Wolverine and Chiefs

[Matt Wiser]

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

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

Remember, Sophie helped clean up the known PSD slugs when she was there Pre-BOLO II. If-and I do mean IF-any remaining ones have any smarts, they'll ignore the rally as a bad deal. Chances are, they've been told to "Observe and report only."

[jemhouston]

Too bad instead of shooting, he didn't toss a satchel charge. Boom today and tomorrow.

[Wolfman]

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

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

Remember, Sophie helped clean up the known PSD slugs when she was there Pre-BOLO II. If-and I do mean IF-any remaining ones have any smarts, they'll ignore the rally as a bad deal. Chances are, they've been told to "Observe and report only."

And since when did the PSD ever show that level of intelligence?

[Matt Wiser]

Apologies for the delay, but RL, writer's block, and some TLW writing have been in the way... And the day after the attempt on Chebrikov's life gets going:


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 15 February, 1988: 0540 Hours Central War Time:


Major-Matt Wiser walked over from Officer Country to his squadron's offices. He glanced eastwards, and noted the sky turning bright as the predawn light began to show. Another glance up revealed the last stars, and clear sky. Good flying weather beckoned, and that was a good thing. After the crazy day yesterday, and now, with the attempt on the Soviet leader's life the night before, things were bound to be busy.

When he got to the building hosting the squadron, the 335th CO noted the bullet holes and shrapnel scars. He made a mental note to recommend to Colonel Purcell, the Air Base Group commander, that these not be repaired, as a reminder to those who passed through these doors in the future of the price paid for being unprepared for war. After he went in, he noticed 1st Lt. Kyle Potter, the night-shift SDO. “Morning, Kyle,” the CO said.

“Morning, Boss,” Potter said. He had the duty because his pilot was down with a case of the 24-Hour flu. Which, Doc Waters had told him, was now in its third day. “XO's waiting for you.”

“Fine, Kyle,” Guru nodded. “Anything happen overnight?”

The SDO shook his head. “Here, nada. AFN news had something, though. Ivan hit London and a few other British cities with air-launched or sub-launched cruise missiles. They didn't care what they hit, though. And one of the missiles landed pretty close to Buckingham Palace.”

Guru winced at that. “Chebrikov must've felt that since somebody tried to make him go away, he'll do the same thing to Allied leaders. Any word on damage or..”

“BBC said nobody in the Palace was hurt, and all they did was bust a few windows.”

“Chebrikov's lashing out,” the CO noted. “They'd better be on the ball in Philly and Ottawa.” Guru paused, then said, “Okay, when your relief arrives? Find some food and then find your bunk.”

“Will do, Boss.”

Guru then talked to a few of the night-shift admin people, then went to his office. The XO, Capt. Mark Ellis, was waiting. “Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Mark,” Guru said as the XO handed him a cup of hot chocolate. “What's up this fine morning?”

“Not much, other than it's going to be busy, sure as hell,” the XO replied.

“Lay it out, Mark. And weather first, if you please.” Guru said as he sipped some of the cocoa.

The XO nodded. “You got it. CAVU all around. Highs in the low to mid 50s, lows in the low 40s. That's for us. Down south of I-20? Mid to upper 50s, mid 40s for the lows. Winds expected to be variable but light.”

Guru thought for a moment. Good flying weather, and not just for us. “Ivan's going to be up, and they'll be busy because Chebrikov's pissed somebody tried to take him out last night.” He relayed what the SDO had told him about the strikes on the UK.

“Let's hope they're on the ball in Philly and Ottawa,” Ellis said. “Next up: Morning Reports for MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force.

Guru signed the papers, then asked. “What's next?”

“Supply requisitions,” Ellis said. “The usual, and Kev O'Donnell wants two more spare ejection seats.”

“Tell Ross, and make sure the necessary paperwork on those seats gets....created,” Guru said. Then everything would be copacetic, the CO thought.

“Will do,” Ellis replied as a knock on the door came.

“Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!” Guru said.

Goalie, the CO's GIB (and girlfriend) came in, two steaming cups of cocoa in hand. “One for me, and one for the CO,” she grinned, handing one to Guru.

“You seem happy this fine morning,” Guru said.

“Slept like a baby,” Goalie said. “Because we're going to be busy.” She looked at both CO and XO. “Any news?”

“Just they shot some cruise missiles at London and a few other cities in the UK,” Guru said. “One was close to Buckingham Palace.”

“Going after the Royal Family?”

“Either that, or just sending a message. 'We can still hit you in the UK,' would be Chebrikov's thinking. But they missed the Palace, and the BBC said the Queen was unhurt.”

“And Maggie Thatcher would be boiling mad if they had hit the palace,” Ellis pointed out. “Mad enough to boil a city or two?”

“Let's hope not,” Guru said. “The last thing we need are more mushrooms growing.” He looked at the clock on his office wall. “Anything else, Mark?”

Ellis handed a paper to the CO. “Just this from MAG-11,” he said. “Seems that PAO who babysits Ms. Mason on these trips asked for a flyover when her rally wraps up. Anytime after 1430, he says. Colonel Brady says it's not his idea, and is up to discretion of Squadron COs.”

And a good thing, Guru thought. If he was in the area, he would, but... “Okay, pass it around. It's up to flight leaders' discretion.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anything else leap out?”

“Nada, Boss.”

Guru looked at the clock, then Goalie. “Thoughts?”

“If Ivan gets cranky, and starts moving forward?” She asked. “Get ready for Day One of PRAIRIE FIRE all over again.” On that day, squadron crews had flown as many as seven missions. It had been repeated on Days two and three. And again when the second phase of PRAIRIE FIRE got rolling.

“We're ready as we'll ever be,” Guru said firmly. A glance at the clock meant it was time to change the subject. “I see 0550. Let's go eat.”


Guru, Goalie, and the XO arrived at the Officer's Mess Tent, and found the usual bunch milling around and waiting. Colonel Brady was there, talking with a female AF Major, and he noticed the 335th CO coming up. “Morning, Major.”

“Morning, Colonel,” Guru replied. “I see you're chatting with the Special-Ops side.”

Major Kathy Barzanian turned and smiled. “Just seeing what more us snake-eaters can do to help out the boys and girls wearing zoom bags.” That was the AF term for “flight suit.” “I take it you all heard about London?”

“We did,” Guru acknowledged. “I'd like to know how they did it.”

“And how they missed Buckingham Palace,” Goalie added.

Lt. Col. Gene Dennis, MAG-11's Intelligence Officer, spoke up. “You can bet a lot of people are trying to figure that out.”

“And if they had hit the Palace,” Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill said as he came up, “I hate to think about what the Iron Lady would do in retaliation.” Though the fate of the Argentine Navy in late '85, when they were assembling another task force to retake the Falklands, and received a pair (or so everyone thought) of Polaris SLBMs in their port came to mind...

Brady turned to Dennis. “Any signs of anything unusual down south?” By that, he meant the front lines.

“Not yet, sir,” Dennis replied. “Things might pick up later in the day.”

“Well, whatever it is, we'll be ready,” Brady nodded as Erica Mason and her Marine PAO escort arrived, with Ranger Cordell Walker chatting with both of them.

Barzanian nodded. “Excuse me, sir, but my breakfast meeting's here.”

“Talking business?” Guru asked. “She's got that rally today, right?”

“Right on that, Major,” Barzanian said. “I've already sent Chief Sisco over to the site to look things over. And I've got some AF Special-Ops people here in between missions, and they're going to be helping out with security. And that made Ranger Walker happy. With some Resistance people and Army MPs? Erica'll be in good hands,.”

“Well, whatever happens today, we'll have to take it and roll with it. Then hit back harder,” Brady said.

Guru nodded, along with several others, including the COs for VMFA-134 and 333, when the Mess Officer flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's ready people!”

After breakfast, Guru went to the Squadron's Ops Office to get his first mission order. He found the Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, waiting. As usual, the Ops Officer went to the Early-Bird breakfast, then started putting missions and assets together. Guru had done the same thing for a while before becoming Exec, so he knew the drill. “Morning, Don. What's on tap for my flight this morning?”

The Ops Officer handed him a briefing packet and a mission summary. “Here you go, and you're not going to like it.”

Guru scanned the summary-which was the Frag Order. “We've been here a few times.”

“I know, Boss, and so have I,” Van Loan replied. “Guess they want Ivan's FOLs shut down so that if they do move forward this morning, they won't have much in the way of air cover.”

The CO nodded. “Sounds like good idea. Dave Golen and Flossy coming with us?”

“Negative, Boss-man,” said the Ops Officer. “They've got their own.”

Just then, IDF Maj. Dave Golen came in. He was officially an “Observer” who did more than his job description said. Ever since PRAIRIE FIRE, he had been flying combat missions on a daily basis with the 335th, and had been issued USAF ID, dog tags, and flight suit. From what the grapevine said, he wasn't alone. Quite a few IDF officers had come over, officially as observers, but were provided U.S. Military ID so that they could participate in combat operations. “Morning, Guru,” Golen said. “And Ops.”

“Morning, Dave,” Van Loan said. “And here's yours.” He handed the Israeli ace a mission folder, just like the CO's.

“Hmm... Damaged Vehicle Collection and Repair Point, southwest of Dublin.”

“Dave, you and Flossy come with me,” Guru said. “I've got something close by, and you might just as well come with us. You break and go on your own when we hit the IP.”

“And that is?”

Guru pointed to a spot on the map southeast of Dublin. “There.”

“Sounds good,” Golen said. “And MiGs?”

“If you hit trouble, holler,” Guru said. “I'll bring my people and Dave Gledhill's element.”

“Fair enough,” Golen nodded. Both shook on it. “See you at the tankers?”

“You said it, I didn't,” Guru said.

Van Loan noticed it. “You guys have done this before,” he noted. It had happened enough times previously that the Ops Officer had picked up on it.

“Your lips are sealed on this,” Guru said firmly.

“Krazy-glue sealed, Boss.”

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

“You too, Boss. And remember: don't want to be XO yet.”

“Not just me you have to remind about that,” Guru said. “Tell Mark when he gets here.”

“Always.”


Guru then went to the classroom that his flight used as a briefing room, and not only did he find his people there, but also Buddy, the Squadron's Mascot. The dog, as usual, had found a place to curl up and was sound asleep. Which was a good omen to all concerned. “Okay, people, we're first out of the gate, and it's a doozy.”

“Where are we going?” Kara asked.

“Dublin Municipal Airport,” Guru replied, taking out the contents of the mission folder. That included a JOG and part of a TPC chart, the FAA airport diagram, and photos-some taken at low level, and some were from high altitude-probably SR-71. “It's being used as a FOL for Su-25s, Hinds, and for transports. And there's a notation here that the runway may have been lengthened.”

“For what?” Hoser asked.

“Fitters and Flogger-Ds and Js,” said Guru. That meant the Su-17/22 Fitters and the MiG-27 attack variant of the MiG-23.

Heads nodded at that. “So who's hitting what?” Sweaty asked.

Guru found a photo and tapped the ramp area. “Kara? You and I have Rockeyes. I'll take the ramp area north of the access road. You take the south.”

“Got you,” Kara nodded. She had a grin on her face, though, and everyone there recognized it. She was hoping someone took off as the field was being attacked, and that would be the tenth tally in her kill sheet, and make her the first double ace in Tenth AF, and probably in the whole USAF.

“No trolling for MiGs, though,” the CO reminded her. “Sweaty?” He had his second element lead's rapt attention. “You take these buildings to the west of the ramp. They're labeled as hangars and support. And you'll have Mark-82 and M-117 Snakeyes. .”

“We'll take them out,” Sweaty nodded at Preacher, her GIB.

“Hoser?” Guru went on. “If we had Dave Golen and Flossy on this one, I'd say runway. This time..” He tapped on the photo. “Here, east side of the runway and opposite the ramp areas? Fuel dump. Same load as Sweaty.”

Hoser looked at KT, his GIB, and both nodded. “Will do.”

“Dave Gledhill?” Guru nodded at the RAF Squadron Leader. “You guys kill anyone over the target, and do the same to anyone crashing the party.”

“Our pleasure,” Gledhill's face had a grin. A chance to get some more MiGs or Sukhois? Even a transport or a Hind? A kill's a kill....

Guru then found another sheet. “Defenses,” he said, and noticed he had everybody's rapt attention. “This is a divisional rear area-the East German 9th Panzer, and they do have SA-6.”

“Any chance of Weasels?” Kara asked.

“Negative, and you know why.”

Kara nodded. “Too many requests and not enough assets.”

Guru nodded back. “You said it. I didn't.” He went on. “At the field, there's a mix of 37-mm and 57-mm. The former are not radar-guided, but the latter may be. So for the AAA and SA-6? We have to rely on our ECM pods.”

“And some help from upstairs,” Preacher chimed in. The fomer seminary student-turned WSO still hadn't lost some of his former calling.

“That, you can handle,” Sweaty said, and everyone laughed. Even Preacher.

“That he can,” Guru said. “Okay, I need to remind you that there's still small-arms and machine-gun fire from the town, and guys with MANPADS.”

“MiGs?” Dave Gledhill asked.

“Good question,” Karen McKay, his wingmate, asked.

“That it is,” Guru said. “Nearest MiGs are at Brownwood Regional, and those are still both Soviet and East German-both -21s and -23s. There's still MiG-21s and -23s at TSTC in Waco, both Soviet-”

Kara frowned. “Thought we cleaned up a lot of those guys along with the Fencers on BOLO II.”

“So did I, but we didn't get enough. We tore the Fencers a new asshole, but not enough of the fighters,” Guru said. “There's also -23s at Temple Regional, and don't forget the Flankers at Bergstrom and the Fulcrums at both Gray AAF and Goodfellow.”

“Happy day,” Sweaty said.

“Yeah,” Guru reluctantly admitted. “Okay, now ingress.” He had both the TPC and JOG charts out. “We hit the tankers at SHELL over Mineral Wells- then follow the Brazos. As usual, we're just inside the Nicaraguan sector, but close enough to use the river for navigation.”

“How far down the river?” Goalie asked.

“Lake Whitney, and we turn two-thirds down the lake, and avoid the flak at the dam,” Guru siad. “We turn on a two-five-zero heading, clear Meridian to the north of us, then find the town of Fairy. It's more a collection of ruins than a town, but we've used it before. Then we head northwest along F.M. 219 to the town of Purves. That's the IP. Pop up, ID the target, and make your runs.”

Sweaty nodded. “And when we're clear?”

“Go back down low, and stay there. Keep going northwest until you clear State Route 16-that's the boundary between the East Germans and the Soviet 32nd Army, mind. Go a few miles past the highway until you find the Leon River. Go north and follow the river to Lake Leon, then turn due north to the I-20. We join up once past the freeway, hit the tankers, and come on home. And there's this: Dave Golen and Flossy will be right behind us. They break off from us at the IP to go for their own target. But they will follow us in and out.”

“Ordnance load for air-to-air?” Kara asked.

“Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, an ALQ-119 ECM pod and two wing tanks,” Guru replied. “Dave Gledhill?”

“We've got four Sidewinder Ls, four Sky Flash, two wing tanks and a SUU-23 gun pod,” the RAF Squadron Leader replied. Though Flight Lt. Paul Jackson was his pilot and aircraft commander, Gledhill led the element in the air.

“Good. Okay, we're Camaro Flight on this one. Anything else?”

Sweaty asked, “Four today?”

“At least, and we'll know for sure if, when we get back, the ordnance guys have their products waiting for us as we taxi into our revetments,” the CO said. “Anything else?” He asked as an Ops NCO appeared at the door to collect the briefing materials.

“Yeah,” KT said. “Buddy's asleep.”

“Let him sleep. If that's it, then gear up and see you on the ramp.”

The crews went to their respective locker rooms to gear up, and after he got into his flight gear, Guru came out of the Men's Locker Room and found Goalie outside, similarly attired. “You ready?”

“Ready, but I'm wondering what's on tap for today,” Goalie said. “Ol' Chebrikov's likely still pissed somebody took a shot at him last night.”

Guru nodded. “Some people serve the world best by leaving it, and he'd be doing just that if that shooter had been on target,” he said. “And after what happened in London this morning? We'll be busy, you can bet on that.”

As they left the squadron's building, Goalie said. “That's a bet Kara won't take.”

“That's a given.”

They found Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs just outside at a picnic table, going over their own mission. “Dave,” Guru said. “You guys ready?”

“We are,” Golen replied. “How do you want to do this?”

“Just go by your own call sign.”

“That's Chevy.”

“Okay, I'm Camaro. Just follow us, and when we hit the IP and I give the strike call? GO. Hit your own target, and you'll be close enough to see us on our own target. Just follow us out.”

“Will do,” Golen said. “See you at the tankers.” Both shook on it.

“See you all up there, and good luck,” Guru said.

Flossy nodded. “We'll be there, Boss.”


Guru and Goalie then went to the squadron's dispersal, and found 512's revetment, and the rest of the flight gathered. “Okay, folks, just had a quick talk with Dave Golen. He and Flossy will be there at the tankers.”

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

“You got it. And no matter what, we'll be busy today.”

“And if Comrade Chebrikov's lit a fire under his theater commander?” Kara asked. “CAS and Scud hunts coming our way.”

“Did you have to say that?” Brainiac asked his pilot as heads shook no. Those two types of missions were the last thing anyone in the flight-and the squadron-wanted.

“Somebody had to,” Kara said.

“And somebody did,” Guru admitted, glad that she had instead of having to say that himself. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay, we meet up at ten grand overhead. Let's hit it. Time to go get'em.” He clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed for their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, the Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. He snapped a salute as usual. “Major, Captain? Five-twelve is ready to kick some more Commie ass.”

“I like the way you talk, Sarge,” the CO grinned. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then after Guru signed for the aircraft, he and Goalie climbed the crew ladder and mounted the aircraft. After strapping into their seats, putting on their helmets and plugging in both the headphones and oxygen, they began the preflight.

The checklist went fast, and near the end, Goalie asked, “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom,” Guru said. “Check yours. Arnie?” That meant the ARN-101 DMAS nav system.

“Arnie's up and ready, and so is the backup INS,” replied Goalie. “Preflight completed and ready for engine start.”

“It is and we are,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Crowley, who gave the “Start engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the warm-up was complete, it was time to call the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Lead rolling.” Guru then gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who relayed it to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, and the big Phantom taxied clear of the revetment. As 512 cleared, Crowley snapped a salute, which Guru and Goalie returned. As they taxied out, the rest of the flight followed, and Guru found himself right behind a Marine four-ship of F-4s with shamrocks on their tails. That meant VMFA-333. One the Marines hit the holding area, their armorers removed their weapon safeties. Then the Marines taxied onto the runway, and a minute later, rolled down the runway and into the air.

Then it was their turn, and Camaro Flight taxied into the holding area, and their squadron's armorers performed the same service. Their ordnance was now “live.” Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead ready to taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower” the controller responded. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-five for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied the F-4 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A quick cockpit check, and everything was ready. “All set?” He asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” Goalie said. “Time to fly.”

“It is that,” Guru said. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said. He closed and locked his canopy, and Goalie did the same. A quick look to their right showed 520's canopies down and locked as well, as Kara and Brainiac both gave thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, and it was time.

“Here we go,” Guru said. He firewalled the throttle, released the brakes, and the big Phantom thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, followed by the RAF. Then Dave Golen and Flossy in Chevy Flight followed.

Camaro Flight formed up at FL 100, then headed for the tankers, with Chevy Flight discretely following.

As they took off, Erica was watching, along with Ms. Wendt and her news crew, Erica's Marine escort, and Chief Ross. It still impressed the ex-Wolverine how much effort it took to get just one airplane into the air, let alone several. When the CO's flight rolled down the runway and into the sky, Erica nodded, then said, “Good luck, guys.”

[Poohbah]

Kathy B's thinking that, if PSD or anyone else crashes the party, her job is to grab at least one of them alive.

Dead men tell no tales, but prisoners can be made quite talkative. (Yoko Ono on the boombox is probably a bit much, though.)

[Matt Wiser]

She ever run into the Apaches in Arizona and NM? The ones who had a habit of scalping, flaying alive, and staking out in the desert, downed Soviet or Soviet-bloc aircrew, captured SOF, etc...Took Tenth AF's intelligence shop a while to convince them of the need to deliver live prisoners as "we can't interrogate corpses." Sixth Army's G-2 had the same problem, ISTR.

[Poohbah]

She ever run into the Apaches in Arizona and NM? The ones who had a habit of scalping, flaying alive, and staking out in the desert, downed Soviet or Soviet-bloc aircrew, captured SOF, etc...Took Tenth AF's intelligence shop a while to convince them of the need to deliver live prisoners as "we can't interrogate corpses." Sixth Army's G-2 had the same problem, ISTR.

Kathy: "Now, I'm not saying I don't understand, believe me, I do. I've got some scores to settle. But we really need these people alive. Dead men tell no tales, but prisoners can be quite talkative."

Apache: "How do you propose to make them talk?"

Kathy: "Play the B-Side of 'They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!' 60% of the time, it works every time."

Apache: "You win, you're meaner than I am."

[jemhouston]

Polka Music and badly played bagpipes.

[Wolfman]

Polka Music and badly played bagpipes.

99.9% of polka music, you’re right about, but there’s one song by Bubba Hernandez that isn’t all that bad, and his polka take on The Ballad of Thunder Road is great.

[jemhouston]

Polka Music and badly played bagpipes.

99.9% of polka music, you’re right about, but there’s one song by Bubba Hernandez that isn’t all that bad, and his polka take on The Ballad of Thunder Road is great.

No comments on the bagpipes?

[Wolfman]

Badly played bagpipes defy description and commentary.

[Matt Wiser]

After a longer-than-expected sabbatical, here's the next piece:


Over Central Texas: 0740 Hours Central War Time:

Camaro Flight was headed south, having penetrated the FEBA and crossed into the sector held by the Nicaraguan II Corps. Or, at least, the extreme left of that sector. They were close enough, as usual, to follow the Brazos River and use that as a visual navigation aid, but still clear of most of the flak either on the Nicaraguan side, and the Nicaraguan gunners were still quiet, or the East Germans on the west side of the river, who were not.

They cleared the U.S. 377 bridge at Granbury, drawing no fire from the Nicaraguans, but the East Germans opened up as usual, but the flak had been either short or burst behind the strike flight. Then came the Lake Granbury Dam, and the flak sites that protected it. Again, the Nicaraguans held their fire, while the East Germans were active.

In 512's front seat, Major Matt “Guru” Wiser noted the flak, and checked his EW display. So far, so good. No radars, he was glad to see, but he was wondering if the Mainstay's radar would come up. “How far to Glen Rose?” He asked his GIB. That was the U.S. 67 bridge over the Brazos.

“Forty seconds,” Capt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn replied. She was checking the DMAS system, as well as doing it the old-fashioned way. With a stopwatch, map, and the compass. Along with poking her head out to take a look around. Having two pairs of eyes in the F-4 had paid off more times than either one cared to count. “And we're clear of the flak.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Dam coming up.” The 37-mm and 57-mm sites around the Dam opened up on the East German side, and the Nicaraguan gunners stayed quiet. The Nicaraguans had lost their appetite for the war after PRAIRIE FIRE the previous summer, and unless they were being attacked, generally held their fire.

The dam flew past as Guru turned right to follow the Brazos, despite the bends in the river, and then the U.S. 67 bridge came into view.

“Highway 67 bridge up ahead,” Goalie advised.

“Got it, and there's a convoy on the bridge,” Guru said, eyeballing trucks, APCs, and even some armor.

“That's no convoy,” Goalie replied. “Got to be a battalion's worth, at least.” Too bad, she thought. Not their turn to die yet.

Guru nodded in the front seat. “Mark it,” he said as his EW display came to life. A strobe, along with the SEARCH warning light, appeared. “And the Mainstay's up.”

“They need to do something about those,” Goalie said with disgust.

“Girl, you are preaching to the choir,” Guru said. Then he called the AWACS. “Warlock, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

A controller came back at once. “Camaro Lead, Warlock. First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-four-zero for seventy. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-nine-zero for eighty. Medium, going away. Fourth threat bearing Two-one-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that, Warlock,” Guru replied. “Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro, first and second threats are Floggers,” the controller said. That meant MiG-23s. “Third and fourth are Fulcrums.” Those were MiG-29s.

“Copy, Warlock.” Fulcrums, Guru thought. Our lucky day.

In several F-4s, heads perked up at that news. For Capt. Kara Thrace in 520, she was waiting for a MiG-29, as the CO had one in his kill sheet, one of only two in the Squadron (Sweaty had the other), and she wanted one for herself. While the RAF crews also perked up: they had faced MiG-29s their first day in theater, and were hoping to get one or more scraps in with Fulcrums before their tour ended.

Just then, the old Brazospoint Bridge appeared. That marked the end of the Nicaraguan sector on the east side, and the beginning of the Libyan. And the Libyans sprayed AAA as if the practice would be outlawed in the next ten minutes. As the strike flight approached the bridge, the Libyans didn't disappoint, for they opened up wildly, spraying 23-mm and 57-mm fire with gross inaccuracy. The East Germans on the West Side also opened up, but they were more accurate, even if they were shooting behind the aircraft. As they flew past, the crews noticed another convoy, this one crossing the bridge into the East German sector. “Another one,” Guru noticed.

“Not their turn yet,” Goalie said. Not your turn to die, Ivan or Franz or whoever you are, she thought. If they had been on an armed recon.....


At the Bridge, an East German major was livid. His unit had been raised in Fall o f 1986, and had been designated the 38th Independent Motor-Rifle Regiment. Coming from the Erfurt-Karl Marx-Stadt area, they had been equipped with the best T-72s and BMP-2s that the Czechs could produce, and had been shipped over just prior to the Allies retaking Iceland. That convoy had made it across the Atlantic from Kola relatively unscathed, but instead of going directly to Texas, had gone to Cuba for additional training. Six months' worth, before deploying that January, and so far, things had not been pleasant. One of the ships carrying the tanks for his Second Battalion had been sunk by a submarine attack in the Gulf of Mexico, and another freighter, loaded with some of his regiment's rear-services vehicles, had struck a mine as it approached the port of Beaumont in Texas. So his regiment had to wait until some replacement vehicles arrived from stocks in Cuba, and instead of T-72s, his Second Battalion would have to use T-62s, while the rear-services people would have to make do with trucks and other equipment that were at least twenty years old. Shaking his head at that, the Major was then told that his unit was now considered a Brigade instead of a regiment, and that made him and some of his officers pause. They remembered what Hitler had done in 1944-45, making grandiose designations of units as divisions, corps, and even armies, when they barely had enough to fill out an understrength division. The same was happening here, they felt. With the Stasi watching, though, they wisely kept those thoughts to themselves.

After receiving their orders to deploy to the Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg, the brigade began to move by road to Central Texas, and as they passed through towns such as Woodville, Lufkin, Palestine, Corsicana, Hillsboro, and Cleburne, everyone noticed the hostile looks on the faces of the civilian population. The officers and soldiers could tell they were neither wanted or welcomed, and that if the looks on the civilians' faces were daggers, everyone in the brigade would be bleeding.

As his command vehicle, a BMP-1Ksh fitted out as a regimental commander's vehicle, crossed the bridge, shouts, followed by anti-aircraft fire, followed. Then he saw eight American F-4 Phantoms roar overhead, followed by the AA fire of both the Libyans on the east side, and his own Germans on the west. Much to his disgust, the Brigade's own ZSU-23-4s and Strela-1 (SA-9) SAM vehicles didn't fire. Cursing his air-defense battalion commander, the Major had his unit keep moving. Partly to keep to their schedule, but also just in case the Ami aircraft decided his brigade on that bridge was a worthy target, and decided to return.


“That's the old Bridge,” Guru said. “How long to the 174 Bridge?”

Goalie replied, “Eight miles and thirty seconds.”

“Roger that,” Guru called back. Then he talked to the AWACS. “Warlock, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

“Camaro Lead, Warlock,” the controller replied. “First threat now bearing Zero-nine-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-two-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven-zero for eighty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-four-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy all, Warlock. Do you have bogey dope?”

“Camaro, first two threats remain Floggers. Third and fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger, Warlock.” Guru said. Then he shook his head. Just our luck, he thought. Then the Highway 174 Bridge appeared, with the gunners on both sides shooting. “There's the bridge.”

“And the Libyans and East Germans all shooting,” Goalie quipped as the flak came up. Both sets of gunners were inaccurate, but with all that lead in the air, there always was the chance of a Golden BB finding its mark, and a crew going skydiving.

As the strike flight got close to the bridge, they could see no traffic there, but Lake Whitney beginning to open up. Guru took 512 down to 400 Feet AGL, and the rest of the flight followed as they thundered down the lake.

On both sides of Lake Whitney, there were parties watching as the F-4s roared down the Lake. There were Soviet, East German, and Libyan soldiers, trying their luck at fishing, and hopefully supplementing their own rations. There were also locals doing the same thing, hoping to supplement the rationing the occupiers imposed with some fish. And there were some Resistance people, using some boat-in only campgrounds to get in and out. Each group's reaction was different, for the Soviets and their lackeys watched with disdain as the F-4s blew past, and some of them realized the line their Political Officers had been feeding them, about the “Socialist Air Forces in control of the skies of Texas” and other such blather, being horseshit. The locals simply smiled and shook hands with each other, as the sight of American planes overhead was always welcome, while the Resistance people, and some SF advisors, were thrilled. Not only was this another sign that there was light at the end of the damned tunnel, but those F-4s were clearly going to put the hurt on somebody, and that could only be a good thing.

“Goalie, talk to me,” Guru said. “How long to turn?”

“Wait one,” she called, double-checking the navigation. Arnie was on the ball, but she wanted to make sure. “Turn point in fifteen.”

“Call it.”

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

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, coming to a heading of Two-five-zero, and the flight followed suit. He settled onto the new heading, crossing the West side of the lake, and heading southwest. “How far to the next turn?” That was the town of Fairy,

“Thirty miles,” Goalie called back.”Two minutes.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied. Then he checked his EW display. The Mainstay's signal was still there, but it didn't seem as bright as it had been. Maybe the converted Il-76 was in a turn... And no fighter or SAM radars, he was glad to see. He then maintained his visual scanning, keeping an eye out for other threats, such as optically-aimed flak or SAMs, and things such as power lines.

The town of Meridian blew by to the north of their track, and either no one saw them or, as more likely, saw the flight was too far away to be of any concern. State Highway 6 was also visible to the north on occasion, and the crews could see that the road did have quite a bit of military traffic, maybe more than usual. Did that mean they would be a lot busy when they got back? Only one way to find out....

The Texas Hill Country flew by below, and it wasn't long before the ruins that had been the town of Fairy appeared. “Turn coming up,” Goalie advised.

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Call it.”

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

Guru turned right to a heading of Three-three-five, and as he leveled out, he asked, “Time to IP?”

“IP in ninety seconds,” said Goalie. “Twenty-four miles.”

“Roger that.” Then Guru called the AWACS. “Warlock, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The controller's voice came back at once. “Camaro Lead, Warlock. First threat bearing Zero-nine-five for fifty. Medium, going away. Second theat bearing One-five-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-seven-zero for seventy-five. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Warlock. Do you have bogey dope?”

“Camaro, first and second are Floggers. Third and Fourth are Fulcrums,” the controller advised. “Wait one.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Fifth threat now a factor. Threat bearing One-eight-five for ninety. Medium, closing. Fifth threat is Flanker.”

Holy shit, Guru thought to himself. When's the last time he'd heard that? “Roger, Warlock. Two Floggers, two Fulcrums, and one Flanker.”

“Roger, Camaro.”

Su-27s? Several heads perked up in the strike flight at that news. Though the USAF crews (and Dave Golen) knew tangling with a Flanker with their F-4Es was generally not advised, the RAF people had been hoping for at least one hassle with Su-27s before their deployment ended. Could this be the day?

“Flankers?” Goalie asked. “We should pass, thanks very much.”

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Guru said. Back to business, he thought. “Time to IP?”

“Forty-five seconds.”

“Set 'em up,” he said. That meant arming the ordnance and setting the armament switches to release it all in one pass.”

Goalie worked the switches in the back seat. Though Guru had a full set, she did as well, a legacy of the F-4 originally having two rated pilots in the aircraft. “You're set.”

“Flight, Lead. Music on, switches on, and stand by,” Guru called. That meant to turn on their ECM pods and arm weapons.”

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

Then Dave Golen and Flossy broke formation and came up alongside 512. Using hand signals, Dave indicated they were breaking off for their own target. A thumbs-up from Guru gave the go-ahead, and the two F-4s turned to the left.

“Stand by to pull,” Goalie advised. “IP in ten.

Guru called back. “Ready.”

“Steady...and... PULL!”

Guru pulled up, and the rest of the flight followed, with the RAF climbing to assume their TARCAP mission. “Target in sight,” Guru called the Flight. “Let's go.”

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

“One-five and One-six on TARCAP,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson, Dave Gledhill's pilot,, called.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“All set back here,” she said, tightening her shoulder straps.

Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Then let's do it.” He rolled 512 in on the bomb run.


At the Dublin Airport, the Soviet CO was having one of those days. Two weeks earlier, all air operations had been suspended while engineers lengthened the runway, adding an additional five hundred meters to enable MiG-27 and Su-17/22 operations. Though the field had been capable of handling those aircraft, few had ever been around, even on a temporary basis. The Su-25 regiments, however, were frequent users of the field, using it as a Forward Operational Base, along with Mi-24 and -25 attack helicopters and small transports. And that had almost immediately attracted American attention, with strikes being very frequent since the American summer offensive had petered out.

Though the field had been lengthened, the base defenses had not been improved. Though Dublin was the headquarters of the East German 9th Panzer Division, the East Germans had flatly refused to allow the division's air-defense assets to protect the field, though if the East Germans located one of the divisional 2K12 Kub (NATO SA-6) batteries nearby, the SAF Colonel wouldn't complain. Thus, most of the defenses were Soviet-manned 23-mm and 57-mm sites, along with soldiers with Shoulder-fired missiles such as the Strela-2 (SA-7) or Strela-3 (SA-14) as well as heavy machine guns. And the gun sites had been hit repeatedly during strikes on the field.

Today, the field was busy as MiG-27s from the 911th Fighter-bomber Regiment were using the field as a FOB, and that was a first. Usually they just flew out of one of the airports near Waco, but today, air activity had increased. The Colonel wasn't sure, but it probably had something to do with last night's events in Moscow. He went outside and watched as a flight of MiG-27s took off and headed north, with eight others, along with several Su-25s, a pair of Mi-8 helicopters, and an An-26 transport, still on the field. The sight of the AA guns swiveling to the south came next, then he saw the smoke trails in that direction, coming his way. With that amount of smoke, he knew those were F-4s coming in. “AIR ALARM! TAKE COVER!” the Colonel shouted, then he jumped into a slit trench.

“Lead's in!” Guru called as he took 512 down on the bomb run. He saw the flak start to come up, and a warning strobe, with a “6” next to it appear on his EW display. Someone, probably the East Germans, had an SA-6 up and active. “Gainful in the area!” Guru added, referring to the SA-6, then he lined up the north ramp area. Were those MiG-23s or -27s on the ramp? No matter, they weren't going anywhere-except the local junkyard-he thought. Ignoring the flak, which was light, despite the 23-mm and 57-mm batteries shooting, and he knew that those had taken their lumps on previous strikes. He lined up the grounded MiGs in his pipper and concentrated on the run. “Steady... Steady...And... HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, sending his dozen Rockeyes down onto the parked MiGs and the ramp below. He then pulled up, jinking and changing altitude, and as Guru did, he thundered right over the town of Dublin. He waggling his wings to give the civilians down there a morale boost, while at the same time, watching as two SA-7 type missiles flew past his right wing. Once clear of the town, he called, “Lead's off target.”

Not again, the Colonel thought as he saw Guru's F-4 make its run. The big Phantom roared right over, and left quite a few cluster bombs in its wake. The CBU bomblets landed amongst the four parked MiG-27s, and all four-fully loaded with ordnance and fuel, exploded in fireballs, and the CBUs also took a parked Mi-8 with them. Shaking his head, the Colonel knew not to get out of the trench, for he knew American aircraft didn't strike alone. The AA fire picking up only confirmed that, but one of his junior officers pointing south was added confirmation.


“GOOD HITS!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. As she did, another shoulder-fired missile whizzed by their left wing. “And we got secondaries!”

“And some MANPADS,” Guru said. “What kind of secondaries?”

“Good and big,” Goalie replied.

“Fine with me.” Guru then turned northwest, hoping to pick up the Leon River or State Highway 16.


“Two in hot!” Kara called as she took 520 in on her run. She, too, saw the flak coming up, and what looked like an SA-6, but the big missile flew past without guiding. Those ECM pods are worth it, she thought as she saw the CO pull clear, followed by the explosions in the North Ramp as those grounded MiGs went up. She picked out a pair of Su-25s and at least one transport on the South Ramp, and saw two Su-25s taxiing onto the runway. Gutsy move, Ivan, she thought, lining up the grounded Frogfoots in her pipper. And...Steady... Steady.... NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, depositing her dozen Rockeyes onto the ramp area below, before pulling up. She, too, jinked and changed altitude so as not to give the flak or SAM shooters an easy mark on the way out. Like the CO, she flew right over the town, giving the civilians and the East Germans both a little air show, while dodging a pair of SA-7s in the process. “Two off target,” Kara called.

“This isn't happening,” the Colonel said in the trench as he heard Kara's F-4 come in. He glanced up, and saw the Phantom as it was pulling up, and that meant the plane had released its ordnance. Several hundred small detonations, quickly followed by three big ones, meant CBUs, and probably three Su-25s going up. He shook his head, but kept his head down as the AA guns kept shooting. Not just those two, the Colonel knew from experience..

“SHACK!” Brainiac called in 520 as another SA-7 flew down 520's left wing. “We've got secondaries?”

“How many?” Kara asked as she kept jinking, then picked up the CO in the distance.

“Two or three big ones,” said Brainiac.

“I'll have to take those,” Kara said as she found the CO's bird.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. As she did, another SA-6 came up, but this one was either in optical mode or was being jammed. The missile flew harmlessly by as she kept on the bomb run, ignoring the flak coming up. But she did see the Frogfoots, and called, “Frogfoots on the roll!” Sweaty then picked out the hangars and support buildings, and lined up a hangar in her pipper. You'll do, she thought aloud as she got ready. “Steady... And.....NOW!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and six each of Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117Rs came off the racks. She then pulled up, and like Kara and the CO, jinked and changed altitude as she cleared the target. Like both of them, she also thundered over Dublin, waggling her wings to the civilians as she dodged a pair of shoulder-fired missiles. Now where did those Su-25s go, she asked herself.


The SAF base commander winced as he heard, then saw, Sweaty's F-4. It, too, was pulling up, and again, ordnance was incoming. He heard several bomb blasts, then another explosion as something in a hangar went up. Before he could do anything else, one of Sweaty's M-117Rs landed only a couple of meters from the trench. None of those in the trench had any time to scream....

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher called from the back seat.

“Secondaries?” Asked Sweaty as she jinked over Dublin, then rolled even and cleared the town.

“Got a couple,” the ex-seminarian turned WSO said.

“Good enough.” Sweaty then found both Kara, and knew the CO wasn't far ahead.

“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw the explosions and fire left behind by the other strike birds, and smiled beneath his oxygen mask. Hoser, too, had an SA-6 shot come, but not too close, while the flak, though heavy by now, was inaccurate. He lined up the fuel dump in his pipper, and heard his lead's call about the Frogfoots. Both Su-25s took off behind Sweaty, but they didn't try to give chase, instead, turning right after clearing the town. Hoser briefly forgot about them, and concentrated on his bomb run. He found the fuel dump, with fuel trucks, bladders, and fuel drums east of the runway, all covered with camoflauge netting. You're mine, he thought as the target grew larger in his pipper. “And...And...HACK!” He hit the pickle button, sending his dozen bombs down onto the fuel dump. Hoser then pulled up, jinking and changing altitude, and like the others, thundered over the town of Dublin. How do you like that, Franz? Hoser thought as he cleared the target. “Four's off safe.”


In another trench, the Deputy Base Commander was shaking some dust off, along with several others. The Lieutenant Colonel had been under air attack who knew how many times, and yet, each time was different. He had watched the first three aircraft make their runs, then he saw the last one, and knew right away what the target was. Several large fireballs, followed by sympathetic explosions, followed as the fuel depot went up-again. He got up and saw two more F-4s come in, but they didn't bother to attack. Either fighter cover or a reconnaissance run, he thought. Just as the other two F-4s disappeared to the northwest, a harried SAF Major came to him. “The Colonel's dead. A bomb landed next to his trench.”

A promotion I could do without, the Lieutenant Colonel thought. “Understood. Get first-aid parties out to the wounded, and get our crews out. I want the runway checked for debris, and the ramp areas cleared as soon as possible. And inform airborne aircraft that this field is closed until at least 1200.”

“Right away, Comrade Commander!”

“I wish you didn't have to call me that.”


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted.

“How good?” Hoser asked as he saw an SA-7 fly above the aircraft.

“Big, good, and big!”

“Righteous, as Preacher would say,” Hoser grinned, then he set course northwest, picking up his element lead not long after clearing the town.


“Four in and out,” Goalie said in 512.

“Not done yet,” Guru reminded her. They had to get back across the FEBA. “One-five and One-six, get down and clear.”

“Roger, Lead,” Jackson replied as the two RAF F-4Js thundered over Dublin, then got back down low and picked up the rest of the strike flight. They had seen the two Frogfoots take off and turn northeast, towards Stephenville, but had stayed with their TARCAP mission.

Guru then did a quick glance to the right, and found Kara's 520 right with him in combat spread. They exchanged thumbs-ups, then he called Sweaty. “Three, you there?”

“Right behind you, Boss, and Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called back.

“Camaro Lead, Chevy Lead,” Dave Golen called. “Mind if we tag along with you guys?”

“Roger, Chevy,” replied Guru. “Come on in.”

Dave and Flossy then came in, and joined up again, tucking in right behind Sweaty and Hoser.

“That's everybody,” Goalie said.

“Now we fly for ourselves,” Guru reminded her. “How far to the river?” Meaning the Leon River just west of Highway 16.

“Forty-five seconds,” Goalie said. She then picked up her visual scanning.

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Warlock, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

“Camaro Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS controller called back. “First threats bearing Two-seven zero for thirty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing Two-two-five for forty-five. Medium, Closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away.” A pause, then one more call. “Fourth threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that, Warlock,” called Guru. “Do you have bogey dope?”

“Affirm, Camaro,” said the controller. “First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Fulcrums, and fourth are Flankers.”

“Flankers again?” Goalie asked. “They cared enough to send their Very Best.”

“Not close enough,” Guru said. “Those Blue Bandits are the closest.” He meant the MiG-21s.

Then came another call. “Rustler Flight engaging,” a female voice said on the frequency. That had been an F-15 flight in the past. “Tally four Blue Bandits.”

“If those F-15s get those -21s...” Goalie said.

“Here's hoping,” said Guru.

Rustler Flight's four F-15Cs found four East German MiG-21s closing on the F-4s. The MiG pilots, hoping to find the Americans who had hit Dublin Airport, suddenly found themselves fighting for their lives as Sparrow missiles came in. Two MiGs fell to AIM-7s, then the Eagles and Fishbeds mixed it up. One MiG fell to a Sidewinder, while the fourth got down low, and used multiple Doppler Breaks to get away. But the F-15s had done their job, and cleared the way out for the strike flight.

“Lead, Starbuck,” Kara called. “Those Eagles stole those MiGs!” She had been anticipating a fight with the MiG-21s, as they were the closest threats.

Guru chuckled beneath his oxygen mask. He was hoping to get tied with Kara, and her desire to be the first USAF female double ace was well known. “Maybe next time,” he said cheerfully.

“Maybe,” Kara muttered to herself, but not on the radio.

“It'll come,” Brainiac reassured her from 520's back seat.

“I know, all good things...” Kara said. She was still pissed, though.

State Highway 16 appeared, and the strike flight overflew it. The road was the boundary between the East German sector and the Soviet 32nd Army to the west, but at the moment, was clear of military traffic. A few more seconds, and the Leon River appeared. They turned north, headed for the I-20.

On Guru's EW, the Mainstay radar signal dropped off, but an I-HAWK to the east came up, and another to the west, and he called, “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.”

“Someone has GOT to do something about those Mainstays,” Goalie said. Every mission they had Mainstay radar picking them up. If somebody could take them out, the Soviets and their lackeys would have to depend on ground radars-something the Weasels took out with regularity. But some of the radars would be repaired, and the cycle repeated.

“You are preaching to the choir, girl,” said Guru. He had also expressed a desire to have those offending Mainstays taken out. So far, no one, other than a lucky F-14 crew with a Phoenix shot, had succeeded.

Camaro and Chevy Flights joined up at the tankers, and the RAF crews were pleased to drink from their own Tristar tanker. Then they headed back to Sheppard.

When the flights got back to Sheppard, they were second and third in the landing pattern respectively. An inbound C-130 was first, then it was their turn. After touchdown, and taxiing clear of the runway, the crews popped their canopies, as usual. Those watching from the flight line were disappointed to see no fighters held up to signal MiG kills, but the day was still young.

The flights found the squadron's dispersal, then they taxied into their individual revetments. When Guru found 512's, he followed Sergeant Crowley's signals and taxied in. After shutting down, and going over the post-flight checklist, he looked around. No ordnance guys waiting with carts already loaded with bombs or CBUs. No CAS. Not yet. “One and done,” the CO said, standing up in the cockpit and taking his helmet off as the ground crew brought the crew ladders.

Goalie did the same, then said as they shook hands, “The day's still young.”

“It is that,” Guru nodded

After dismounting the aircraft, the two did a post-flight walk-around, then Sergeant Crowley was waiting, as usual. Instead of bottled water, he had two cups of hot coffee. “Major, Captain?” Crowley asked. “How'd it go?”

“Tore up Dublin airfield,” Guru said after downing some coffee. “Again.”

“Again.” Goalie repeated for emphasis.

“Well, Major, when we go south...” Crowley said.

“Yeah,” Guru said, finishing the coffee. “Spring, sometime.” Then he nodded. “Five-twelve's still truckin' like a champ. No problems or issues, Sarge, so let's get her fueled and ready for the next one.”

Crowley beamed at that. “You got it, Major! All right people! You heard the CO! Let's get this bird ready for another crack at Ivan!”

As the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie walked to the revetment and put on their SEA Bush Hats, They found Kara and Brainiac already there. “Well?”

“Got some Frogfoots,” Kara said. “And you got some MiGs-either -23s or -27s. But who invited those F-15s?”

Guru could tell she was a little upset. It had been a while since they had been in a fight with MiGs, and he wanted another hassle, just as much as she did. “That's their job,” he reminded his rambuctious wingmate. “But if AWACS had called, say, 'Fifteen miles?' I would've called the Break and then Fight's on.”

“Can't get them all,” Sweaty said as she came up. “Boss, got the hangars, but I'll bet any amount of money they've got the wood and sheet metal either there or on the way. Tomorrow, latest, they'll be back in business.”

“Same for the fuel dump,” Hoser added. “It went sky-high, but...” Nothing more needed to be said. That field would be back in business in a day, two at the most once the fuel arrived from the refineries on the coast-and Ivan had put a lot of effort to getting them back operational.

“When we move south?” Guru replied. “Different story.”

“When's that?” Sweaty asked as Dave Golen and Flossy came up.

“May-June, sometime,” said the CO. “That'd be my guess.” He turned to the new arrivals.”How'd it go with you guys?”

“Tore up what we had to tear up,” Dave Golen replied. “Too bad about those F-15s.” He, too, had been hoping for a fight with some MiGs, and the -21 couldn't outfight an F-4 down low. If those East Germans had been hoping for a fight on their terms, they would've found otherwise.

“Anyone see those Frogfoots?” Sweaty asked as the RAF foursome arrived.

“We did,” Dave Gledhill said. “They went northeast, towards Stephenville. If they had doubled back...”

Paul Jackson added, “Fight's on.”

“It would've,” Guru agreed. “Okay, let's debrief and make Sin and the Intel Shop happy. Then check your desks for paperwork, get some kind of snack inside you, because in an hour or an a hour and a half, we're back at it.”

“And if Ivan pushes north?” Hoser asked. “That means we get the CAS call.”

Guru winced at that. They'd had way too many CAS runs to suit them, but it was part of their tasking. Especially if the CAS guys in the A-4s, A-7s, and A-10s were busy.... “Then hope the CAS folks are ready and waiting.”

“Here's hoping,” Kara said. She, too, loathed CAS runs. Even though they were helping the guys and girls on the ground, they were low enough to get shot at by anyone with an AK on up.

“To be wished for,” Guru said firmly. “Okay, let's go make Sin happy, then we're going back out before too long.”

[Poohbah]

Somewhere at a Soviet HQ, Lieutenant Colonel Susan Ivanova is giving the intelligence brief:

"Boom today. Boom tomorrow. Boom Tuesday. Boom Wednesday . . . "

[Matt Wiser]

If there is such an Ivanova, she's KGB. The GRU was pretty chauvinistic for the most part.

[jemhouston]

If there is such an Ivanova, she's KGB. The GRU was pretty chauvinistic for the most part.

Which is a crying shame. KGB rates Hell fire.

[Wolfman]

Somewhere at a Soviet HQ, Lieutenant Colonel Susan Ivanova is giving the intelligence brief:

"Boom today. Boom tomorrow. Boom Tuesday. Boom Wednesday . . . "

[Matt Wiser]

After a longer-than-intended sabbatical, here's the next chapter:


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1145 Hours Central War Time:



In the CO's office, Guru was at his desk, working on some squadron paperwork. His flight had flown their second mission of the day, hitting a supply dump in the rear of the Soviet 32nd Army near Comanche, and as they came out, noticed a lot of activity on the roads. Ivan was on the move, and yet, when the flight returned to Sheppard, there had been no call for CAS as yet. So his flight, and the others, were being turned around as per the ATO. For which, the CO thought, everyone was grateful. For now, at any rate.

A knock on the door got his attention. “Yeah, show yourself and come on in!”

The Ops Officer and Dave Golen came in, both with worried expressions on their faces. “Boss,” Capt. Don Van Loan said. “We got a problem. Dave's GIB is in Medical right now.”

Guru stood up. “What?”

Dave Golen said, “We finished the debrief with Sin, and all of a sudden, Terry just keeled over.” 1st. Lt Terry McAuliffe was Dave's backseater. “Doc's with him, and he thinks it's appendicitis.”

“Terry going under the knife?” The CO asked.

“ASAP if not sooner,” Van Loan replied. It went without saying that McAuliffe would be grounded for a while.

Guru nodded, then he asked, “Any ideas for a GIB?”

“Oz is back from R&R,” Van Loan replied. He was referring to now-Capt. Brendan “Oz” Slater.

The CO thought for a moment, then nodded at Dave. “You two flew together over the Summer, right?”

Golen nodded. “Before I started flying full-time,” the IDF Major said.

“Two of you got along fine, right?” Guru asked.

“I'd fly with him anytime, anywhere,” Golen replied.

“Good, because he's now your GIB,” the CO said. “Don, find Oz and tell him he's back in the saddle sooner than he thought. Dave? You two get together over lunch and talk things over. He's yours until Doc clears Terry to come back, and that might be a week or two.”

“Understood,” Golen said, and Van Loan nodded.


“Okay, Don, let Mark know,” Guru said, referring to the Exec. “And Goalie, if she doesn't know already.” Guru's backseater was also the squadron's Senior WSO. “Have Doc keep me posted on the surgery. And find out from Doc the following: One, how it went; two, how soon Terry can have visitors; and three? How soon until he's back in the air.”

“Will do,” said the Ops Officer.

“And find out if we're on the ATO or doing CAS later,” Guru said. Everyone in the squadron loathed CAS runs. Not because they didn't want to help the guys and girls on the ground when they needed it, but because they attracted the attention of anyone and everyone with a gun or missile launcher. Both hostile, and on occasion, friendly.

“I'll be on it.”

“Okay,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Both heads shook no. “All right, you guys have a good lunch.”

Both nodded, then turned to leave just as Goalie appeared with a drink container in one hand and a plastic bag filled with food boxes in another. “Looks like you two will,” Van Loan said.

“That we will.”

After Van Loan and Golen left, Goalie closed the door. “Got some chicken burgers, fries, and pink lemonade,” she said. “And I've got some news you won't like. It's about Terry.”

“Don Van Loan and Dave Golen beat you to it,” Guru said. “Who told you?”

“Doc.”

“Okay, that settles that,” Guru said. “Doc will let us know when he's out of surgery, and when Terry's in good enough shape to have visitors.”

Goalie smiled. “He'll be glad to have some company.”

“That he will, and I'll get in touch with Tenth AF,” the CO nodded. “See if we can't get a couple more crews.”

“Always a good idea,” Goalie noted.

“Yeah. Enough talk: let's eat.”


Over lunch, they discussed squadron-related matters, including the two strikes they had flown that morning. The issue of aircrew then came up.

“We need more bodies, simple as that,” Guru noted. “I'll put in a request for two full crews to Tenth AF.”

Goalie nodded. “The crews are there,” she noted. “Whether newbies or people requalifying after some time on the shelf, they ought to find two or more crews to send here.” Though she didn't say that Guru wasn't alone in screaming for more bodies to fill cockpits.

“They should,” Guru said. And General Tanner at Tenth AF had made sure his personnel office was responsive to the requests from the squadrons for more people. Especially replacements for aircrew KIA, WIA, or MIA. “Too bad about Oz having to get back in the saddle barely a couple of hours after getting back, but no choice.”

“If he squawks, I'll remind him of that,” Goalie said. “Though I don't blame him if he does.”

Guru nodded himself. If that had ever happened to him before he got the squadron, he'd be right pissed in his own right. Though Colonel Rivers-rest his soul-would have told him to suck it up, gear up, and get on with the show. And I don't blame him either if he is pissed, the CO thought to himself. “Changing the subject, did you notice we haven't been as busy as we thought we'd be after last night?”

“That has occurred to me,” said Goalie. “You did see all that armor on the roads as we headed north from the last one.”

“Yeah, and I'll bet every crew who went down to that area”-he meant the Soviet 32nd Army's sector-”said the same thing.” Guru said. “Ivan's up to something, and I'll be damned if I know what.” Then came a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!” It opened,and Erica came in, dressed in a women's business suit, slacks, and shirt.

“Major, Goalie,” she nodded. “Taking a little break?”

Both nodded. “You could say that,” Guru said. “All set for your rally, I see.”

“I am, and underneath this shirt? I've got some body armor, and a little holster for my .45,”

Just then Ranger Cordell Walker came in. “Major,” he nodded. “You ready, Erica?”

“Just about,” Erica said.

“Ranger, if you don't mind my asking this, but there going to be enough security?” Guru asked.
“With that price on her head-”

“Way ahead of you there, Major,” Walker replied. “Major Barzanian's special-ops people are there already, working with Chief Sisco.” He was referring to MSGT Karen Sisco, who was a Deputy U.S. Marshal in civilian life-hence the rank the AF had given her when she joined. “There's an Army MP presence, and some Resistance people. Though I'm worried about the audience.”

Goalie looked at him straight on. “Why's that?”

“Because a lot of them are going to be armed in of themselves. It's not just 'happy fire', we have to worry about. I'm worried about a blue-on-blue.”

Erica looked at the Ranger. “What's that?”

“Friendly fire,” Guru said. He recognized the term at once. “When your own people shoot at you,” he explained. “And we've had Army types shoot at us with small-arms fire and machine guns more than once.”

“No SAMs?” Walker asked. He'd been around the Sheppard O-Club enough to figure out how fighter pilots talked and felt.

“Not yet,” Goalie said. “Though the I-HAWK site at the I-20 Brazos River bridges has that reputation for shooting first and asking questions later.”

Guru added, “And that still shows one thing: friendly fire isn't.”

Another knock on the door came, then Kara stuck her head in the door. “Boss, we got a call. Drop everything in the ATO, and get our asses down south. Russians, Cubans, East Germans all moving. It'll be just the first few days of PRAIRIE FIRE.”

“What happened then?” Erica asked. She had gotten back to Calumet not long after that operation went full bore.

“First three days?” Guru said. “We flew six or seven missions a day. Where we going, Kara?”
She read off some coordinates, and Guru checked a TPC chart he kept in his desk. Then he looked up at everyone. “Soviet 32nd Army sector. At least for this one.”

Walker knew the Soviets, for 32nd Army had been just west of Wichita Falls before the liberation. “They're good.”

“They are, and we've flown strikes there quite a few times,” Guru said. “Kara, grab whoever's available from our flight and the two of you round everybody up.”

“We're getting Dave Golen and Flossy, and Dave Gledhill's people,” replied his wingmate.

“Good. Have everybody geared up and at 512's revetment in fifteen, and not a second later.”

Kara nodded. “On it and on my way,” she said, then took off.

“Ranger, Erica?” Guru said. “Looks like we're going to be more than a little busy.”

Walker put out his hand. “Good luck, Major,” he said. “Looks like you may need it.”

“Likewise for you two,” Guru replied, shaking the Ranger's hand. “You two have somewhere to be.”

As they turned to leave, Erica said, “Major, Goalie? You two be careful.”

“Always,” Guru said. “Even if we have to come back by rescue helo.”

After the two left, Goalie looked at her pilot and lover. “Game time again.”

“Yeah, 'Once more unto the breach, dear friends',” Guru spat. “Only let's leave out the 'Close up the walls with our glorious dead'A shit.”

Goalie nodded. “And we've got somewhere to be and bad guys to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“We do,” Guru said as he grabbed his bush hat. “Let's gear up.”


After the trip to the respective locker rooms, both Guru and Goalie came out, fully geared up and ready to fly, with G-suits, survival vests, harnesses, and holsters with weapons, and flight helmets in hand. As they headed out, Guru told the SDO to find Chief Ross and have him get some drinks and snacks ready outside the squadron office, for having something to eat and drink in between sorties was a good thing. Then they went out to the dispersal area, and found the members of their flight waiting, with the RAF, along with Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs.

Before going over things, Guru went to Oz. “Sorry about getting you back in the saddle just off the C-130..” the CO said.

“Major,” the half-Aussie/half American replied. “They said there'd be days like this.”

“Same here,” Guru said. “Dave? You two did good over the summer. The two of you talk over lunch?”

“We did,” Dave Golen nodded.

The CO did the same, then said, “Okay, people, we're likely at this until sunset. Think PRAIRIE FIRE, Day One, in terms of the op tempo. Kara? Frag Order?” She handed it to him. “Okay...We're still Chevy Flight, and the threat is Regimental on up to Army.”

“Just our luck,” Sweaty muttered.

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “Air-to-air is both fixed-wing and helo,” he went on, reading from the sheet. “We check in with AWACS, then they pass us to an ABCCC EC-130, then we go from there.”

“So no specific sector?” Hoser asked.

“The guys on the EC-130 will tell us,” said Guru. He then looked at 512 and saw the air-to-ground ordnance loadout. Six Mark-82s under the wings and six M-117s-all Snakeyes-in addition to the ECM pod and the usual four Sidewinders and two Sparrow-Fs. “Dave?” He turned to Golen. “What are you guys carrying?”

“Besides the air-to-air? A dozen CBU-59s with the incendiary submunitions.” Golen replied. “Our brief was originally for a truck park.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, just do the best you can. Hopefully, we'll get something that calls for those,” he said. “Dave Gledhill? You guys go in ahead of us and kill anything with a Red Star on the fuselage, whether fixed-wing or helo. And break up any party-crashers.”

The RAF Squadron Leader grinned. A chance to get one or two more and tie the Wild Thing?And for Karen McKay to go ahead of her? “Will do.”

“All right, anything else?”

“How many more today, Boss?” Preacher asked.

Guru shook his head. “They didn't say, but expect at least two more, maybe three.” Heads nodded at that. Nothing new, and they had all done it before. “Okay, we've got somewhere to be and bad guys to take care of. Let's hit it.” The CO clapped his hands for emphasis.

As the crews headed to their aircraft, Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, where the Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, was waiting as the ground crew finished up. “Major, Captain?” He said as he snapped a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to go.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said as he returned the salute, then he and Goalie did a quick preflight walk-around. Once that was done, they climbed up the crew ladder and mounted the aircraft, and both the Crew Chief and the Assistant-a Senior Airman who looked as if he had just gotten out of high school-helped the pilot and GIB get strapped in. After putting on their helmets, both went through the preflight checklist.

“Arnie?” Guru asked, referring to the ARN-101 DMAS Nav system.

“Arnie's set, and so is the backup INS,” Goalie replied. “PRAIRIE FIRE all over again, looks like.”

“At least it's just half a day,” Guru said. “For now.”

“Yeah,” Goalie said. “There's always tomorrow.” She went down the list. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, check yours.”

“Set. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

Guru gave a thumbs-up, then Crowley gave him the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the warm-up was completed, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Chevy Lead with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A controller came right back. “Chevy Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Chevy Lead rolling.” Guru gave the “Chocks” signal, and Crowley waved that to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the tires. Then the Crew Chief gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes and taxied out of the revetment. As 512 cleared it, Crowley, as usual, snapped a salute, which both pilot and GIB returned.

As 512 taxied, the rest of the flight fell in, and they taxied to Runway 35L. When they got to the Holding Area, two Marine F-4 flights-both from VMFA-333, were ahead of them. First one, then the second flight, had their weapon safeties removed, before taxiing onto the runway, then launching. After that, Chevy Flight did the same. Once the arming pins were removed, the ordnance was now live.

Guru made another call. “Tower, Chevy Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Chevy Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi to takeoff. Winds are Two-seven-zero for ten.”

“Roger, Tower. Chevy Lead taxiing.” Guru and Kara then taxied onto the runway. A final check, then he made the next call. “Tower, Chevy Flight requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, there was no reply from the Tower. Instead, a green light flashed. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down.” Guru said, closing and locking his canopy. Goalie did the same, and a quick look at 520 saw Kara and Brainiac doing the same. They exchanged thumbs-ups. Then it was time.

“Ready back there?” Guru called Goalie on the IC.

“Ready,” she called back,tightening her shoulder straps as she did.

“Then we have someplace to be.” Guru said. He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, then both 512 and 520 rumbled down the runway and then into the air. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, then Dave and Flossy's, with the RAF following. The flight formed at FL 100, then headed south.

[Poohbah]

Very impolite of Ivan to not send an RSVP.

[jemhouston]

Very impolite of Ivan to not send an RSVP.

The last RSVP they send an artillery salvo for two hours.

[Wolfman]

Very impolite of Ivan to not send an RSVP.

The last RSVP they send an artillery salvo for two hours.

Not to mention the SCUDs…