. And if that was the case, how much else of the bullshit they had been fed was also a lie?

The locals, for their part, smiled and shook hands. Seeing the Air Force going after those Red bastards meant the front lines were getting closer. Wouldn't be long now, then the Army gets here, they thought.


“How long to the turn point?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. She started mentally counting down. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one...NOW!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, and lined up on a course of Two-seven-zero. Twenty-four miles to Meridian, and that meant another ninety seconds. But... “EW still has the search radar.” Guru said. They had climbed from 300 to 400 feet AGL.

“He might have us,” Goalie noted. “One minute thirty to Meridian.”

“Maybe,” replied Guru. So far, no additional radars coming up, though they were now in what Intel said was the 4th Guards Tank Army's area.

“One minute,” Goalie said as they drew closer.

“Copy.”

“Thirty seconds,” said Goalie. “No other radars.”

“Flight, Lead. Maintain visual scanning,” Guru reminded the others. “No radars doesn't mean they're not there.”

“Meridian coming up. And....turn,” Goalie told Guru as the flight flew over the center of town.

“Turning to Two-five-zero,” Guru said. “No flak.”

“Good to see.”

In Meridian, the Soviets from the 144th GMRD's 254th GMRR were wondering what was coming next. They had been through a buzz saw earlier in the week, and now, the Americans were bombing their assembly areas. The mostly Estonian reservists who made up the division's rank and file had had a rude awakening to combat, and their officers, mostly Russians, also had a similar wakeup to what combat was really like. Those who had survived, that is, as the regimental commander in Meridian remarked to his Chief of Staff.

Now, the new divisional commander had arrived, and he was having a look for himself. The new commander had been appointed by General Suraykin to take over the division, when 4th Guards Tank Army had found out the lieutenant colonel acting commander had run a battalion before, and with all four maneuver regimental commanders either dead or in the hospital, and the divisional staff in tatters after American air and artillery strikes, an experienced hand was needed.

Major General Nikolai Malyshev had seen it before: in Missouri the previous year, when he took over the 6th Guards Motor-rifle Division at General Suraykin's request, and led it out of the Ozarks, though a shadow of its former self. He had supervised the rebuilding of the 6th Guards, before Moscow wanted him back to lecture on the Missouri Offensive at the Freunze Academy. As a result, he'd missed Wichita, and Suraykin had asked for his old classmate to come back. Though Suraykin had a Chief of Staff, he wanted Malyshev to help rebuild units that had been shattered, and if necessary, take command and get them back into shape. From what he'd seen of the 144th, which had expected to only run into American paratroopers, only to be shot up by what General Suraykin's intelligence officer said was the First Cavalry Division and the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment. As a result, the division was now combat ineffective, even by Soviet standards, and General Suraykin wanted an experienced commander to get the division ready to return to combat.

Malyshev had just gotten out of an APC-a BTR-60PB was not likely to attract attention from American aircraft, and the American Resistance was not very active here, but still, an APC was safer than a staff car. He was looking for the acting Regimental Commander when shouts of “AIR ALARM!” sounded. Malyshev looked up, and four F-4 Phantoms flew over the town, turning to the southwest as they did so. Despite the presence of the Soviets, Malyshev heard cheers from the local population, and shook his head. At least they're not hitting this regiment today, he thought as he went to find the acting regimental commander.


“Steady on two-four-zero,” Guru said after the turn.

“Roger that,” replied Goalie. “One minute thirty to Fairy,” she added.

“Copy,” Guru replied. A quick glance at the EW display still showed that SEARCH radar. “Damned Mainstay.”

In the back seat, Goalie saw it as well. “He's had us since when?”

“Granbury,” Guru spat. “Somebody needs to do something about him.” He scanned the sky around and it was clear. And Kara was right with him, while Sweaty and Hoser were on the left.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie called. The town soon appeared, and the term “town” was an understatement. Just a few houses and a church. “Turn....NOW!”

“Roger that,” Guru said, turning roughly north, picking up and following F.M. 1602.

“Thirty seconds to pull,” Goalie said. “Switches?

“Set 'em up,” acknowledged Guru. “Everything in one pass.” Then he called the flight. “Flight, Lead. Switches on and stand by to pull.”

She worked the armament panel, then replied, “All set.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Ready to pull.”

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

Guru pulled up, and sure enough, the ranch ponds appeared. And so did the U.S. 281 bridge to the north, along with the town of Hico. No radars on the EW other than the Mainstay....and there was the fuel dump, as advertised. “Ready?”

“Born ready,” Goalie replied. “All set back here.”

“Roger that!” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight.” Then he went down on his bomb run.


In Hico, the East German Major who commanded the garrison was still not in a good mood. The Soviet Rear-Area Protection troops had flatly refused to mount any sort of patrols outside town, other than a ten-kilometer radius along U.S. 281 and State Highway 6, and, given the average age of the reservists who had manned the division was forty, he was not surprised in the slightest. Though the Stasi officer assigned to him still insisted there were “Counterrevolutionary bandits and Fascist elements in the area,” the lack of any serious guerrilla activity would have told him otherwise. But the occasional slashed tire, anti-Soviet art on the walls, snipped telephone lines, and the occasional sniper fire told the Major that the underground in the area was laying low, biding its time until the U.S. Army moved further south. At least that PSD swine is out of my hair, the Major thought. A newly arrived T-54 tank had run over the man as it was being unloaded from a tank transporter, and no one shed a tear-even the Stasi man had his own disagreements, and the townspeople felt they were better off with him out of the way.

The Major was still concerned about the lack of serious AA defenses, though. Apart from some machine guns, a few ZU-23s around the fuel dump at the 281 bridge, and a few others at the truck park, the only real AA guns were a battery of 61-K (M-1939) 37-mm guns belonging to the Soviet Rear-Area Protection Troops, and they were next to useless against modern aircraft, being visually aimed. As for missiles? The only SAMs he had were Strela-3 (SA-14) shoulder-fired missiles used by both his men and the Russians. At least there were missile gunners on the roofs of several buildings, the Major thought.

So far, they hadn't been bombed yet, but the Major knew it was only a matter of time. He returned to his desk, when he heard shouting outside his office window. The Major opened the window, and heard two words that chilled his heart. “AIR RAID!” Instead of going to the basement, the Major ran to the roof, followed by several other officers.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled 512 in on his bomb run. He picked out the fuel dump, and as he came in, the gunners down below began shooting. The softball-sized tracers coming up meant ZU-23s, and whoever down there was shooting, they weren't accurate. Someone even shot an SA-7 type missile at him-from head on, and that missile was simply a fireworks display as the weapon flew past 512 without guiding. Ignoring the flak, Guru lined up the fuel dump in his pipper. Good morning, Franz....this is your wake-up call, he thought. “Steady....Steady.....And....HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, releasing his twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes down onto the fuel dump, then he pulled up and away, As he did both he and Goalie noticed some small puffs of smoke just below the aircraft. Looked like 37-mm. No matter, for 512 pulled away from the area, jinking to avoid flak. “Lead off target.”


“Of all the...” the Major muttered as Guru's F-4 went down on the fuel dump. He watched the bombs being released, then the F-4 pulled up as the bombs landed in the dump and exploded, sending up orange and black fireballs as fuel drums and tanks exploded. A soldier on a nearby building fired an Strela-3, but the weapon failed to track. Cursing, the Major scanned the sky, wondering when the next one was coming. He didn't have long, for another Imperialist F-4 was coming in.

“SHACK!” Goalie yelled from 512's back seat. “We got the fuel dump!”

“Secondaries?” Guru asked, though he knew that any kind of bomb inside a fuel dump would produce that result. He continued jinking to avoid any flak or MANPADS,

“Big ones!”

“Their lucky day,” Guru said as he headed west towards Proctor Lake.


“Two in hot!” Kara called out as she brought 520 in on the bomb run. She saw the CO make his run, and the results were very satisfying, for several fireballs erupted in 512's wake. Kara then came down on the truck park, and there was some flak coming up from there, as well as outside the fuel dump. Those gunners have guts, shooting when there's a big fire behind them, she thought. Ignoring the 23-mm tracers and the 37-mm, Kara picked out several trucks in her pipper. Your turn, she said to herself. “And.....And...Steady.....NOW!” She hit the pickle button, releasing her Mark-82s onto the truck park. Then she pulled wings level and applied power as she egressed the area, jinking as she did. “Two's off safe.”


The East German Major groaned, then he heard his Political Officer mutter, “This can't be happening.” Ignoring the Party man for the present, he watched as Kara's F-4 came in, and laid down its bombs onto the truck park south of town. A dozen bomb blasts followed in the Phantom's wake, augmented by a couple of fireballs ignited by the bombs. Fuel trucks going, the Major knew. He saw the gunners on the rooftops firing, but their fire was either short, or wide, of the target, for they weren't using the proper lead. Shaking his head, he turned to the east, and saw another speck approaching, then one behind it. Two more coming in.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac yelled in 520's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she kept jinking, and saw an SA-7 fly harmlessly above the aircraft.

“Several.”

“I'll take those,” Kara said as she set course westwards, and picked up the CO's bird as she did. Now, she thought, hope we get a MiG scramble out of Brownwood...


Sweaty rolled in on her run. “Three's in hot!” She called as she came down on the fuel dump. As she did, there were more secondaries going off as more fuel drums or tanks exploded from the fires. More where that came from, she said to herself as she noticed some undamaged stacks of fuel drums-and were those fuel trucks as well? No matter. You're all going up today. Sweaty noticed the flak coming up, and ignored it, concentrating on the bomb run. She lined the fuel drums in her pipper and got ready. “Steady....And...Steady...And....NOW!” Sweaty hit her pickle button and released her Snakeyes, and a dozen more five-hundred pound bombs fell into the fuel dump. She then pulled up and away, and began jinking to throw off the aim of the flak gunners. “Three's off target.”

“Schisse...” the Major said. He'd hoped that maybe, the American pilot would have seen the fireballs going up and aborted the run. But Sweaty's F-4 came in and released, and its bombs fell within the blazing fuel dump, and more fireballs erupted as fuel drums and tanks went up. The Major glanced at the Political Officer, who was, for once, now speechless as the sight of American aircraft-and the now audible cheering from the local population, put paid to the Party line of the “Socialist Air Forces controlling the skies of Texas.” Careful not to show his slight grin, he watched as another Phantom came in.


“SHACK!” Preacher yelled in Sweaty's back seat. “We have secondaries!”

“What kind?” Sweaty wanted to know as she kept jinking. “Righteous ones?”

“Good enough for the man upstairs,” the ex-Seminary student turned weapon-systems officer replied. Wonder what Reverend Fisher back at the Seminary would think of that, Preacher thought.

“Good enough for him, good enough for me,” said Sweaty as she stopped jinking and turned west for Proctor Lake.

“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came down on the truck park. He noticed that the flak from the fuel dump had stopped, but the gunners at the truck park-and some from the town, were still shooting. Ignoring the tracers, as well as an SA-7 that flew above his aircraft, Hoser concentrated on his bomb run. He picked out several trucks in the park, and lined them up in his pipper. They grew larger as he came in on the run. “And....Steady....Steady.....NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button, sending his dozen Snakeyes down onto the trucks below. He pulled up and away, and as he did, he was jinking to avoid flak. “Four is off safe,” Hoser called.


“Damnt!” The East German Major yelled as Hoser's F-4 made its run. He watched as the bombs came off the aircraft, and landed in the truck park. As the bombs went off, he saw several trucks tossed aside like leaves, or take direct hits and become rubbish blowing in the wind. Two or three fireballs of exploding fuel trucks added to the carnage, he noticed. After the last F-4 flew away, the anti-aircraft gunners kept shooting, much to the Major's disgust. He ordered his deputy to send runners to the guns with orders to stop. And he-and the others on the roof-heard the cheers and applause of the locals. Shaking his head, and knowing that this might not be the last, he began issuing orders. Time to get this place back in order.


“GOOD HITS!” KT hollered from the back seat. “Got some secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Hoser asked as an SA-7 flew past on the left side.

“Good ones, and a couple of good fireballs,” she replied. “That good enough?”

Hoser said, “They'll be good.” He then headed west for Proctor Lake, and picked up his element lead, Sweaty, as he did so.


In 512, Guru heard the calls. “Four in and four out.”

“And we still have a game on,” Goalie said. “One minute to Proctor Lake.”

“Copy,” replied Guru. He took a look at the EW, and saw the strobe from that Red AWACS still there. He then called, “Two, you out there?”

“Right with you,” Kara replied.

Guru took a look to the right, and 520 was right with him in Combat Spread. “Got a visual. Sweaty, how about you?”

“Coming up, and Hoser's with me,” his second element lead called.

“Gotcha,” Guru said. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Warlock. Threat bearing Two-four-zero for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-six-five for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock.” Guru said. He had leveled out at 500 feet AGL, and was doing 540 Knots. The Central Texas landscape of ranching country and rolling hills turned into prairie as the strike flight approached Proctor Lake. Then Guru looked at his EW display. Not only did the Mainstay radar still show, but another radar appeared at their Eleven O'Clock. “Got a radar at eleven.”

“That'll be Brownwood Regional,” Goalie said. That meant Brownwood Regional Airport, and the two MiG regiments based there.

“Hope they're not paying attention,” Guru said as the lake appeared dead ahead. And so did the flak as the 23-mm and 57-mm guns defending the dam opened up. “Lake at twelve, and flak.”

“Got it, Lead,” replied Kara. “No bandits.”

“Not now,” Guru said as he turned north, roughly parallel to State Route 16, and blowing past the town of DeLeon, and the Soviets from the 32nd Army who were there. The appearance of the F-4s had been a surprise, for none of the air-defense assets reacted to their presence.

Goalie did some quick calculations. “One minute thirty to the fence,” she called. That meant the FLOT, and in this part of Texas, that also meant I-20.

“Roger that.”

“Rambler, Warlock. Threat bearing One-eight-five for forty. Medium, closing,” the AWACS controller warned. “Bandits are Fishbeds.”

“Copy, Warlock.” Guru then asked, “Red or black?” Red bandits were Soviets. Black, East Germans. Blue meant Cubans, while Green meant Libyans.

“Rambler, Warlock. Fishbeds are black,” the controller said. That meant East German MiG-21s.

Guru thought for a moment. So far, the EW still showed the Search radars-the Mainstay and the ground radar at Brownwood. No air-to-air radars yet, and the Jay Bird radar in the MiG-21 had no look-down/shoot-down mode. “Roger, Warlock,” said Guru.

“Forty-five seconds to the fence,” Goalie advised.

“Lead, we going to give these guys a fight?” Kara asked. Ever aggressive, she was looking for a brawl.

“Only if they jump us,” Guru said.

“Rambler, Warlock. Bandits have turned. Now One-eight-zero for forty. Medium, going away.”

In 520, Kara muttered a few curses. Nine kills to her credit, and she wanted to be the first female double ace in the 335th, if not Tenth Air Force. But the day wasn't over just yet.

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru replied.

“Fence ahead,” Goalie said. The twin ribbons of I-20 appeared up ahead.

“Got it.” Just as the flight crossed the interstate, both the ground radar at Brownwood and the Mainstay radar went off the EW display, and the SEARCH warning light went off. “And we're clear of the fence,” Guru said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Time to take a drink, then go home,” said Goalie. That meant the post-strike refueling, then back to Sheppard.

“It is that.”

Rambler Flight then headed for the tanker track, and they drank some fuel from KC-10s this time. Then the flight headed back to Sheppard.

When they got there, the flight was second in the landing pattern, with a Marine Hornet flight ahead of them, and behind was the westbound C-141. After landing, they taxied towards their squadron dispersal, and this time, as was now usual, the news crew was filming. “They're back,” Guru noted.

“They'll be busy when General Yeager and those young pups leave,” Goalie reminded him.

“No doubt. Hell of a way to initiate a new PAO,” Guru thought out loud. “Well, she needs to get her feet wet.”

“That she does,” Goalie agreed.

The flight taxied to the dispersal area, and taxied into their revetments. Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, and followed his Crew Chief's signals. After parking, and popping the canopies, the ground crew brought out the chocks, then the CC gave the “Shut down” signal.

After shutting down, both pilot and GIB went through the post-flight check, while the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Once down from the aircraft, Guru and Goalie took off their helmets, then they did a quick post-flight walk-around. Then Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, came over with a bottle of water for each. “Sir, Ma'am, how'd it go?”

“Made a fuel dump go away,” Guru said after he took a long drink.

“Away as in sky-high,” Goalie added. She, too, took a long swig of water.

Crowley smiled. “Major, Lieutenant? Good for them,” he said. “How's the bird?”

“Five-twelve's working like a champ, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Get some chow, then get her ready for the next one.”

“Yes, sir,!” Crowley said. “All right people!” He said to the ground crew. “Finish up the post-flight, chow down, then we get the CO's bird ready for another one.”

Nodding, Guru and Goalie headed for the revetment's entrance. “I'll see about cutting those orders for his R&R today,” Guru said.

“When's the last time he went?” Goalie asked. “Don't think he's missed a day in a while.”

“I'll check when I'm taking care of his R&R orders.”

When they got to the entrance, Guru and Goalie found Kara and Brainiac waiting. “How'd it go with you two?” Kara asked. “That truck park's now a junkyard.”

“Torched a lot of gas,” Guru replied.

“We saw your run,” Brainiac said. “Lots of fireballs there.”

Sweaty and Preacher, along with Hoser and KT, came up. “And there were some you guys had,” she said. “Fuel dump? More like inferno now.”

“That it is,” Hoser added. “What about those MiGs?”

“Mainstay and the ground radar didn't pick us up,” Guru said. “No contact, so they didn't try and give us a fight.”

“Too bad,” Kara grumbled.

Sweaty shook her head. “So what happened?”

“My guess, they couldn't get us on the Mainstay or ground radar, and they couldn't get a visual, either. So no joy on their part,” Hoser said. He'd been near the top of his class at the RTU, and Guru, along with some others in the squadron, felt he had the makings of a potential Aggressor pilot-if he lived through the war.

“We can take a MiG-21 down low,” Goalie said. “But up high, it's their game.”

“It is that,” Kara agreed. “So, now what, Boss?”

Guru nodded. “We debrief, then you all need to check your desks. Then we can give Yeager's people a proper sendoff. After that? Eat, and get ready to do this all over again.”

“Too bad those F-20 clowns are leaving today,” Hoser growled. “Got some unfinished business with those guys.”

“Same here,” Sweaty added. She and Preacher had been “Killed” in the DACT, and by General Yeager, no less.

Kara nodded, as did Brainiac. “Glad to know I'm not the only one thinking that.”

“Save it until after the war, people,” Guru said firmly. “I know, we've all got unfinished business with those guys. We'll take care of it after the war.”

“If we all live that long,” KT reminded everyone.

Heads nodded at that little detail. “Something to keep in mind,” the CO said. “Come on: the sooner we debrief, the sooner we can see those clowns out of here.”

[Matt Wiser]

Last one: the F-20s head to show off their birds to the ROKs, and the 335th gets through the rest of the day, before becoming Animals in the Zoo:


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 1115 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat at his desk, clearing some paperwork that had come in while he was out on the previous mission. At least none of this crap's really important, he thought, but the activities of the species known as bureaucrats meant that, to them, everything was important. Once he was finished with the bureaucratic nonsense, he went to his filing cabinet and took out a form. As he filled it out, there was a knock at his office door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

His backseater and girlfriend, 1st Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, came in, two plastic bags in one hand, and a carrier for drinks in the other. “The CO ready for lunch?” She grinned.

“Let me finish this first,” the CO nodded. “Setting up Sergeant Crowley's R&R.” Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley was their Crew Chief, and the Major wanted to reward Crowley by bumping him up in the R&R rotation if possible. Guru-the CO's call sign-had found out that Crowley was due in a few weeks anyway, so....”He goes over Christmas.”

“Christmas with family...” Goalie said wistfully. “He'll be one lucky stiff.”

Guru agreed with that. “That he will. Two weeks at home with family, enjoy yourself, and oh, Sergeant, that's an order.”

His girlfriend nodded. “Ordering someone to have fun? First time for that.”

“It is,” the CO said. “What's for lunch?”

“Real burgers, not bison or turkey, but real beef,” Goalie said. “Probably from Australia.”

“That's essential wartime aid,” Guru joked. “Not Foster's. Before we eat, any word on the F-20 guys?”

Goalie nodded. “They're eating now. Then they'll be on their way. And before you ask, I did see Pruitt taking a couple of those suggestion of tri-tip sandwiches.”

The CO shook his head in disbelief. “Said it before, but is he crazy? He must have a cast-iron stomach.”

“He must want to satisfy the Cruel and Unusual Nourishment people,” Goalie joked.

“Guess so. Let's eat.”


After they ate, both pilot and GIB headed outside. There, IDF Major Dave Golen and his flight were sitting on the lawn, having their own lunches. “Dave,” Guru said. “How's it going so far?”

“Paid some Libyans a visit,” Golen replied. “There was a brigade assembly area. We disassembled some of their armor.”

“Via Mark-82 and Rockeye,” Goalie commented.

The IDF pilot nodded. “That it was.”

“How are your temps shaking out?” Guru asked. He was referring to the third crew, who were Major Frank Carson's wing crew, but since Carson was grounded for a couple of days, they were flying with Golen and his wingmate, 1st Lt. Sandi “Flossy” Jenkins.

“So far, so good,” Golen said, and Flossy nodded agreement, as did their GIBs. “If anything happens to Frank, they can come back and fly with us.”

“Be glad to, Major,” Capt. Sean Hennings, who was the pilot, said. “Beats flying with Frank,”

“Same here,” 1st Lt. Melissa Brewster, the GIB, said.

“All right,” Guru said. “You all be careful. Don't need any letter-writing today.”

“Will do, Guru,” Golen said.

Then the CO's wingmate came over. Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace was the Assistant Ops Officer, and had the job when the Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, was out on a mission. Like now. “Boss, Goalie? Yeager's people are getting ready to leave.”

“Now?” Guru asked.

“They're getting set to do their preflights.”

“Then we'd best get over there. General Olds know?”

Kara nodded. “Told him first thing.”

“Well,” the CO grinned. “If you want to see off the F-20s, best get over there. Unless you have grudges, of course.”

“Who, me?” Kara asked with mock innocence. “Just wish I was seeing those punks off with a good kick in the ass.” Everybody knew she was still angry about how the DACT had gone, and being “killed” by General Yeager in that little fracas.

“You're not the only one feeling that way,” Guru said.

“Somebody still needs to teach those young punks a lesson,” Goalie spat. She had been in Kara's back seat when “Killed” by Yeager. “And if we can't, then I know folks who can.”

“Aggressors?” Kara asked.

“You got it.”


When Guru, Goalie, and Kara got there, most of the 335th people who weren't on strikes were there, along with a number of MAG-11's Marines and a few Navy from VA-135. Guru found General Yeager talking with General Olds, Colonel Brady, and two of the Marines' squadron commanders. “Major,” General Olds said. “Here to see Yeager's people off?”

“General,” Guru said, sketching a salute. “You could say that, sir.” He turned to General Yeager. “Sir, it's been an honor and a pleasure to meet you, and to fly with you. Though nothing was really settled on that hop.”

“No, Major, I don't think so,” Yeager agreed. He shot a glance at Clancy's aircraft, where Clancy and Kara were already arguing. “Those two, especially. They've got some unfinished business.”

“They'll meet again,” Olds predicted. “Somebody's going to be an Aggressor, and the other will be visiting Nellis. Sparks will fly-and maybe fists as well.”

Colonel Brady nodded. “I'll have to agree with that, sir. And I'm just glad no fists flew here. Somebody made a remark about the F-20 being the greatest since the P-51, and at some F-15 or F-16 base, those might be fighting words.”

“I'll take that under serious advisement,” Yeager said. “Major? Thanks again for the DACT. You guys gave us a good run.”

“Likewise, sir,” Guru replied. “Those of us still alive after the war? We'll be up for a rematch.”

“Take you up on that,” Yeager grinned. “It was good to have Robin up on that one.”

General Olds had a grin on his face himself. “Wouldn't have missed it for the world, Chuck.” He turned to Guru. “Major? Any word back from the Chief of Staff on either the Yak kill or the DACT?”

“No, sir,” replied Guru. “Not yet, and I'm wondering if that shoe will drop.”

“It will,” Olds said. “I know Sundown, and he'll probably be advising General Dugan on a course of action. Though when he comes around, hopefully he'll be kicking someone else off base.”

“That snotty Major?” Yeager asked.

Guru nodded. “The same.”

“Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole.”


Over by his F-20, Clancy was talking with Kara and a couple of others. “You're good,” she said. “But way too overconfident.”

“Thanks,” Clancy grinned. “Even though you did 'kill' me. And you guys were just as cocky.”

“We'll settle this,” Kara declared. “Nellis. Sometime after the war.”

“If you two live that long,” Hoser said. He'd listened to the exchange. Though he, too, had a score to settle with these punks.

Both antagonists shrugged. “Well, we'll have to see,” Clancy said.

“That we will,” Kara nodded. A chance to show this punk-again-who was superior, though it was likely she'd be the one in the F-15E trying to nail this guy in his F-5 or F-20. If the AF decided to use them as Aggressors, she thought.

“Leave it, Matt,” Pruitt said as he went to his bird. “Last thing we need is a grudge with these guys. Still got the Russians to worry about.”

“We said, 'after the war'.” Clancy shot back.

“That we did,” Kara added. For once, she agreed with Clancy-and that was probably the only thing they ever would agree on.


“Major?” Prada said as she came to shake Guru's hand. “Thanks. For letting me know about Daria.” Her sister had been confirmed as a POW in Cuba, and Guru had been the one to tell her-along with General Yeager.

“You're welcome, and be glad you're taking that IP job,” Guru said. “One less thing for your parents to worry about.”

“Don't worry about missing out,” General Olds added. He reminded her, “You're not missing a damned thing. And when you do come back? We'll be on the Rio Grande, and still have plenty of work to do.”

“That we will,” General Yeager agreed.

“I know, sir,” Prada nodded. “Doesn't change the way I feel, though.”

“Understood,” Yeager replied. “Take my advice: it's for the best.”

Prada smiled. “It is, sir.”

A captain from the Air Base Group came over and said a few words to Colonel Brady. Brady nodded, then said, “General, both C-130s are loaded up and ready to go.”

“Thanks, Colonel. It's been fun, but time to move on. Time to drop in on the ROKs,” Yeager said. “Robin,” he said to General Olds. “I'll check back at Nellis before we go back to Edwards.”

“I'll brief General Tanner on how this little fracas went,” Olds said, shaking Yeager's hand.

“Colonel?” Yeager said to Colonel Brady. “It's been a pleasure being here.”

“And an honor to have you here, sir,” Brady replied, shaking Yeager's hand.

The General nodded, said a few words to the Marines, then came to Guru. “Major? Glad to have flown with you and your people.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied. “And sir? It's been an honor and a privilege to have met you, and flown with you. Even if it didn't work out the way both parties wanted.”

Yeager laughed, and nodded in reply. “Well, Major. You're doing a good job, and good luck. Not just with the bad guys, but the RAF when they get here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Then Yeager rounded up his people, as the two C-130s taxied for takeoff. People backed well away as the three F-20Cs and one D started engines. And it was strange to see one with eleven and a half German Crosses and one Red Star on the side lead the F-20s to the runway. Then all four taxied for takeoff, and it wasn't long before they rumbled down the runway and into the air.

“Well, folks, show's over,” General Olds noted. “If you don't have a mission yet, you'll have one shortly.”

“You heard him,” Colonel Brady said. “Back to work, people!”

As the crowd broke up, Guru found his Ops Officer. “Don, glad to see those people go?”

“Be glad to be back to normal,” Van Loan said. “For twenty-four hours, then the RAF gets here.”

Guru sighed. What was it about this base that got this kind of attention? Oh, well. “Got a mission for us?”

“Birds should be ready. Mission briefing packet's ready for you, and several others.”

The CO nodded. “Okay.” He looked around for someone from his flight, then saw one. “KT!”

“You asked, Boss?” She replied.

“Round up the rest of the flight. Briefing room in fifteen.”

“On my way, boss,” Hoser's GIB said.

Goalie then came up to Guru. “We've got a mission?”

“That we do. Once more unto the breach,” Guru said.

“Henry V”, Van Loan said.

“Yep. Just as long as we don't do that 'close the walls up with our dead', crap,” Guru said. “Time to get back in the game, people.” The day was still only half over, and there were missions to fly.



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



Major Matt Wiser was at his desk, clearing out some paperwork before going to the Officer's Club. It had been a busy day, with four missions, and seeing off General Yeager and his F-20 demo flight, and to top matters, a 335th bird had come back with some significant battle damage. The CO was glad that he wouldn't have to write any letters, but still....the squadron had been lucky, as it had been over two weeks since they had lost anyone. Though, as the Major knew, that kind of luck wouldn't last forever, and they would lose more people and airplanes.

Guru put the last of the papers into his OUT bin, opened one of his desk drawers, and pulled out the J.C. Penney's Christmas Catalog. Since it was highly unlikely that he'd be able to hit the local shopping malls....then he heard a knock on the door. “It's open! Show yourself and come on in!”

His Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in, clipboard in hand. “Boss,” he nodded. “Got a few things for you before knocking off.” The XO saw the catalog on the CO's desk. “Doing your Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah, since we don't exactly have an intact shopping mall. Get something for Mom, my grandparents...”

“And Goalie.”

The CO nodded.“Okay, Mark. What have you got?”

“First, aircraft status report for MAG-11. We'll have twenty definite for the morning, and maybe twenty-one, assuming Kerry and Pat's bird is cleared after the check flight,” the XO reported.

“Good. They're flying one of the new ones from Japan, right?”

“They are,” Ellis said.

Guru nodded. “Okay, they get their bird back, and that new one goes to Dave Golen. He and Terry brought their bird back and their crew chief wasn't too happy about it.”

There was a grimace from the XO. Their IDF “Observer” had brought a damaged aircraft back-with a neat 57-mm hole in the right stabilizer, and a dud SA-7 missile in one of the right engine's afterburner feathers. “They do like their birds returned in the same shape it left in,” Ellis reminded his CO.

“Doesn't always happen, and they know it,” Guru said. “All day job for the repair?”

“Kev O'Donnell says it will be,” replied Ellis. “The engine change takes an hour or so. The elevator replacement is the big one.”

“And that leaves us with exactly one spare,” Guru noted. “Tell Ross to find a couple of sets.”

“Will do, but he's not in the habit of making promises he can't keep,” The Exec said. “Which he's told you before.”

“He has,” Guru recalled. “Okay, just tell him to do his best. What else?”

“One other thing about that bird,” said Ellis. “If Terry had to eject?” First Lieutenant Terry McAuliffe was the GIB for Golen in that crew. “The seat wouldn't have fired. They'll pull the seat and check it out.”

Guru winced at that. If the crew in question had to bail out, only Golen's seat would have fired, and McAuliffe would've gone in with the plane. “Not good....” the CO observed.

“No,” Ellis agreed. “Supply requisitions,” he went on as the CO went through the rest of the forms. “And Chief Ross found some more laser bomb kits.”

“How many?”

“Three dozen.”

Guru thought for a minute. “Okay. We're likely to do some more of those UNODIR strikes, and I'd like to know who in the Tenth Air Force ATO shop is sending us after point targets with the wrong ordnance. That 'Liberation Radio' we hit yesterday got the ordnance it deserved, not what the ATO called for.”

Ellis nodded. “General Olds going to do some digging at Nellis when he gets back?”

“That, and maybe kick some asses into gear,” Guru smiled. “What else?”

“We're making Buddy an honorary O-3 tonight. Got some kind of doggie coat for him to wear with squadron and wing patch, rank insignia, and so on,” the XO said, referring to the squadron's mascot.

Guru nodded. “That's going to perk up morale around here, though things are pretty good at the moment.”

“And he'll be upholding Roscoe's tradition,” said Ellis. He was referring to the legendary Roscoe, the mascot of the 388th TFW at Korat, Thailand, during the long war in Southeast Asia.

“That he will,” Guru said. “That it?”

“It is for now,” Ellis said.

The CO stood up and grabbed his bush hat. “Good. Now we can hit the Club.”


Guru and the XO went over to the Officer's Club tent, and found it already busy. The two found Dave Golen and Terry McAuliffe-Golen's GIB, already at the bar, working on bottles of beer. “Smitty?” Guru asked the barkeep. How many have they had so far?”

“Working on their first,” the barkeep replied. He'd seen it before in the short time he'd been working on the base. Though he'd been a longtime barkeep in Wichita Falls prewar, and had had military personnel from Sheppard among his customers, this was still new: some of his customers might not come back, and others would have close shaves with death. And he had a grudge with the Soviets and their Cuban lackeys-for one of the blocks they'd used as a strongpoint prior to the city's liberation had included his old bar, and that block was now a heap of rubble. If he'd been twenty years younger....he'd be going down to one of the improvised recruiting offices and signing his name on an enlistment form. Now, though, if he couldn't put on a uniform, helping those who did was the next best thing. “They just got here.”

“Dave,” Guru said. “How's it going?”

“Closest call I've had in three wars,” Golen said. “Yom Kippur War, had an SA-3 go off a hundred meters behind me-about three hundred and fifty feet-and had a lot of shrapnel in the tail. Got the plane back, but today...”

“You were down in the Libyan sector, right?”

Golen nodded. “Right behind the Nicaraguans.”

“And if they'd been shooting fuzed for contact or proximity, instead of timer...” Ellis said, his voice dropping off.

“You would've gone skydiving, and Terry would've gone in with the airplane,” Guru finished. “Not a happy thought.”

“No,” Golen said.

Terry McAuliffe looked up from his beer. “Major, they find out what happened with the seat?”

“No, but Kev O'Donnell's guys will find out. It'll be an all-nighter, and probably most of the day tomorrow. So you two get the bird from Japan that Kerry and Pat flew. They get their regular mount back, and you two get that one.”

“That's good,” Golen said. “And finding that SA-7 in the afterburner feathers was a bonus. Thank God for shoddy workmanship somewhere.”

“Been there, done that,” Guru replied. “Had that happen back in March,” the CO said, recalling a close call he'd had himself. “All right, you two. Get as drunk as you can before twelve-hour. I want you two up and ready, 0600 tomorrow morning.”

Golen and McAuliffe looked at each other and nodded. “Guru, that's an order we'll be glad to obey,” Golen said.

“Gladly, Major,” McAuliffe added.

“Good,” the CO said. “Smitty? A Bud for me and the Exec.”

The barkeep produced two cold bottles. “Here you go, Major,” Smitty said. “And I should be getting some Sam Adams tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Smitty,” Guru said. “Mark, our special guest?”

“Be here after dinner,” Ellis said.

“All right,” Guru nodded as General Olds and Colonel Brady came in. “General, Colonel,”

“Major,” Olds said, taking a glance at the bar. “I see Major Golen's busy trying to forget he almost got himself killed today.”

“General, been there, done that,” Guru said, and Ellis nodded.

“Same here, General,” Colonel Brady said. “Took small-arms fire doing CAS at Con Thien a couple of times. Before taking that one big hit, then five years in Hanoi.”

General Olds nodded, then noticed both all-female crews in the 335th coming in-Flossy and Jang, and Cosmo and Revlon. With Jana Wendt and her news crew right behind them, and both Kodak Griffith and the new PAO for the 335th, Lieutenant Patti Brown tailing the news crew. “Looks like the media guests are focusing on the, well, 'unmanned' crews, for want of a better term.”

“First two in the squadron, General,” Guru replied. “For all I know, they're the first two in the whole Air Force.”

“And thus the newsies are going after them,” Olds said. He'd had his own run-ins with the news media during his tour in SEA, and at least, those had been all right, before the media, in his opinion, soured on the military.

“That they are, sir,” said Guru.

“I see...well, Major, I believe there's some kind of ceremony for this evening?”

“About fifteen minutes before twelve-hour, sir,” Guru replied.

“More call signs?” Colonel Brady asked. Those never got old, from his viewpoint.

“No, not that, sir,” Ellis said. “But we think you'll like it, regardless.”

General Olds knew what they were talking about, but kept it to himself. “Colonel, consider it an Air Force surprise.”

“In that case, I'm curious,” Brady said. “As for us Marines? We'll be waiting.”

Just then, both all-female crews came in, followed by Jana Wendt and her news crew. Right behind them were both Kodak Griffith and Lieutenant Patti Brown. Kodak would be going back to the Marines, and hopefully, back to the cockpit, while Brown was the new PAO for the 335th, and was learning the ropes from Kodak, who was in a temporary PAO billet while he healed up from an ejection-related leg injury. “Looks like the newsies are getting along with our all-female crews,” Guru noted.

“She doing a piece on the crews who flew on Day One?” Ellis asked.

“She is, and that includes you, me, Don, and seven others,” the CO reminded his Exec.

The Exec nodded, and before he went to the table where his flight was already gathering, said, “ We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.”

“That we are.”


Guru went to the table where his flight usually took, and found his people there for the most part. But two were missing. “Where's Goalie and Kara?”

“They went for their cameras,” Brainiac said. “Given what's on the agenda tonight.”

Right then, both Goalie and Kara came in with their respective cameras. “Wouldn't miss this for the world,” Kara said.

“Not every day you give out something like this,” Goalie added. They set down their cameras, then went to the bar and got their drinks. When they got back, she said, “Dave's trying to forget about nearly getting killed today.”

“You're not the first to make that comment,” Guru replied. “You two ready?”

“All set, Boss,” Kara nodded.

“Good.”

“Got some newspapers,” KT said as she came in with Hoser. “LA Times for the CO, Orange County Register for Goalie, and who wants the SF Chronicle, USA Today, Stars and Stripes, and our old friends from the Arizona Republic?”

People got what they wanted, and read while waiting on the mess people to bring dinner. Guru was reading the L.A. Times when their RAF liaison officer came in. “Jack, any word on when your people get here?”

“Sometime between noon and thirteen hundred,” Flight Lt. Steve “Jack” Lord said. “And you might be interested in what I heard on the BBC. Seems the President of Costa Rica-some chap named Arias-offered to mediate an end to the war.”

“Any response?” General Olds asked.

“No, sir, other than what your Secretary of State said. 'What's to mediate?'” Lord replied.

“That's pretty much it,” Kara noted. “We're not stopping until the Rio Grande at least, if not Mexico City.”

“No arguing that,” Goalie said. “OCR says Willy Brandt-he's the former West German Chancellor-urged, and I quote, 'the current government to dissolve and to call for new elections, before certain forces in the country take action themselves.'” She looked up from the paper. “He's telling them, 'quit, or there'll be a coup.'”

“Holy...” Guru said. “Where'd he say this?”

“On ZDF TV, the article says. He did an interview for 'em.”

Colonel Brady heard that, and turned to his own intelligence officer, a light colonel. “Colonel? When's the coup coming there?”

Lt. Col. Gene Dennis thought for a couple of moments. “Two weeks, maybe three,” he said.

“Can't come soon enough,” several people said.

“Teach those commie-lovers a lesson,” Sweaty added.

Guru nodded, then his jaw dropped. “Page three, L.A. Times. A brief press release from the Air Force.” He handed the paper to Goalie. “General Yeager's Yak kill.”

“It made the papers?” Jana Wendt said. “I thought there was a blackout!”

“If the Air Force issues the release,” Patti Brown said, “That might be their way of saying it's lifted. Haven't heard anything yet.”

“And you'd be the first to know,” said Ms. Wendt.

“We would,” Kodak Griffith nodded.

General Olds spoke up. “I'll call General Tanner first thing in the morning. See if they've heard anything on his end.”

“Thank you, General,” Ms. Wendt replied.

Then the restauranteurs came in with dinner. Everyone was glad they were running the Mess operation instead of the usual Marines, and the quality of the food showed that. “Folks, we've got barbequed pork, with chili and cornbread, or grilled chicken breasts, with all the fixin's. Come and get it.”

After people got their dinners, they ate, and then the CBS Evening News came on AFN. “Good evening from Los Angeles,” Walter Cronkite began. “Today, an offer from the President of Costa Rica, leading a delegation from several Non-Aligned nations to mediate an end to the war, was dismissed by not only President Bush, but Prime Minster Mulroney of Canada and Britain's Prime Minister Thatcher, but also by the Soviets. Our White House Correspondent, Leslie Stahl, has a report.”

“The offer is a serious one, White House sources say, and though it did not go into much detail, the Allies found the offer unacceptable. Secretary of State James Baker, coming out of a meeting with the President and his National Security team, had this to say:” Secretary Baker's image came on the camera, and he was responding to several reporters' shouted questions as he left the hotel that was serving as the temporary White House. 'What's to mediate? Pull out of occupied territories, release of all prisoners, and pay reparations. That should be simple enough for Mr. Arias to relay.' Administration sources say that President Bush has spoken by phone with Mr. Arias, as have the other Allied leaders, and reiterated those conditions. So far, Mr. Arias has not responded, other than he hopes to visit the Allied-as well as what he referred to as the 'Soviet-bloc' capitals in the near future. While the White House says Mr. Arias will be warmly received, his proposals will not. Leslie Stahl, CBS News, at the temporary White House.”

“Good luck,” Don Van Loan muttered. “Nobody's in any kind of mood to mediate.”

“I'll go along with that,” Mark Ellis added. “This guy trying to earn a Nobel Prize or something?”

“Look at it from his point of view,” Colonel Brady said. “He's got the bad guys to the north of him in Nicaragua, and we've got a pretty sizable garrison still in Panama to protect the Canal.”

“So he thinks he's caught between both sides, and wants to stay neutral no matter what,” General Olds observed.

Brady nodded. “Something like that, sir,”

Then came a report on several towns in West Texas that were slowly getting back to normal, towns like Snyder Post, Lamesa. Schools reopening, stores open, damage being repaired, and to Texans, high-school football getting going again-something that had been banned by the occupiers, and so on. The locals were very grateful to their liberators, and though U.S. Army Military Police and Engineers were busy, the patrols through the towns were being run either by the ROK Expeditionary Force or the Taiwanese 1st Mechanized Division. The report wrapped outside a small cemetery near Snyder, where a dozen Taiwanese soldiers killed in the liberation of the town had been laid to rest. An ROC flag flew overhead, and local citizens came to pay their respects.

“Tells you who your friends are,” Guru said.

“It does, Major,” General Olds said. “Keep in mind that there were West Germans, Dutch, Belgians, and others serving exchange tours here when the balloon went up. They were ordered home, and all of them disobeyed.”

“Doesn't change the way a lot of folks feel,” Kara added.

“No, it doesn't, Captain,” said the General. “When this is all over, sorting things out is going to take a while.”

Then came reports from a carrier in the Sixth Fleet, flying strikes into Libya to remind Qaddafi he'd picked the wrong side, and from London, where a Labour politician was raising a stink about both the American strikes on two Soviet command bunkers and the British firing a Polaris missile at Argentina's main naval base to prevent a second Falklands invasion. “This Corbyn fella better shut up,” Sweaty commented. “Or they'll haul his ass into the slammer.”

“Reminds me of what they said about Ramsey Clark,” Guru said. “Going to North Vietnam in '72, Iran in '80, hell, he even defended a Nazi Concentration Camp guard, saying that after forty years, it was time to move on.”

“You're kidding,” Goalie said. She then saw her pilot's expression. “You're not.”

“Nope,” Guru said. “He and Jane Fonda should've been in the dock for going to North Vietnam in '72,” the CO spat.

Dave Golen asked, “That bad?”

Colonel Brady, who'd been in Hanoi at the time, said, “They weren't torturing then, they stopped in September '69. But there were a few who were collaborating to save their own skins-and they met with those, and several others who were coerced-say, a guy who needs a new cast for his broken arm, and the NVA tell him, 'See Mr. Clark or Ms. Fonda, and we'll change your cast.' You'd be surprised how effective that can be.”


After several more reports, including another Charles Kuralt feature, this time from Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, where the war at sea was just over the horizon, but was ever-present. For wreckage and bodies often washed ashore, and those who had died at sea were given a respectful burial by either the Coast Guardsmen who manned the station, or by the Outer Banks citizenry. Several British sailors who had been killed when their armed trawler had been sunk by a U-Boat were buried there, and recently, several more whose frigate had been sunk by a Soviet sub off the Cape, had joined them, their graves tended by the local residents.

“And that's the way it is, from all of us at CBS News, Good Night,” Cronkite signed off.

AFN then went to a rerun of a Chicago Bears-Green Bay Packers game from 1981, as Kara got up to go to the Pool Table. “Time to hold court.”

“Still angry Yeager beat you?” Sweaty laughed.

“You're damned right I am!” Kara shot back. “One more score to settle with those guys when this is all over.”

“Kara, he's been doing it since before you were born, hell, your parents were in high school when he started,” Guru reminded her.

“Doesn't change the way I feel, Boss,” she said, then went to the bar, got a beer, then headed to the Pool Table.

General Olds grinned, then said, “My last night here, so it's only fair she gets another crack at me.” He went to the pool table, and both combatants laid down their money. This time, it was Kara's skills that proved superior, and General Olds paid the $50.00. Unlike many who'd lost to Kara, he didn't come back in a fit of the sulks. “She's good.”

“As good as the guys at Udorn back in the day, sir?” Guru asked.

“A couple guys were better than that,” General Olds noted as he got himself a glass of club soda. “Sundown Cunningham for one.”

Heads turned and jaws dropped at that. “You mean, sir, General Cunningham ruled the Pool Table at Udorn?”

“He did,” Olds said matter of factly. “Wouldn't mind finding out who's better, him, or Captain Thrace.”

Around the 335th's tables, there was silence for a moment. “Uh, if he comes,” Ellis said. “What happens if she wins?”

“Good question, Mark,” Guru said. A feeling of dread came over him all of a sudden. “It's Frank we want packing for colder climes...”

“He's not that type,” Olds reassured him. “If he loses, he smiles, nods, pays what's owed, then beats the next three who play him to show it wasn't a fluke.”

Guru and Kara looked at each other, and then Kara said, “General, we'll have to find out, won't we?” She had an evil-looking grin on her face....

Guru shook his head. “I was afraid of that.”


The clock kept turning, and soon, it was 1840, twenty minutes to Twelve-hour. “Major, that ceremony you want to have?” General Olds said.

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir.” He turned to his Exec. “Mark?”

“I'll get him. Chief Ross should be outside.” He left, then came back and gave a thumbs-up.

Ms. Wendt came up to the 335th CO. “Major, what's this about?”

“You might be interested in this. If so, your crew has three minutes to get their equipment,” said Guru.

Ms. Wendt went to her crew, and both Scott, her cameraman, and her sound man, ran out to get their equipment. When they returned, that was a signal to Goalie and Kara to get their own cameras set. When all was ready, General Olds rang the bar bell. “People! Won't be long until twelve-hour, but we've got time for a little ceremony.” He turned to Guru. “I'll let Major Wiser of the 335th take over things from here. Major?”

Guru got up to the bar. “Thank you, General,” he said. “Now, this story is common knowledge in the Air Force, but for the benefit of our Marine and Navy brethren, our newbies, and our guests from the media,” He glanced in the direction of Ms.Wendt and her crew. “Back in 1966, a dog named Roscoe made the trip from Yokota in Japan to Korat in Thailand, riding with his master in an F-105. Two months after arriving in-country, Roscoe's master was shot down over North Vietnam and was MIA. The guys in the squadron took care of the dog, who was waiting for his master to return. They made him the squadron's mascot, and Roscoe became the mascot for the whole 388th Tactical Fighter Wing. Roscoe was made an honorary Colonel and had a Colonel's privileges. Airmen were called to attention whenever Roscoe entered a room, he attended the wing commander's 0730 staff meeting, had a Club Card for the Officer's Club-there was a lot of hell raised over him going in, and the guys made sure nobody got in the dog's way. The base vet took care of him, the security guys were told not to shoot him-and when Roscoe got a Thai dog as a girlfriend, they were warned not to shoot her, too. Roscoe attended pre-strike briefings, and when he slept through the brief, it was usually an easy one. If he paid attention, it was a bear, and they lost people. And he had the wing commander's chair in the briefing room.” There were a few laughs at that, then Guru went on. “A few weeks prior to the 388th leaving Korat in '75, Roscoe died of a heart attack outside his favorite place, the Officer's Club. They gave him a military funeral with full honors, and laid him to rest right next to the Club. Before the wing left Korat, they erected a small plaque in his honor.

“Fast forward to today. When we were at Cannon, several of the guys were chasing nurses at the nearby MASH, and a nurse told them they had a mama Golden Lab and two puppies. The MASH was going to keep the mama dog and one pup, but needed a home for the other. So Don, Kerry, Hoser, Firefly? You guys brought the dog to me, and said 'We need a mascot.' Well, I said we needed to clear it with the CO, and we took Buddy to see Colonel Rivers. One look was all he needed to give the OK, and we've had Buddy ever since. Now, we need to properly honor Buddy, and give him his reward. XO, will you bring him in?”

Ellis nodded, and went to the entrance. Chief Ross came in, in full dress uniform, and had Buddy on a leash, with a dog coat similar to an officer's undress blues. They came to the bar, and at command, Buddy sat down. He seemed to know this was all for him.

“As of today, Buddy is now an honorary Captain in the Air Force, with all the privileges of that rank. Chief? You and the other NCOs are taking good care of him, and just keep on doing what you're doing. When the 335th moves, he moves with us, and for certain, when this war is over, and it's time for people to go home and pick up their lives, someone's going to take Buddy home and give him a proper civilian life.” There was applause, then Guru said. “But from now on, he's one of us. He's one of the Chiefs of the 335th, and no one's going to either deny that, or take him away from us. IS THAT CLEAR?” Guru glared at Major Frank Carson, as if to say, just you try, and you'll be sorry.

“YES, SIR!” the 335th's officers said.

“All right! General, if you'll be so kind?” Guru asked General Olds.

“It's a pleasure, Major.” Olds said. Then both the General and the CO of the 335th pinned Captain's bars on the doggie jacket. Then after people got their drinks, there was a toast to the dog.

“Ten minutes to twelve-hour!” Doc Waters then called.

“Major,” Ms. Wendt said. “We're going to our truck. Won't take long to put a story together, and we'll send this to CBS first, then Sydney.”

“Thanks,” said Guru. “Whenever you want to start talking to Day One vets for your story, just say the word.”

The reporter grinned. “I'll take you up on that, and speaking of taking up, when am I getting my ride?”

“Hopefully in a few days,” Guru replied. “Unless you want to have an Early-Bird breakfast, then fly with Kerry Collins on his check ride?”

“With nothing to see at five-thirty in the morning?” Ms. Wendt asked. “No, thank you. I'll wait for you and the Wild Thing.”

“Fair enough,” Guru said. He nodded at Chief Ross. “Excuse me.” Guru went over to Ross. “Chief, you and the other senior NCOs keep taking good care of him. And find a MOPP suit if you can.”

“Sir, some outfit's making those for working dogs. Shouldn't be too hard to find one for Buddy.” Ross said. “Don't worry about him and the vet, sir. We're on it.”

“Good. Because someone will be taking him home when this is over, and Buddy deserves a nice civilian life.”

“We all do, sir, once we're in Mexico City,” said Ross.

“And we will,” Guru said. “Send somebody to pick him up after aircrew curfew at 2100.”

“Will do, sir.”

“And Chief? You have a good rest of the evening.”

“Thanks, sir.”

Colonel Brady came up to Guru after Ross left. “Major, nice little ceremony.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied, just as Doc Waters rang the bell.

“Twelve-Hour now in effect!”

“Major,” Brady said. “Having a mascot around is a good morale booster. You just planted a few ideas in people's heads.”

Hearing that, Guru grinned. “Glad to set that kind of example, sir.”

“Good to hear. Now, General Olds and I are going to sit down with your Major Golen.” Brady said. “He's on his third war, I spent most of Vietnam in Hanoi, and well, we know General Olds. You have a good evening.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir.” He then went to his flight's table, and took a seat as Sweaty brought a plate of nachos. “Well, that's that.”

“It is,” Goalie said. “Now, what's our favorite snob going to do about it?” She shot a glance towards Frank Carson's table, where he was sitting with two ground officers from the Air Base Group.

“Hopefully, nothing,” Kara nodded.

Guru agreed. “Anything he sends the IG's Office is considered frivolous. So, any complaints get junked.” He then noticed Kara getting ready to go back to the Pool Table. “Kara? When those RAF guys arrive tomorrow? Let them get settled in that first night. Then you can fleece them.”

Kara had a grin on her face from ear to ear. “My pleasure. And after General Olds leaves tomorrow? My debt collections can pick up.”

“Try not to get into that with the RAF,” Guru advised.

“Their problem, Boss, if they ignore any advice.” She then went to the bar, got a glass of Seven-up, and went back to the pool table.

Seeing Guru wince, Sweaty said, “Boss, trying to avoid any, uh, 'international incidents'?”

“That is on my mind,” the CO said. “Remind me to warn the RAF about her.”

“Got you,” Goalie said. “And one other thing about our Brit cousins.”

“Oh?” Guru asked. It had been a long day.

“Remember: they speak Phantom, not Jaguar or Tornado. Which makes their fitting in a whole lot easier,” she said. And that, she knew, was a good thing.

“To be grateful for,” the CO agreed.

The evening went on until 2100, when Doc rang the bell again. “Aircrew curfew now in effect!” With that, those who were flying in the morning headed off to their respective units' officer country. For another day of combat beckoned. And the chance of becoming a statistic on the KIA, MIA, or POW lists was always there, every time they went wheels-up. Sleep was on the agenda, for it wouldn't be long until 0430 and aircrew wakeup.

[Poohbah]

Buddy takes his duties seriously. He ended up leading EOD to the bomb the waitress planted in the Club during the run-up to BOLO II.