Wolverine and Chiefs

[Matt Wiser]

Before we were so rudely interrupted... Erica Mason's visit to Sheppard and the 335th:




Wolverine and Chiefs


335th Tactical Fighter Squadron HQ, Sheppard AFB, TX: 12 February, 1988; 0920 Hours Central War Time



Major Matt Wiser, the CO of the 335th TFS, sat behind his desk. In-between missions, the never-ending cycle of paperwork never stopped. And overnight, what remained the elves never touched, for it would be there the next morning. Shaking his head at the AF bureaucracy, he attacked some of the papers, sending some into his OUT basket and deciding that others were that his XO could handle and sign “For the Commanding Officer,” and that would be that. Give me a couple of combat missions any time, instead of dealing with the armchair warriors, the CO thought.

Such thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

His XO, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss, this just arrived.” He handed the CO a fax from Tenth Air Force. “We're getting a VIP around lunchtime, and this person's going to be around for a couple of days.

“Let me guess,” Major Wiser said. “Some Hollywood type who's rediscovered being pro-military, some Senator or Congress-Critter from Philly, or a sports star who's too well-known to be on the front lines?”

“Negative on all counts,” the XO replied. “Hear the name Erica Mason?”

“Who hasn't?” Asked the CO.

The subject of their conversation was one of two survivors from the Wolverines Guerillas in Colorado. She had been a Senior in High School when the war began, and after a very unpleasant experience with some Russian Paratroopers on Day One, had fled to her grandparents' ranch with her sister-who had shared that experience. They had joined up with the Eckert brothers, before accidentally getting involved with some Russians, then becoming guerrillas. Five months of guerrilla warfare had the group inflicting some serious hurt on the Soviets and their Cuban and Nicaraguan lackeys, before they were ground down. She and one other survivor had fled to the Free Zone, while the two brothers had gone into Calumet-and had never been seen again. After some recovery time, and debriefing, she had gotten her high-school diploma before the Army called. Now, she was an SF instructor, but war bond tours and PR rallies also took up some of her time.

“Heard a lot about her, and she's done some interviews: Time, Newsweek, Larry King on CNN, you name it,” the CO went on. “And the SERE Bulletin.”

“Same here,” Ellis said. “She's coming here for a couple days, and will be on base. If she wants an orientation ride in a fighter, she's cleared for that already.” The XO looked at the Major. “If she wants a ride, who gives it to her?”

The CO pointed to himself. “Me. I'm the only one on this base who's gone through something similar to hers, and if there's any ice to be broken? I should be the one to do it.”

“Got you,” The XO said. “Oh, she's also to be made available to our 'attached' news media.'” That meant Jana Wendt and her crew from 9 News Australia and CBS.

The CO got up from his desk and went to his office window. Nodding, he said, “Let Patti Brown know, and she can tell Ms. Wendt.” First Lieutenant Patti Brown was the squadron's PAO when not flying.

“Done,” the XO said, just as there was a knock on the office door.

“Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!” The CO turned towards the door.

Capt. Lisa Eichhorn, call sign Goalie, came in. “Boss, and XO,” she said. She was Major Wiser's WSO, and not only that, his girlfriend. A combination that, in the prewar USAF, would've been unheard of. “Guru,” she said. “We've got a mission.”

The CO nodded. “Guru” was his call sign. “When?”

“Ops has the briefing packet ready,” she replied.

“Who's coming?”

“Just us, and the RAF,” Goalie said. “Dave Golen and Flossy have their own.”

Guru nodded. “All right, round everybody up. Briefing Room in fifteen.”

“On it, and I'm gone.” Goalie then headed out.

“Mark?” Guru asked the Exec. “If I'm out when Ms. Mason arrives? Tell her I'm a little busy. As in making Russians, Cubans, East Germans, and/or Libyans burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“Or shooting them out of the sky.”

“Either one will be graded as correct,” the CO said. “See you in a while.”

“Have a good one, Boss.”

“You, too.”


The CO left the office and headed over to Ops. There, the Operations Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, was waiting, though he was ready to brief his own flight, as he had his own mission. “Don,” Guru said. “What have you got for me?”

Van Loan handed him a packet. “Here you go. Hamilton Airport and suspected missile storage.”

“Two targets!?” Guru was livid. He was taking a four-ship, but now... “You are shitting me.”

“Afraid not,” the Ops Officer replied. “The airport-which is an Su-25 FOL by the way, is the main target, but, there's a missile storage area just west of the airport. No idea if it's a SAM storage, Scuds, or...”

“Or it's the ordnance storage for the FOL,” Guru finished. “I take it the ordnance load is listed in the mission order?”

“It is. Birds are prepped and ready.”

The CO scanned the mission order. There was a caveat. If the missile storage was not present, all ordnance was to go onto the airport. “This does give me a couple of options.” He looked up. “Okay, Don. You have a good one yourself. And come back. The last thing we need is Kara taking over Ops.”

“Same to you. If you don't come back. I'm Exec, and Kara's Ops. And that goes if Mark doesn't come back.”

“Then let's avoid that, shall we?” Guru said. “See you in a while.” Van Loan nodded, then the CO headed for the former classroom that his flight used as a briefing room. He came in to find the rest of his flight, and the squadron's mascot there. And Buddy, the Squadron Mascot, was already curled up, asleep. “You all ready for the Second Quarter?”

“Where we headed to this time?” Capt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard asked. She led the second element in the CO's flight.

The CO pulled out both a TPC chart and a JOG chart from the mission packet. “Hamilton. The airport, to be specific. Not just an Su-25 FOL, but there's a suspected missile storage facility there.”

Kara looked at Guru. “And we get to make both of them go away.” It wasn't a question.

RAF Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill, who led the detachment from 74 Squadron flying with MAG-11, said, “This is where we lost Ian and Michael when we first got here.”

Gledhill was referring to a strike where the RAF had lost a plane and crew on their first day of combat in Texas. Gledhill had not been on that one, but Flight Lt. Karen McKay had, and coming back without her wingman was not a happy feeling. Flight Lts. Ian Black and Michael Barker had been seen to eject, their chutes coming down, but with Russian APCs and infantry closing in on them. Since then, there had been no information at all, and the two were still listed as MIAs.

“It is that,” Guru said. He had been leading that strike. “That was then. This is now. We hit Tanker Track CHEVRON, north of Mineral Wells, then we get down low and follow the Brazos all the way down to Lake Whitney. A mile short of the dam, we turn southwest and keep going. Then we cross Route 36, and stay on that course until Evant, which is the U.S. 84/281 intersection. Turn north, and thirty seconds later-eight miles-there's a bridge over a river. The maps list it as a creek, but it's really a river.”

1st Lt. Nathan “Hoser” West, Sweaty's wingman, asked, “Same pop-up point as last time we were there?”

“Don't have my old mission notes handy, but I think you're right,” Guru said. “Climb and get eyeballs on target. Make your runs, and then get your asses to the northwest. Head for Proctor Lake and State Route 16. That's the boundary between the East Germans and Soviet 32nd Army, and they haven't done much to improve the defenses there, so fly along the highway until you reach the I-20.”

“What's the bad guys like?” Kara asked.

“There's still a Regimental-sized force located around the town, so that means Regimental-level air defense. These guys do have ZSU-30-2s, and that's what burned the RAF the last time,” the CO said. “The airport and missile storage has ZU-23s and 57-mm for the former, and the latter has 37-mm.”

“MiGs?” Kara went on. She was still looking for her tenth kill and that elusive title of double ace.

“MiG-23s and -29s at San Angelo Regional and Goodfellow, and at Gray AAF. Brownwood Regional still has MiG-21s and -23s, and the former at Brownwood are East German.”

Ears perked up at that. “Still?” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson asked. He was Dave Gledhill's pilot.

“Still,” Guru replied. “There's still -23s at Temple Regional, and our friends at Bergstrom have Flankers. Two Regiments, if you'll recall.”

Hearing that, Flight Lt. Susan Napier, who was Jackson and Gledhill's wingmate, said, “We missed out on BOLO II, because the Flankers didn't come. Maybe this time...”

“Be careful of what you wish for, because you might just regret it,” Goalie reminded them. “And TSTC?” They had hit that field on BOLO II.

“The two MiG regiments there are still listed. Or more correctly, what's left of 'em,” Guru replied after checking the intel summary that came with the brief. “One each Fishbed and Flogger.” That meant MiG-21s and -23s.

Heads nodded at that. “So who takes what?” Sweaty asked.

Guru tapped an SR-71 photo showing the field-which had been repeatedly hit, repaired, then struck again. “Kara, you and I have Rockeye CBUs. I'll take the North Ramp, and you take the South.”

“Got it,” Kara said.

“Sweaty?” Guru said to his second element lead. “If the missile storage is empty? You take the runway. Hoser gets the fuel dump if that's the case. You both have Mark-82s and M-117s.”

“Understood,” Sweaty nodded.

“Dave? You guys kill anyone on CAP, and break up any party-crashers.”

“Will do,” said Gledhill with a grin. It had been a while since their last scrap with MiGs....

“Other than that,” the CO went on, everybody has two AIM-7Fs, four AIM-9Ps, an ALQ-119 pod, full 20-mm load, and two wing tanks.”

“And for us?” Dave Gledhill added. “Four Sky Flash, four AIM-9L, a SUU-23 gun pod and wing tanks.”

“Bailout areas?” Napier asked.

“Simple: anyplace rural and away from roads. Remember: Ninety-nine percent of the folks there will either help you themselves or will get you to someone who will. And the Jollys have done well down there, especially at night,” said Guru.

“Let's hope we don't need to use their services,” Gledhill added.

“Agreed,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

“How many more today?” 1st Lt. Kathy “KT” Thornton, Hoser's GIB, asked.

“Two more, unless somebody hollers for CAS, then it's all-out until dark.”

Everybody winced, because CAS was the last thing anyone wanted. “Had to ask.”

“Don't blame you,” said the CO as an Ops NCO arrived to collect the briefing materials. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Goalie said. “Buddy's still asleep.” If the dog had slept through a brief, the crews could expect an easy ride. If he woke up, or simply stayed awake during the brief, though? It could be a bear.

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

The crews went to the locker rooms to gear up, and as Guru came out of the Men's, wearing G-Suit, Survival Vest, and harness, and with helmet in hand, Goalie was waiting outside. She was similarly attired, and asked, “You ready?”

“To earn some flight pay? Yep. But there's something coming,” Guru said. As they went outside, he told her who was expected later in the day.

Goalie was a bit surprised. “Whose bright idea was it to send her here? She might not have good feelings towards the Air Force.”

“I know, compared to what she went through, we had it easy: fly our missions, come back, and it's five-star accommodations. At least, it was until I went down that January,” Guru said, recalling the early days when the 335th had flown out of Williams AFB in Arizona and had taken up quarters at the nearby Mesa Sheraton.

The two went outside, and it was still a bit chilly, and both were dressed for it. Long underwear, a sweater, then a cold-weather flight suit. “And you had your own time on the ground,” Goalie noted, recalling the stories Guru had told about his shootdown and Resistance time.

“Yep, and I'm the only one on this base with that much, well, 'camping', time.” A favorite saying among aircrew who had been with the Resistance while on the ground was “Gone Camping.” Guru went on. “And if she wants a backseat ride like Ms. Wendt? I'm giving her one.”

“Good idea,” Goalie said as they got to 512's revetment.

“Okay, folks,” Guru said, getting back to business and giving his final instructions. “Usual on the radio.”

“Call signs between us and mission code to other interested parties,” Kara nodded. It wasn't a question.

“You got it. Now, nothing down there is worth getting killed for. So if you can't ID the target-”

“Fat chance of that,” Hoser said.

“I know, but that's in the frag order. If you can't ID the target, hold onto your ordnance. We'll be in an Army Rear Area, so there's opportunity targets galore. As for mission code? We're still Camaro Flight. Anything else?”

“Two more after this one?” Sweaty asked. “Unless somebody's screaming for CAS.”

Guru nodded. “Now you said it, I didn't. That it?” Heads shook no. “All right. We meet up at Ten Grand overhead. Let's go. Time to hit it.” Guru clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and their mount, 512. If ground kills could be counted, there'd be Red Stars galore on the bird after BOLO II, both of them felt. But... The Crew Chief, Tech Sergeant Mike Crowley, was waiting. “Sarge,” Guru said.

“Major, Captain,” Crowley said, snapping a salute as the ground crew had finished their tasks. “Five-twelve's all set to go.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said as he and Goalie returned the salute. They did their preflight walk-around, then Guru checked the paperwork before signing for the aircraft. The CC and Assistant CC then helped as Guru and Goalie mounted the aircraft and got settled into their seats. After putting on their helmets and plugging in their radio and oxygen, they went through the cockpit preflight checklist. It wasn't long until they came to the last item.

“Ejection seats?” Goalie asked.

“Armed top and bottom,” replied Guru. “Check yours.”

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

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

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

“Roger, Tower,” Guru called back. “Camaro Lead rolling.” He then gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who waved to a ground crewman. The chocks were pulled away, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru taxied out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, Crowley snapped a salute, which Guru and Goalie returned.

Five-twelve led the four AF and two RAF Phantoms on the taxiway, and as they approached the Holding Area, a four-ship of Marine F-4s was ahead of them as another flight, this one of Marine Hornets, came in and landed. The Marines then taxied for takeoff, as Guru taxied into the Holding Area.

There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, and after the four Marine F-4s launched, it was their turn. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-seven for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520, joining up on his right, in the Five O'clock position. A final check, and all was ready. He glanced over at Kara and Brainiac, who gave a thumbs-up. All set. Guru and Goalie returned them, 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.

“Ready back here. We've got someplace to be and Russians to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“That we do,” Guru said. “Canopy coming down.” He closed and locked his canopy, and Goalie did the same. A quick glance showed 520's canopies were down. “Here we go.” Guru firewalled the throttles, then released the brakes. Five-twelve rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, then the two RAF F-4Js. The flight formed up at FL 100, then headed south for the tankers.



Over Central Texas: 1020 Hours Central War Time:



Camaro Flight was headed south, just east of, and parallel to, the Brazos River. They were in the AO for the Nicaraguan II Corps, and the Nicaraguan soldiers had the same attitude the Italians had in the 1942-43 time period in WW II: namely, don't shoot at passing aircraft unless you were either being attacked or were about to be attacked. Unknown to the crews in the strike flight-and many other aircrew, tensions between the East Germans to the west of the river, who did shoot, and the Nicaraguans, were rising as a result, for strike aircraft targeting the East Germans often used Nicaraguan-controlled territory to either igress or egress after hitting targets in the East German sector.

That would be news to the strike crews, later on, but for now, they were concentrating on the matter at hand. The tanker rendezvous had gone off like clockwork, and after crossing the I-20 and the FLOT, they were now in enemy territory. The flight was going just past Lake Granbury as the U.S. 377 Bridge came up.

“Granbury at One,” Guru called.

“And there's the bridge,” Goalie added. “And the flak.”

As usual, the East German flak gunners on the west side of the river opened up with 23-mm and 37-mm fire, but the strike birds were too fast. As they crossed U.S. 377, the crews noticed there was no traffic. Not this time...

“No traffic on the bridge,” Guru said as they blew by.

“Nada,” Goalie added. She was checking the navigation via the ARN-101, or “Arnie” DMAS, and the old-fashioned way, with a map and stopwatch. “One minute to Glen Rose.” That was the U.S. 67 Bridge.

“Copy,” Guru replied as they kept on course. He glanced at his EW display. So far, so good, and the display was blank. “Nothing on EW.”

Goalie's reply was direct and to the point. “Yet.” That little caveat was always in play.

The Lake Granbury Dam came up, and as usual, the East German gunners opened up, while the Nicaraguans stayed silent. “East Germans on the ball,” Guru observed as the flight blew past the dam. The 23-mm and 37-mm fire was intense, but the strike birds were too low and too fast to be visually tracked. If the Reds moved in a battery of 57-mm with radar guidance, then things would be...sticky.

“As usual,” Goalie said as the SEARCH warning came up on their EW displays, and a strobe appeared. “Want to bet that's a Mainstay?”

Beneath his oxygen mask, Guru winced. Why couldn't somebody make those damned things go away? The Navy had splashed one, but the remaining Mainstays were still a pain in the ass. “No bet.” Then he called the AWACS over Central Oklahoma. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

A controller got back to him right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Zero-nine-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-three-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-two-zero for ninety. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “First and second threats are Floggers. Third threats are Flankers, and fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that and copy all,” Guru said. MiG-23s, Su-27s, and MiG-29s? Ivan was still reacting to BOLO II.

“Flankers?” Goalie asked. “Maybe the RAF will get their wish.”

“Maybe,” Guru said.

“Glen Rose coming up,” Goalie said, back to business. “Fifteen seconds.” That was the U.S. 67 Bridge.

“Got it,” Guru said. “And the flak.” Again, the East Germans were shooting, but the Nicaraguans stayed quiet. “And there's traffic on the bridge.”


On the U.S. 67 Bridge, an East German Major of Transport Troops was relieved. He had left the Port of Houston with a supply convoy for the “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg”-the remaining Army-sized East German formation in America, and he had encountered not a single problem along the way, either from mechanical breakdowns or from the bandits who called themselves the American Resistance. His trucks included fuelers, ammo supply, spare parts for the Army's tanks, and other stores meant for the Army. He also had with him four truckloads of replacement soldiers, who were nervous as puppies. The last trucks of the convoy were crossing the bridge, he noted with satisfaction, when the air raid alarm sounded and the anti-aircraft gunners begain firing. He watched as six Fascist aircraft-he recognized them as F-4s, flew past, and the AA fire exploded behind the aircraft as they were too fast. The Major expected the aircraft to turn around and attack the bridge, but nothing of the sort happened, he was relieved to see. Where they were going and who they were going to attack was none of his concern. The Major picked himself up and waved the rest of the convoy across. No telling if there would be a second group of aircraft, and their target would be the bridge....


“Not their turn today,” Guru said.

“Too bad,” Goalie replied. “Forty seconds to the Brazospoint bridge. Route 174 Bridge and Lake Whitney in two minutes.”

“Copy that.”

When they got to the Brazospoint Bridge, the East Germans again opened up, as the Nicaraguans stayed quiet.

“Highway 174 next,” Guru noted as the flight blew past the bridge. “And the Libyans.”

“And they'll be shooting,” Goalie said. “One minute fifteen to the bridge.”

The Libyans had the sector just south of the Nicaraguans, and unlike their allies, the Libyans had a habit of shooting at anything flying. Their other habit was that they shot as if the practice was going to be outlawed five minutes later, using a “Spray and pray” doctrine.


The strike flight continued south, and the pilots had their heads on a swivel. Checking instruments, followed by the EW display, then picking up their visual scanning. The WSOs were checking their navigation, and their own displays and visual scanning as well; both habits picked up at the RTU either prewar or during, and those had been drummed into everyone's head.

“Bridge coming up,” Guru said. “Flak now from both sides,” he added. Then he decided to thread the needle, and took 512 down the middle of the river. The rest of the flight followed as he tore over the State Route 174 Bridge at 500 Feet AGL.

“No traffic,” Goalie noted as they overflew the bridge.

“Not this time,” Guru said. Maybe somebody doing night armed reconnaissance might have better luck... Then the lake opened up, and Guru then took the flight down to 450 Feet AGL, right down the middle of the lake.


As the strike flight thundered down the lake, they were noticed by several parties. There were a number of Soviet, East German, and Libyan soldiers, trying their luck at fishing to get something to supplement their rations. They were doing so along with locals, who were also trying to supplement the rationing the occupiers had imposed. Finally, there were a number of camps using what had been prewar, boat-in only campsites, and there were not only guerrillas, but a number of escapees from either POW or labor camps, hiding there, To the occupiers, seeing a flight of American aircraft thundering down the lake was the last thing they wanted to see, for it meant that the bullshit (an American term that many had picked up) their political officers were telling them about the “Socialist Air Forces controlling the skies” was obviously wrong, while the others? It was a sign that there was light at the end of the tunnel, and it was definitely getting brighter.


“How far to the dam?” Guru asked.

“One minute,” Goalie replied. “And the flak.”

A quick look at his EW saw another pair of strobes appear at the Eleven O'Clock position, as Guru saw the A/A light come on. He called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace, Threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Threats are Flankers.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He then went down to 400 Feet AGL, and the rest of the flight followed. Messing with enemy aircraft short of the target was not the point of the exercise. Especially Su-27s.

As the dam appeared a mile distant, along with the flak, it also marked their turn point. “Turn in ten,” Goalie said. Why were they shooting early?” Unless someone had just been here....

“Call it.”

“Five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru then turned onto a two-four-zero heading and maintained his altitude. Just as he settled on the new heading, both of the strobes from the Su-27 radars went off, and the A/A light went off as well. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead, say threats?”

The controller got back to him right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. First Threat bearing Zero-eight-five for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second Threat bearing Two-two-zero for sixty. Medium, going away. First threats are Flankers. Second threats are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that.”

“One minute to Route 36,” Goalie advised.

“Copy,” replied Guru. He looked around, then checked the EW display again. “Flankers are gone, but the Mainstay's still there.”

“Does he have us?” Though the Flankers had turned away, the Fulcrums were still there.

“Good question,” Guru noted. “We'll find out soon enough.”

“That we will,” said Goalie. “Thirty seconds to Highway 36.”

Small towns-or the ruins of several, blew by as the strike flight closed with the highway. “Highway 36 in sight,” Guru said. “Jonesboro at One.”

“And no flak.”

“No flak,” Guru noted with pleasure.


In Jonesboro, the locals and their regular garrison-Soviets from a Minsk-based Rear-Area Protection Division, were still wishing their other “guests”, namely the East German 36th Independent Motor-Rifle Regiment, would just go away immediately, if not sooner. The East Germans were much more disciplined than the Soviets were, who had established a “live and let live” relationship with the locals. The East German Political and Security Officers were more zealous in looking for either Resistance or anyone else deemed to be “Counter-revolutionary”, despite the Soviets insistence that all of those people had been cleaned up earlier. Things were so bad that the local Resistance people-who had not been touched, felt that the Soviets and East Germans might get into a real battle with each other. It wasn't just the local Resistance people who felt that way, but the Special Forces A-Team that had been inserted into the area had come to the same conclusion as well. And if the Reds did have that kind of intramural blood-letting? “Let them fight it out,” was the unspoken reply.

At the City Hall, which the Soviet garrison had to share-among other things-with the East Germans, the Soviet garrison commander was having his usual fit. The Major was trying to balance the need for good relations with the local population, and yet, comply with the East Germans' requests. Namely, for more civilian labor to build additional bomb shelters, bunkers, and other defenses against air attack. The Major had noticed that many of the positions had interlocking fields of fire, and he was wondering if the East Germans would stay in the town and make it a stronghold. The last thing he wanted was to generate any kind of Resistance activity in the town and the surrounding area, and yet the East Germans were insisting on the labor. There was a nearby labor camp, he told the East German Lieutenant Colonel, why don't you get your laborers from there? The East German had made no reply, and had stomped out of the Major's office.

He was about to go back to his paperwork when cheering came from outside, followed by the sound of jets. The Major went to his window and saw six American F-4 Phantoms roar past. They were clearly not interested in the East Germans deployed around the town, and where they were headed and who tey were going to attack were none of his concern. After calling his deputy to remind him not to arrest anyone who had cheered, the Major went back to his paperwork.


“Thirty seconds to Evant and the turn,” Goalie said in 512's back seat.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. He checked his instruments, then his EW display and visual scanning. That damned Mainstay just wouldn't go away.

“Fifteen seconds.”

“Call it.”

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

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, then settled on a course of due north. “One minute to target.”

Goalie began working the armament switches. “Switches set back here. Twenty seconds to IP.”

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

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

Goalie then called it. “Pull in ten. Now, five, four, three, two, one, PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick. As the big Phantom climbed, Hamilton appeared, and so did the airport. “Flight, Lead. Target's in sight. Time to go to work.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara said.

“One-five, one-six,” Guru added. “Get your TARCAP set.”

“On it, Lead,” Paul Jackson replied.

“All set back here,” Goalie said.

“Then let's go,” Guru said, rolling in.


In Hamilton, the Soviet garrison and the locals were still dealing with their neighbors. Back in November, a Soviet tank regiment had set up shop outside town, and unlike a couple of previous occasions where the Soviets who had done so were resting and refitting, this unit had been fresh off the ships. The 327th Guards Independent Tank Regiment was part of 3rd Shock Army Reserve, and they had not seen any kind of action, other than the occasional patrol being sniped at, or air strikes. The Russians acted like lords to the garrison, which happened to be the HQ of the 231st Rear-Area Protection Division from Minsk, but also had a battalion from the same division. And it wasn't just the garrison, but the locals were also not too pleased with the new arrivals, for round-ups for “labor service” to build additional bunkers and fortifications to protect against air attack were common. When the tankers and motor-rifle troops went into town, there were a lot of nasty looks, and the Colonel who commanded the division as well as the garrison, thanked his lucky stars there hadn't been that much in the way of serious incidents. For any kind of reprisals was likely to generate the very resistance activities that, so far, had been very few and far between. Oh, there were still the occasional snipers, roadside bombs, phone lines being cut, and Anti-Soviet graffitti spray-painted on walls, and that told him the underground was laying low, buying time. Once the U.S. Army got closer, they would come out and make their presence known, of that he was certain.

The other issue the Colonel had to worry about was the airport. It was a frequent target of American air strikes, and if he had had his way, the airport would've been left unrepaired. The Air Force, however, didn't see things that way, and the runways and support facilities, such as they were, were repaired after every strike. The Air Force used the airport for short-range transport and helicopter flights, as well as a forward base for Su-25 attack aircraft. The Su-25s used the field for refueling and rearming in between their close-air-support missions, before returning to their home base-somewhere down south, the Colonel thought. And in this case, the Colonel's objections had been noted-and then ignored, for the Air Force continued operations-and the Americans came in to shut them down.

Shaking his head at that, the Colonel went to the samovar in his office in City Hall-which had belonged to the Mayor prewar, and poured himself a cup of tea. He was about to attack some papers when shouts, outside, followed by a very loud siren blaring outside, drew his attention. The Colonel grabbed his binoculars and headed for the roof, for he knew what this was. Another air strike coming in.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as the CO took 512 down on its bomb run. He saw the flak gunners respond-and this time, they were on the ball, for 23-mm tracers and 37-mm puffs appeared almost at the same time as he made the call. No matter. Guru saw the north ramp area, and to his satisfaction, he saw four Su-25s, two Hip helos, and maybe an An-24 or L-410 transport parked on the ramp. Along with two Su-25s taxiiing for takeoff. “Got two Frogfoots taxiing,” he called as he adjusted his aim to get the ones on the ramp. “Steady, steady.... and HACK!” Guru hit his bomb release and twelve Rockeye CBUs came off the racks. He then pulled up and away, jinking as he did so, and keeping an eye on the EW. No “30” came up... yet. “Lead off target,” he called as he flew over the town before turning northwest.

“The airport again,” the Colonel noted as he watched the strike go in. He saw Guru's F-4 come in and drop its bombs, and the CBUs went off on the ramp area like several thousand firecrackers. At least three fireballs erupted as something that had been fueled and armed-either aircraft or helicopters, exploded. Then he saw the F-4 maneuvering to avoid ground fire and shoulder-fired Strela (SA-7) missiles, and head north over the town before making a turn to the left. The Colonel turned back just in time to see a second F-4 coming in.

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

“How many?” Guru wanted to know as a missile-this one shoulder-fired it looked like, flew over the aircraft.

“Three or four, and they're big!”

“I'll take that,” the CO replied as he cleared the town and the regiment around it.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she took 520 down the chute. She saw the CO's Rockeyes going off, and saw the fireballs as at least two aircraft that took CBUs exploded. She saw the two Su-25s taxiing, but concentrated on her mission as she picked out the southern ramp, and two choppers parked on it. Either Hips or Mi-2s, she thought. As Kara came down, the flak came up, and though the 23-mm and 37-mm was intense, it was still wide of the mark. Nice try, Ivan.... “Steady..Steady... And....NOW!” She hit the pickle button and twelve more Rockeyes fell onto the Soviets below. Kara then pulled up and away, jinking all the while, as a shoulder-fired missile flew by her right wing. “Two's off safe,” she called as she flew over the town.

“Of all the..” the Colonel muttered as Kara's F-4 came in on its run. The Air Force was responsible for the gun defenses at the airport, and so far, they weren't doing much good. The Colonel watched as the F-4 pulled up, leaving more CBU bomblets going off and at least one fireball in its wake. He then saw Kara's Phantom weaving as it flew over the town, drawing some ineffective ground fire as it did, before it turned to follow the first.


“GOOD HIT!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“How good?” Kara replied as a missile-and this one was larger than a MANPADS-flew a hundred feet above her canopy.

“Big and good!”

“Sounds about right,” Kara said as she picked up the CO. This one's not like last time, she thought. Maybe those ZSU-30s aren't here?


“Three in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. As she came in, she noticed that the missile storage area that had been briefed was empty. Nothing there, not even any sign of camo netting. Seeing that, she mentally changed her mission to “Runway strike” and adjusted her run to get the runway. As she did, Sweaty saw the two Su-25s begin their takeoff rolls as smoke and flames came up from the ramp area. Maybe you'll eat a crater, she thought as she lined things up. “And...And....HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, sending six Mark-82s and six M-117s off their racks. She then pulled up and away as the flak gunners tried to follow, but Sweaty's jinking threw off their aim. As she flew over the town, a missile came by her left side, but passed by harmlessly. As she cleared the town, Sweaty made the call. “Three off safe.”


“Sookin sin” The Colonel said as he watched Sweaty's bomb run. The bombs ripped into the runway, just as two Su-25 attack jets were rolling to take off, but they cleared the impact area as they rolled down the runway and into the air. Seeing that, the Colonel was actually pleased, even as Sweaty's F-4 thundered by, and even appeared to wave its wings to the locals as it flew over the town. He watched as it turned to follow the others. A shout then attaracted his attention, and the Colonel turned as both Su-25s flew overhead, then another F-4 was coming in on a bomb run....

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher called as Sweaty pulled clear. “We got the runway.”

“Those Frogfoots get it?” Sweaty asked. Two for two, maybe?

“Negative,” was the reply. “They're airborne.” Preacher said as he watched the two Su-25s get clear and pull up.

“Damn it,” Sweaty said as she turned to pick up the CO's element. Maybe Hoser or the RAF would settle their hash... And where's the ZSU-30s? They were here last time....


“Four's in hot!” Hoser said as he came in. He saw his element lead change targets, and knew then that the missile storage was empty. Hoser knew the fuel dump was his target, and he saw Sweaty's run, and the two Su-25s get clear and make their takeoffs even as Sweaty pulled away. Ignoring that, and the flak, Hoser lined up the fuel dump in his pipper... “Steady. Steady... And...THEY'RE OFF! Hoser hit his pickle button and sent his Mark-82s and M-117s into the fuel dump. After release, he pulled up and away, and like the others, he was jinking as he did so. Hoser then flew over the town, waggling his wings, before turning to catch his element leader. As he did, and a missile flew past his right wing, he made the call. “Four's off target.”

“Not again,” the Colonel muttered, not caring if his Zampolit (who was on the roof with him), heard. He-and the other officers from the staff-watched as Hoser's F-4 released its bombs and pulled clear. Then came the explosions-and fireballs-as the airport's fuel dump erupted in balls of orange and black fire. He watched helplessly as the big Phantom flew right overhead, and as he picked himself up from the roof, saw no fire directed at it, much to his disgust. Shaking his head, he turned to his Chief of Staff. “Get some order out of this mess. And get whatever aid the Air Force people need at the airport.”

“Right away, Comrade Colonel!”


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

“How many hits?” Hoser asked as some big tracers flew wide. Maybe this ECM's working and those ZSU-30s aren't as bad as they were?”

“Several!”

“Good enough for me,” Hoser said as he glanced to the right and saw the Su-25s. “Frogfoots in the air north of town!”


Hearing that, Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. One more and he'd be tied with Kara. “Two, Lead. Follow me. Drop tanks and fight's on.” He pickled off his wing tanks and pulled left into a 180.

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied. A chance to get that tenth kill and double ace status? I'm not passing this up. She jettisoned her own wing tanks. “Tanks dropped and fight's on,” she replied, matching the CO's maneuver.

Sweaty and Hoser, hearing that, did the same on their own, only pulling right. “Three's in,” Sweaty added.

However, the RAF made their efforts moot. Paul Jackson and Dave Gledhill, watching from above, saw the Frogfoots get clear of the town. “Six, this is Five. Frogfoots below. We're pressing to engage.”

“With you, six,” Flighth Lt. Susan Napier replied as the two F-4Js came in.

The two Su-25s were from the 2nd Squadron, 206th OSHAP (Independent Ground Attack Aviation Regiment) from Lida in Beylorussia. They were now based at Gray AAF at Fort Hood, but the Regiment's squadrons were dispersed to FOLs for daily operations, only returning to Gray before dark. The two pilots who had taken off were a Captain and his wingman, a recently arrived, but now veteran, Senior Lieutenant, and they had been preparing to take off on an armed reconnaissance mission when the air alarm came in. The two had taxied as the first two F-4s made their runs, only getting off as the third and fourth Phantoms went in and got clear. Even though the two had R-60M (AA-8 Aphid) AAMs, those were for self-defense only. All the Captain wanted to do was get clear and head on his mission. He looked around, and to his dread, saw two more F-4s coming down from above. “BREAK!” he called to his wingman, before pulling left.


“Leader's going left,” Jackson called. “I've got him.”

“I'm on the wingman,” Napier replied as the wing Frogfoot broke right, and she went into a barrel roll to avoid overshooting her prey.

Too close for Sky Flash, Jackson noted. He called up a Sidewinder, and the AIM-9L was tracking. He and Dave Gledhill heard the warble in their headsets, then the shrill tone as the missile was locked on. “FOX TWO!” Jackson called as he squeezed the trigger.

Jackson's Sidewinder flew left, then right, before flying up one of the Frogfoot's two tailpipes and detonated. To his and Gledhill's surprise, the Su-25 was still flying. Jackson uncaged another Sidewinder and got lock. “FOX TWO AGAIN!” He squeezed the trigger, sending another Sidewinder after the Su-25.

The Soviet Captain had heard and felt the missile impact. He saw the warning lights on his console, and that one engine was definitely out. Maybe I can make it back to Hamilton, the Captain thought as he turned his head to the right, then left, only to see another missile tracking his aircraft. He instantly grabbed the ejection handle....

Jackson's second Sidewinder tracked to the still-working right engine before flying up the tailpipe (or so it seemed to the two RAF aviators) and exploding. The Su-25 pitched up, then down, and as it pitched down, the canopy came off and the ejection seat fired. The Russian was soon hanging in his chute as the F-4J flew past, and the Su-25 smashed into a small hill, fireballing on impact. “SPLASH!” Jackson called.

In her aircraft, Napier and her GIB, Razor Wilkenson, watched as the Frogfoot wingman was turning, then reversing his turn. She came out of the barrel roll just enough to open the range for a Sidewinder shot. Napier uncaged a Sidewinder and heard the growl as the missile was tracking, then came the shrill tone as the missile had lock. Squeezing the trigger, she called, “FOX TWO!”

An AIM-9L shot off the rails, and this one flew straight and true. The Su-25 broke right at the last minute, but that didn't do him any good. The missile detonated, and this time, it took the left horizontal stabilizer off the aircraft. The Frogfoot began trailing fire as it headed to the ground, and just before impact, the canopy came off and the seat fired. Only this time, to Napier and Wilkenson's horror, there was no seat separation, and the unfortunate Soviet airman plunged to his death as his aircraft fireballed on impact. Shaking the image of the failed ejection out of her mind, Napier called, “SPLASH!”

Guru and Kara, with Sweaty and Hoser with them, had just come back in, only to hear both “SPLASH” calls and see two Su-25s go down, fireballing on impact. “That's that,” the CO said resignedly. “Five and Six? Good kills!”

“Roger that, Lead!” Jackson replied.

“We're getting a little too close to town,” Goalie reminded the CO.

“That we are,” Guru said, noticing the flak coming up again as he pulled another 180. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's get the hell out of here.”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied. Oh, well, maybe next time.

“On your six,” Sweaty added as she and Hoser formed up

“With you, Lead,” Jackson said, the two RAF Juliets forming with the Echoes.

The flight formed up,dropped back low, and headed north. In 512, Guru was shaking his head. Just thirty seconds more, and those Frogfoots, one at least, would've been meat on the table. Oh, well, that's what the RAF is here for. He glanced down and checked his map, then he asked Goalie. “Time to Proctor Lake?”

“One minute thirty” was her reply. She was back at it, checking Arnie and her map.

“Copy that.” Then Guru called AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS Controller got back right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-one-zero for seventy. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-seven-five for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro, First threats are Flankers. Second threats are Fulcrums, and third are Fishbeds.”

“Copy all,” Guru replied.

Goalie did some quick calculations. “Flankers and Fulcrums are too far away.”

Looking at his EW display, which still had the Mainstay radar, Guru said, “Hope you're right,” as he headed for the lake.

It wasn't long until the east side of Proctor Lake appeared, even though the gunners at the dam-and these were Soviets-opened up with 37-mm, even though the strike flight was out of effective range. Guru took the flight down the middle of the lake, before picking up Highway 16 and turning north.

“Camaro, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS called. “Threats bearing two-four-zero for forty. Medium, going away.”

“MiG-21s don't want to play,” Goalie observed.

“Down low, they play our game, not theirs,” Guru said. “Their problem if they do.” And that had happened more than once, Guru recalled. “How far to the fence?”

Goalie checked her map and did a quick calculation. “Ninety seconds,” she replied.

“Roger that.”

Camaro Flight flew down Highway 16, and neither the Soviet 32nd Army to the West, or the East Germans to the East, paid any attention as the flight was too low and too fast.

“Coming up on the Fence,” Guru said as I-20 came into view. Though the front lines were a few miles south of the Interstate, it was considered the FLOT for navigation purposes. Just as the flight crossed the freeway, the Mainstay's radar signal went out, and the SEARCH warning light went off.

“No more Mainstay,” Goalie said.

“Which is always good,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.” He turned off his ECM pod and turned on his IFF. Some of the Army air-defense pukes had a habit of shooting first and sorting things out on the ground later. The squadron had not had any kind of friendly-fire incident of that nature, and the CO wanted things kept that way.

The flight then climbed to altitude and joined up with the tankers for their post-strike refueling. Then it was a normal flight back to Sheppard. After calling for landing instructions and getting their position in the pattern, everyone heard an eastbound C-130 calling in, and some people began to wonder. Was that their VIP?

After landing, Camaro Flight taxied towards the squadron's dispersal, and as they did so, the two RAF crews raised fingers to signal kills. That attracted cheers from those who were watching, and that also attracted attention from the news crew.

“Want to do another story on the RAF before they leave?” Trevor Scott, the cameraman, asked Jana Wendt. It was an open secret on the base that the RAF would have a date soon in San Diego.

“You're a mind reader, Trevor. Anyone ever tell you that?” Ms. Wendt replied as the two RAF Phantoms taxied to their dispersal area.

Guru taxied 512 into the dispersal area, then into its revetment. After getting the “Shut Down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, he and Goalie did the post-flight checklist as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Only when they were finished, did he say, “And that's done.”

“And two more after lunch,” Goalie noted. It wasn't a question. “This is getting all too routine.”

“Tell me about it,” Guru replied as he took off his helmet and oxygen mask. “Everything I've read about Southeast Asia seems to be coming back. Only this time, it's real.” He handed his helmet to the Crew Chief, then climbed down.

“Major, how's my bird?” Crowley asked.

“She's still truckin', Sarge,” Guru said. After Goalie climbed down, they did a quick post-flight walk-around. “No holes or other issues, so get her ready for the next one. After you guys get some chow. And that's an order.”

“Yes,sir!” Crowley said. He turned to the ground crew. “Okay, people! Let's finish up the post-flight, then grab some chow. Then we got another one comin! Let's hustle!”

Guru and Goalie then walked to the edge of the revetment, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. “Good one, Kara.”

“That it was, Boss,” Kara grinned. “You got at least two Frogfoots, and I got a transport.”

“On the ground,” Brainiac added. “Too bad those don't count.”

“This ain't like WW II,” Goalie said. “Ground kills counted then. Not these days.”

“Too bad,” Kara muttered as Sweaty, Hoser, and the RAF crewers arrived.

“Nice job, Sweaty,” Guru said. “What'd you hit?”

“Runway and fuel dump,” replied Sweaty. “Missile storage was empty.”

“Maybe they were just there overnight?” Hoser wondered. Not the first time that had happened. A target briefed wasn't there when the strike birds arrived.

Guru nodded. “Maybe Sin can find out,” he said as a C-130 came in on final. “Dave, you guys did good.”

“Those Frogfoots are tough. First time we've seen them since we've been here.” Gledhill replied.

“We've run into them a few times,” Kara said. “The Boss has one, and so does Sweaty.”

“Two Sidewinders,” Sweaty added. “They build those tough over there.”

Just then, a Dodge Crew-cab pickup arrived, and Sin Licon, the Intel Officer, and Chief Ross, the squadron's senior NCO, came out. “Major, we need to debrief,” Sin said. “But first things first.”

“What do you mean? 'First things first'?” Guru asked. It had been a busy morning, and the CO was looking forward to lunch.

“Sir, our VIP's on that Herky-bird,” Chief Ross said as the C-130 taxied by.

“Okay, Chief. Patti Brown know?” Guru asked, referring to the squadron's PAO.

“She's on a strike,” Sin replied. “But one of her sergeants knows, and Ms. Wendt and her crew are headed that way.”

“Okay, Sin,” Guru said. “I'll-” Then he paused for a moment. “Okay, we'll all be right there.”

“Major?”

“Sin, I want her to see that this is a team effort, and even though she fought with an AF pilot for what, three months?” Heads nodded, as Ms. Mason had given her share of interviews, and everyone had either read or seen them. “We're just as involved in the fight as she was, and even though we get three squares a day and have decent accommodations? We're fighting the same enemy and we put a lot of toil, sweat, tears, and blood into it. She may have been jealous of the Air Force for how comfy we can get in wartime, and I want to dispel some of that.”

“And if she wants a ride?” Kara asked.

“She's cleared,” Goalie pointed out.

“I'm taking her up,” Guru said. “If she wants one. Come on, let's do the meet and greet, then we'll debrief.”

Sin nodded, as did Chief Ross. That was the CO exercising some of his command perogrative, and if he wanted to get the meet and greet out of the way first? So be it. “Yes, sir,” Sin nodded.

“Let's go, our RAF cousins included,” Guru said. They all piled into the Crew-cab, then Chief Ross drove over to the Transit Ramp.

[Matt Wiser]

Part II:


Over Sheppard AFB, TX: 1100 Hours Central War Time:


Aboard the C-130, which-along with its crew, was from the 146th Tactical Airlift Wing out of Van Nuys Airport in California, the aircraft's main passenger sat, and to the Army PAO with her, looked like she was having another case of the fits. Though she was the military equivalent of a Spec.4 from what the Army's Partisan Command had said, the orders for these tours called that she be considered a Captain for all intents and purposes. Which meant she was often making requests (giving polite orders) to the Major.

To Erica Mason, these tours, while it let her see a lot of the country, were getting to be tiresome. After escaping Calumet with Danny and getting to the Free Zone, the Army had been the first to talk to both of them. Danny had cooperated fully, then had gone back in with some types who looked like they had been doing behind-the-lines stuff for a while-and they had mentioned places like Vietnam, Afghanistan, Mexico. But Erica, after spending two weeks with Army Intelligence and some Green Berets, had wanted to get back to some sense of a normal life. The Foster family she had been with in Grand Junction had been so kind, and the father had been in Vietnam, so he knew what subjects were off-limits when it came to dinner-table conversation. After getting her high-school diploma, the Army called again, and it had been off to several bases in California, Arizona, Nevada, and Utah, lecturing to Green Berets, Rangers, SEALs, Air Force Pararescue, and Marine Recon (to her, it took a while to figure out the difference), giving who knew how many media interviews, and going to War Bond Rallies. All the time, she was hoping that Calumet-and the rest of occupied Colorado, would be liberated, and she could find out what happened to her grandparents.

Finally, PRAIRIE FIRE had come, and within days, it seemed, the Russians and their lackeys had been kicked out of the state, and sent fleeing down into Texas. Erica had gone back, and to her relief, her grandparents' ranch had been left untouched, and a joyful reunion with her grandparents was the result. Though there were stragglers still being rounded up-so the Army had said, and that AKM rifle she had carried as a Wolverine was back at her side-and she had noticed that others had taken up the fight, for there was a Resistance in the county, and the Army had turned them into Deputy Sheriffs, while the county government was trying to get back on its feet. One Army Civil Affairs officer had told her “If you think it's bad here, try down in Oklahoma or the liberated parts of Texas or New Mexico. It's going to take a while.” That didn't concern her. Finding the bodies of her sister Toni, who had been killed in that chopper attack, and the Eckert brothers did.

Being told that the Cuban garrison commander-some Colonel named Bella-had defected-had raised hopes, but even he couldn't be of much help. “The KGB came in the next morning and took the brothers' bodies. Where, I do not know,” the man had told the Army. And the KGB office files had been hurredly destroyed as the Soviets position in Colorado collapsed, and those thugs had taken to their heels. Toni's body was somewhere out at the attack site. and she had gone back with some Army and Air Force people who specialized in this sort of thing. Unfortunately, they had not found Toni but they had solved another mystery. Robert's beret and some bones that were likely his had been found, but Toni's remains had not-mainly because only Jed knew where he had taken Toni, and he had been killed two days later. One day, sister, I'll find you and bring you home, Erica promised. Once this is all over.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the Major nudging her. “We're getting ready to land, the loadmaster said.”

“Okay,” Erica said, making sure her seat belt was fastened. She looked around one more time and saw there were passengers in multiple uniforms-Army, Air Force, Marine, even Navy, a couple of Hummers, pallets of cargo-and some of that was mixed. Some benign-looking, like pallets of bottled water or MREs. Then others that looked like crates of small-arms ammo, while some looked like aircraft parts.

She felt the landing gear come down, then the C-130 landed. Though it bounced, she was used to it by now, because the only way to get to where the Army wanted her to go these days was by either something like the C-130, or a helicopter. She looked out the window behind the paratrooper seat, and saw grey-painted aircraft along with some that were in some kind of jungle scheme. “This is Sheppard?” She asked the PAO.

“It is,” the Major replied. “This place sees a lot still, they tell me. They've had some fire-fights nearby with PSD, KGB, even Spetsnatz. Then there's air raids and missile attacks. And Wichita Falls is almost an armed camp than a city.”

“People here don't want to give up their guns just yet.” Just like in Calumet.

“Something like that.”

The C-130 taxied, and as it did, the military passengers got their gear. When it stopped, the rear cargo ramp came down so they could get off, but as Erica got her bag, the loadmaster came over.

“Ma;am, they want you down the crew door,” the Air Force Sergeant said. “There's a little bit of a reception committee waiting.”
Erica looked at the PAO-who also doubled as her escort, and he shrugged. She picked up her bag, and her AKM, which, once she started these tours, never was far from her side. After a visit to Las Vegas, New Mexico, she had been told that the Collaborationist Government down in Austin had put a price on her head: $25,000 in real money. Though nobody had tried to collect, and the PSD in most areas had either been killed off, captured, or run off, there still could be someone out there who wanted the money. So Erica picked up the rifle she thought that she had put away for good, along with a .45 in a concealed holster.

As she got off, there was an Air Force photographer waiting, along with a news crew, and a line of several senior officers. A full Air Force Colonel was at the head of that line. “Ms. Mason? Welcome to Sheppard. I'm Colonel Richard Purcell, base commander.”

“Colonel,” Erica nodded. “Good to be here,” she said. It was still a bit chilly, so she had on an Army-issue jacket. “First time in Texas for me.”

“Well, we'll make your stay as comfortable as circumstances permit. You were told this is almost all a tent city in terms of accommodations?”

Erica looked askance at the PAO, and saw him nod. “Yeah, you could say that,” she said. She then looked around, and saw a few other transports, some helicopters, a couple other C-130s with radar domes that a Green Beret had told her once were Special-Operations aircraft, then there were the fighters in their blast pens. “You're also a busy place.”

“With Marines, Air Force, and some Navy, we are,” Purcell said. He introduced her to Colonel Brady, the Commander of Marine Air Group 11, the main flying unit on the base. “Colonel.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Brady said, shaking her hand. He then introduced a couple others, along with his own PAO. Then he saw an Air Force Crew-Cab pickup pull up, and several aircrew who looked like they had just returned from a mission get out. And he recognized the first one to do so. “There's the CO of the main Air Force unit on base, and he's got a story similar to your Colonel Tanner,” Brady said.

Another guy like Andy? Erica thought. Thoughts of him, and her desire at one point to have some kind of relationship with him, though he was at least fifteen years older than she was, came back. But if this guy had been on the ground for a while, maybe with some other group? A talk might be a good thing, she thought as the AF officer came up, wearing some kind of bush hat and still in his flight gear.


In the Crew-Cab, Chief Ross pointed out the meet-and-greet party as he pulled to a stop. “There they are, sir.”

“Okay, Chief,” Major Wiser said as he got out and put on his bush hat, and as he did, several others did the same.

Sin Licon said, “Major, we need to get this done, so we can debrief-”

“Sin, This'll only take a few minutes, and then we can yap all you want about that strike,” the CO said. Then he walked on over to the party.

“Colonel,” Guru said as he sketched a salute. “Back from another one.”

“How'd it go, Major?” Brady asked as he returned the salute.

“Tore up an airfield-a local strip-and the RAF splashed a couple Frogfoots,” Guru replied.

“Good job, Major,” Brady said. “There's someone here you should meet. Major Matt Wiser, meet Erica Mason, formerly of the Wolverines. Miss Mason? Major Wiser, call sign Guru. He's the CO of the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron.”

Guru extended a hand. “An honor to meet you,” he said.

Erica noticed how polite the AF officer was. Just like Andy had been after he had gotten to know the group. How long ago had it been? She extended her own hand. “Major, or is it Guru?

Guru shook her hand. “Either one'll do. I imagine you're wondering why I'm still dressed for the occasion,” he said. “Just got back from a mission.”

Erica looked at the AF Major. He looked like he was just out of college, and yet he was a squadron commander? “You're one rung below Andy,” she said. “What'd you do?”

Guru shrugged as if it was an everyday thing-which these days, it was. “Just tore up an airfield and made some of the Russians there burn, bleed, and blow up.” He saw Erica smile after he finished.

“Major, I like the sound of that,” she smiled again. Erica saw the other pilots and navigators. “This your bunch?”

“Just the people I fly with,” Major Wiser said. “If you show up in the Officer's Club tonight? You'll meet the rest. AF, Marines, Navy. Only we're not Officers and gentlepersons.”

Brady nodded. “More like animals in the zoo,” he said. “The Club's the only real place we have to unwind.”

“Oh,” Erica said. Then something came back to her. “Major, I think I've heard your name before. Do you know Lori Sheppard?”

“Do I? My then-backseater and I were with her outfit for five months. Saw and did a lot, along with some I'm not all that proud of,” said Guru. “How'd my name come up?”

“She mentioned several Air Force and Marine pilots had been with her guerrillas for a while, and mentioned a couple by name,” Erica replied. “Your name came up.”

“Well, now,” Guru nodded. “How's she doing?” He asked.

“Right now? She's the acting sheriff of the Walsenberg area,” Erica said. “Her people are now sheriff's deputies.”

Hearing that, Guru nodded, as did Colonel Brady. Just like New Mexico and Texas, both thought. After liberation, many resistance groups had been deputized by the Army to take over local law enforcement duties until the Sheriff's Departments and Police could be reconstituted. “I don't envy her that job. Now, Ms. Mason, or can I call you Erica?”

“Like you said,” Erica smiled. “Either one.”

Guru nodded. “Well, then, if the Colonel has no objections?” He looked at Colonel Brady, then asked, “How'd you like a backseat ride in an F-4? I can take you up and show you what we do day in and day out.”

Everyone there saw Erica's eyes light up. She smiled. A chance to connect with what Andy did before he was shot down? “Major, I'd like that.”

“Consider it done,” Guru said. He then introduced her to Kara and Goalie. “They'll be flying with us. And Kara's top gun in the squadron with nine kills.” Though not for long, he promised.

Erica nodded, then chatted for a few minutes with the other aircrews, along with a few words to Jana Wendt's news crew, and agreeing to an interview. “It's been a busy morning for me. I'd like to go freshen up.”

“Understood,” Brady said. He waved a blonde female Marine officer over. “This is Lieutenant Alex Monroe, from the MAG-11 PAO shop. She'll escort you to your quarters and when you're on base. Keep you out of areas you're not allowed,” he said.

“A word of warning,” Kara said before Erica and the Marine officer left. “Avoid the suggestion-of-pork tri-tip sandwiches the Chow Hall serves.”

Erica looked at the female AF pilot. “That bad?”

“Worse,” Goalie said.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

As Ms. Mason left with the Marine, Colonel Brady could tell Guru was lost in thought. “Major?”

“Having been behind the lines myself? She's got some bad memories, I'll bet any amount of money,” Guru said. “Preacher? You took a couple semesters of Psychology before going to the Seminary, right? Any thoughts?”

The ex-Seminary student turned WSO nodded. “I'd be surprised if she didn't have bad memories or other demons,” he said.

“You, Major?” Brady asked. “I know you've seen and done things you're not proud of.”

“No bad dreams or PTSD, if that's what you're asking, sir,” Guru replied. “I deal with those memories the only way I can. In the cockpit.”

“Understandable,” Brady said. One other thing, Major.” He gestured towards the former SAC Molehole, now used by SOF. You think the people who work out of there are going to want to talk to her?”

“Colonel, I'd be surprised if they didn't. They've likely read her debrief, but a chance to talk with her in person? I'd bet money on it.”

Brady nodded. “You're probably right about that. Okay, people! Break's over. Let's get back in the war.”

As the party broke up, and the 335th crewers mounted the pickup, Guru said. “Okay, let's debrief with Sin, get some chow, because the Third Quarter kicks off before too long.”

“Unless somebody's calling for CAS,” Sweaty pointed out.

“Don't say it,” Guru said. “Let's go.”


335th Tactical Fighter Squadron: 1210 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was sitting at his desk, doing the one thing that he really despised: squadron paperwork. No matter what, the stuff was still waiting for him when he got there in the morning, and when he got back from a mission, and the elves never got around to it like they were supposed to. As he put papers in his OUT box, he was glad that Mark Ellis had turned out to be a first-class Exec. He took care of what he could himself, and filtered out what was really important for the CO's attention. Just as I did for Colonel Rivers, the CO thought, as memories of being Squadron Exec came back-some good, others not so.

He had just finished the last of the papers-for now-he knew, when a knock on the door attracted his attention. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

His GIB, Goalie, came in. She was bearing a plastic bag with Styrofoam food containers in one hand and a drink carrier in another. “Ready for some chow?”

“Just,” Guru said. “What's on the menu?”

“Bison Burgers with bacon, drenched in BBQ Sauce. Fries and Cole Slaw added. With fruit punch.”

“Before we eat, have a look at this? It's Air Force Times, and it came with the morning mail. Page four.” Guru handed her the paper, and he knew his GIB and girlfriend would be very pleased at what she read.

Goalie put the food on the desk and read the article. “CSAF To Recommend Navigators Eligible for Command.” She looked at her pilot. “What? This is serious?”

“Serious enough I called Tenth Air Force,” Guru said, picking up a container. “I talked to General Glosson.” Brig. Gen. “Buster” Glosson was the Chief of Staff at Tenth Air Force. “General Tanner recommended it, as did Horner at Ninth AF. Eleventh AF up in the Pacific Northwest and 12th AF also signed off. One person they had to convince before Dugan would sign off, Glosson said.”

Goalie knew right away who was meant by that. “Sundown.”

“Sundown Cunningham,” Guru smiled. General Larry “Sundown” Cunningham was the AF Vice-Chief of Staff. And likely, the next CSAF.

She read the piece.”Dugan says, 'There is untapped leadership potential in the ranks of our Navigators, and we would be foolish not to take advantage of that'.” She put the paper down. “And that means...”

“If you make it through the war, and climb the promotion ladder? You're eligible as any pilot to get a squadron of your own, and if you get Eagles on your shoulder? A wing, too.”

“I see you had that little caveat at first.”

“That detail is always in force,” Guru reminded her. “Enough talk. It's chowtime.”

Over lunch, squadron-related matters were the topic of discussion, with twenty birds considered FMC, or Full-Mission Capable, and two down for maintenance. Then there was the issue of their VIP visitor.

“Read any of her interviews outside the SERE Bulletin?” Guru asked.

Goalie nodded. “The one in People,” she said. “You think she was serious about a relationship with that light colonel who was with the Wolverines for a while?”

“I think so, because she said on CNN's Larry King show that she wanted to love someone before she died, and he was the only one she wanted.” Guru paused, then continued. “I don't intend to ask, though.”

“Yeah,” Goalie said. “You still going to take her up?”

“Tomorrow or the next day,” the CO nodded. “We have a weather stand-down after that.”

“And we can get caught up on maintenance, paperwork, and sleep,” Goalie said.

“Yep.”

“And Bedroom Gymnastics,” she said with a coy smile.

“Among other things,” Guru said, then a knock came. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

Don Van Loan came in. “Boss, I don't have a mission for you just yet, but we just got warned: CAS is a strong possibility this afternoon.”

“Ivan getting a little excited today?” Goalie asked.

“And the East Germans,” Van Loan replied.

Guru sighed. Why can't the Hogs and A-7s handle this? Then again, too many missions and not enough assets to go around. “Hog and SLUF drivers all busy?” The A-7 was also called the SLUF-Short Little Ugly Fellow, though a more impolite term was also used.

“They are, but MAG-11 hasn't gotten the call yet,” said the Ops Officer. “If they do..”

“We're at it until sunset,” Goalie finished.

“I didn't say it,” Van Loan nodded. “You did.”

Guru thought for a moment. Normally, they didn't get refragged for CAS while in the air, but... “Okay, let all the flight leads know. If we do get fragged for CAS, then we'll be ready.”

“Will do.”

A knock on the door followed. Guru said, “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

Lieutenant Patti Brown came in, along with Ms. Mason and her Marine escort. “Major, mind if we drop in?”

“Not at all,” Guru said. “Ms. Mason, meet my Ops Officer, Captain Don Van Loan,”

“Nice to meet you,” Don said, extending his hand. “It's a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Erica said, shaking hands with him.

Goalie grinned. “Be nice to him, Ms. Mason. He gives us our missions.”

Erica smiled at that. “Then I don't want to give him a bad first impression,” she said.

“Of course not,” Van Loan said.

“What can we do for you?” Guru asked.

Erica looked at him. He wasn't that much older than Jed, and he was not only a Major, but a Squadron Commander? One thing she had been told by quite a few Army and Marine officers was that the war had made sure a lot of people were promoted faster than they would've been in peacetime. “Major, I'd like to have a look at one of your airplanes. But maybe you can answer a question: Patti showed me around here, and I'm surprised to see Air Force people wearing cammies and holsters.”

“That's because we're under Marine Control for the duration,” Guru said. “We still get our paychecks and our administrative stuff from the Air Force, but as for flying? We're under the Marines.”

“And they take this 'Every Marine a Rifleman' mantra seriously,” Van Loan added.

“How seriously?” Erica asked.

“Seriously enough that we have to take target practice every chance we get,” Goalie said. “Which explains you seeing people with sidearms, and there's long guns always close by.”

“And what's on your office wall,” Erica said, gesturing at the AKMS and AK-74 on the wall behind the CO's desk. “Where did you get those?”

“Picked up the AKMS off a Cuban in Colorado,” Guru said. “After I killed him.”

“Good for you.”

“The AK-74? Got that a hundred miles northwest of here,” Guru added. “Literally on the side of a road.”

Erica was puzzled. “How's that again?”

“Long story short, Ivan was using Highway 287 during the bug-out from Amarillo and points north to get down to Dallas-Fort Worth. This squadron, along with the Marines and some Navy, put the hurt on them.”

“Big time,” Goalie added.

“Big enough,” Van Loan said. “We flew six or seven strikes each that day, hitting all that traffic: tanks, trucks, armored vehicles, stolen civilian cars or trucks, you name it, it was there, and you name it, we dropped or fired it, nukes excepted.”

“When we got there?” Goalie said. “The Army had cleaned up part of it so they could use the highway. Some parts had been cleaned up pretty good...”

“Others?” Guru nodded. “Looked like we'd been there an hour earlier: blasted and burned tanks, Armored vehicles or trucks torn apart or tossed like toys, bodies all around, weapons and ammo everywhere, you get the picture.”

“I do,” Erica said. “Only on a smaller scale. Reminds me of what we found after ambushing a convoy.”

“Same here-and I do remember doing that with Lori's people,” said Guru. “But this was miles long, then there'd be a gap, then a few miles down the road? Same scene.”

Goalie said, “And we taught them all a lesson that day: You should've stayed home.”

“That we did. Found the rifle-and some others-next to a burned-out APC, and the corpses of the previous owners. The rifles were in pretty decent shape. They weren't.”

“Like you said, Captain,” Erica nodded at Goalie. “They should've stayed home.”

Guru nodded. “No arguing with you there,” he said. “Enough of that: you want a look at an airplane? How about 512? That's the bird I'll be taking you up in.”

Erica's eyes lit up. “Just say when, Major.”

“How about right now?” Guru said. “Patti? You and Lieutenant Monroe, isn't it?” He saw the female Marine nod, then went on. “Take our guest out to Five-twelve's revetment and Goalie and I will be right with you.”

“Glad to, Major,” Patti said.

After the PAOs had left with Ms. Mason, Guru turned to Van Loan. “Don, find us our mission. If it comes down while we're out there? Send Chief Ross in a crew-cab to bring us back.”

“Will do.”

“And have Kara round up everyone in our flight-and send 'em to the briefing room we use.”

“Got you,” Van Loan said. “I'm gone.” He headed out the door

Guru then turned to Goalie and put on his cold-weather flight jacket. “We have somewhere to be.”

“That we do.”


A few minutes later, the CO and his GIB were at 512's revetment. There, Ms. Wendt's crew were with Ms. Mason, and the reporter was chatting with her and also the Crew Chief.

“They're here,” Patti Brown said as Guru and Goalie arrived.

“Well, Ms. Mason?” Guru asked, still polite for the camera. “What do you think?”

“Patti said they call it 'Double-Ugly.' I can see why.” Erica said.

Everyone laughed, then Guru said, “Or the 'Rhino', because it does look like one. Detractors call her 'The Flying Brick'.”

“Mind if I get up close?”

Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, looked at the Major, who nodded. “Why not?” He said. “Come on in.”

As they got to the aircraft, Guru pointed out that this was a typical load for a strike mission. “Six five-hundred pound bombs under the wings, six seven-fifty pounders under the fuselage, two wing fuel tanks, four Sidewinder and two Sparrow air-to-air missiles, and a full load of 20-millimeter cannon ammo.”

Erica did a walk-around as the crew and the crew chief showed her the aircraft. She looked down the intake and noticed the red stars painted on the side. “What are these?”

“Kill marks,” Goalie said. “Each one signals a downed enemy aircraft.”

“Eight,” Erica noted. “All yours?”

“They are, Ma'am,” Sergeant Crowley said. “The first three? The Major got those with his previous back-seater.”

“The other five? Goalie has those with me,” Guru said. “We don't get that much in terms of air-to-air action, but when it does come? We make the most of it.”

Erica nodded as she went around the big Phantom, taking a look down the engine exhausts, and then the starboard side, seeing the bombs. She noticed that ground crew had tagged some of the bombs with messages for the Russians and their lackeys, but others were clean. “Major? Mind if I put a message on one of the bombs?”

“Not at all,” Guru said pleasantly. He turned to Crowley, who handed him a piece of chalk. “Say whatever you want.” He handed the chalk to her.

Erica took the chalk and crawled to one of the big bombs underneath the fuselage-the seven-fifty pounders from what the Major had said. She chalked “WOLVERINES!” on one of the bombs, then on another, “From Calumet, Colorado to the Russians,” After she climbed out, she handed the Major the chalk. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Guru said. Then a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup pulled up to the revetment. Guru watched as Chief Ross, the squadron's senior NCO came towards him. “Chief?”

“Major, Captain Van Loan had me come with your and Captain Eichhorn's flight gear. We got the call for CAS, he said. The rest of your flight's gearing up right now.”

Guru shook his head, then said, “Goalie? We're gearing up. Ross brought our gear.”

“Now?” Goalie asked. This hadn't happened in a while.

“Now.”

Erica and the news crew watched as the CO and his back-seater got into survival vest, G-suit, and harness, then Ross handed them their helmets.

“Chief? Guru said as he handed his and Goalie's flight jackets and bush hats to Ross. “Have the SDO put these in my office. And get some hot drinks and some snacks to the flight line. We'll be at this the rest of the day, and having something in between strikes is a good thing.”

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “Don't worry about the snacks and drinks. I'll get right on it.”

“Good man, Chief,” Guru said. “Patti? You'd best get geared up your own self. You'll be in the air before too long.”

“On my way,” Brown said, running back to the squadron's office.

Guru nodded, then thought of something as another crew-cab, this one with his flight, pulled up. “Chief? After we brief, take Ms. Mason, her escort, and Ms. Wendt's crew to where they usually set up. Then take care of the other issues.”

“Yes, sir!” Ross said.

Kara led the CO's flight to where he was waiting. “Boss, we got that call.”

“Ross told me,” Guru said as the flight gathered around. “Where are we headed this time?”

“Here,” Kara pulled out a TPC chart and a JOG map. “Both the East German sector and the Soviet 32nd Army got pretty active, Sin Licon said. And the Hogs and A-7s? They're busy someplace else.”

“As usual,” Goalie deadpanned.

“As usual,” Guru nodded agreement. “Threat level?”

Kara nodded, then read from the frag order. “Regimental level and up, both Soviet and East German, and as for MiGs? Expect anything from Fishbed and Flogger for air-to-air, and Flogger, Fitter, and Frogfoot for CAS. And helos, too.”

“Let me guess: check in with AWACS, and they hand us off to an EC-130, who then passes us to a FAC,” the CO said. “And we're going in with what they loaded us for whatever we were originally supposed to do.”

“Four-oh, Boss,” Kara nodded. “We're still Camaro Flight, and the EC-130 call sign is Jayhawk.”

Hearing that, Sweaty laughed. “Somebody went to KU,” she quipped, meaning Kansas State University.

“Maybe,” Preacher said.

“Okay, Dave G?” Guru nodded at Dave Gledhill and his element. “Same drill as before: you guys go in ahead of us and kill anything with a red star on the fuselage. Do the same to any party-crashers.”

“Will do,” the RAF Squadron Leader replied.

Guru then said, “Okay, call signs between us, and mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Anything else?”

Hoser said, “And we're at this the rest of the afternoon.” It wasn't a question.

“You said it, I didn't. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Meet up at ten grand overhead. That's it,” Guru said, clapping his hands for emphasis. “Let's hit it.”

Erica listened, then watched as the crews headed to their aircraft. She watched as the CO and Goalie walked around the F-4, doing some kind of preflight check. Then they got into the cockpit. As they did, Chief Ross tapped her on the shoulder.

“Ma'am, it's time to go. Be a bit noisy in a few minutes.”

“Oh, Okay,” she said. She and the news crew got into the pickup and drove away from the planes about to start.

In 512, Guru and Goalie did their preflight. “Wonder what she thinks of this?” Guru asked.

“She had her war, and we've still got ours,” Goalie said as she went down the checklist.

“You've got that right. And she'll know more when I take her up,” Guru said. “Arnie?” He meant the ARN-101 DMAS navigation system.

“Up and running, and backup INS is ready,” Goalie replied. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom: check yours,” Guru said.

“All set. Preflight finished and ready for engine start,” said Goalie, stowing her checklist as two Marine F-4s rumbled down one of the runways and into the air. “Jarheads ahead of us.”

“Let's not be late, shall we?” 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. When the run-up was finished, and both engines were warmed up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Lead rolling,” Guru said. He gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away, and Guru released the brakes. He taxied 512 out, and after clearing the revetment, saw Crowley snap a salute. Guru and Goalie returned it, and as they taxied to the runway, saw the others in their flight, including the two RAF F-4Js, right behind them.

When they taxied to the holding area, there were two Marine F-4 flights ahead of them. One was loaded with CBUs, the other with dumb bombs, just as Camaro Flight was. Once the second flight taxied to the runway, it was their turn.

After taxiing into the holding area, the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Which made the ordnance now “live.” Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

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

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A final cockpit check, and everything was ready. He glanced over at 520, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, and that meant it was time. “Ready?”

“As I'll ever be,” Goalie replied. “I hate this CAS stuff.”

“You are preaching to the choir,” Guru said. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his canopy. Goalie did the same, and a quick look at 520 showed Kara and Brainiac had done the same.

“All set,” Goalie said.

“Then we have somewhere to be,” Guru replied. He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's flight, then the RAF. The flight formed up at FL 100, then headed south.

As they took off, Erica watched. The smoke and noise almost got to her as she watched first the Marine F-4s, then the Major's, go down the runway and into the air. More F-4s, and Marine jets they told her were F/A-18s followed. “Is it always like this?” She asked Chief Ross.

“On a day like this, when they'll be in and out pretty often? It can be,” the Chief said. “It'll be a couple hours or so before they're back,” he said. “Let's get back to the squadron office, I can take care of what the CO wants, then I need to get you to the Special-Operations people.” He pointed to the old SAC molehole. “Some of 'em want to talk to you. ”

“And when they're finished?” Erica asked.

“I'll bring you right back to the squadron,” Ross said. “The CO and his flight should be back by then.” Hopefully, he said to himself, but not out loud.

“Then let's go.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part III:


Over Central Texas, 1325 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was orbiting just north of the FEBA, having just topped up from the tankers, and after checking in with Crystal Palace, the AWACS, they had been handed off to Jayhawk, the EC-130 ABCC platform that directed CAS missions. As usual, when the CO checked in with the ABCC controllers, he had been told, “Get in line and wait your turn,” much to his disgust. Though the flight had been one of the first to launch from Sheppard, there were others ahead of them. So they had to wait.

In 512's front seat, Major Wiser was scanning first his instruments, then his EW display-though not expecting anything serious-one never knew if Ivan had shoved a Mainstay forward, then his visual scanning. “Same old-same-old,” he said.

“Did you expect anything different?” Goalie asked as she did the same check. Habits drummed into them at the RTU had kept them alive so far, and they intended to keep it that way.

“No, but we were third off the ground, and we should've been in and out by now.”

“Like you said: same old-same-old. Hurry up and wait.”

“Yeah.” He got back onto the AWACS frequency and listened in. Ivan had pushed some MiGs to support this spoiling attack or whatever it was, and both F-15s and F-16s were coming to that side of the party. “We may get some air-to-air out of this yet,” Guru said as he checked his instruments. They were orbiting at FL 100, and he watched as two flights ahead of them, some Marine F-4s were apparently cleared in. Then, after getting back on the squadron frequency, the EC-130 called.

“Camaro Lead, Jayhawk. Descend to Flight Level Nine-Zero and continue to hold,” the controller called.

“Roger, Jayhawk,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Drop to nine grand and hold.”

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

“If we do get some air-to-air?” Goalie asked. “You getting ahead of Kara?” She knew Guru wasn't in the mind of getting into a race with his wingmate, but....

“If we get a MiG in front of both of us?” Guru said. “I'm taking that shot. Period.”

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “How long are they gonna keep us here?”

“Sweaty, your guess is as good as mine,” replied the CO.

“Camaro Lead, Jayhawk. You are now number two in line,” the EC-130 called. “Descend to Flight Level Eight-zero and continue to hold.”

“Roger.” Guru then led the flight down to 8,000 feet, then orbited again. After the Marines who had launched ahead of them had gone in, it was their turn.

“Camaro Lead, Jayhawk. We have something for you. Contact Nail Two-six for tasking.”

“Roger, Jayhawk,” Guru replied. He then contacted the FAC. “Nail Two-six, Camaro Lead. How copy?”

“Camaro, Nail,” the FAC replied. He was a “Fast FAC” in an A-7K, where the FAC was the backseater, and the pilot was doing his or her best to keep both of them alive in a dangerous sky where everyone-friendlies included-could, and did, shoot at anything that flew. “State your aircraft and type of ordnance, please.”

“Nail, Camaro Flight is four Foxtrot-Four Echoes, with six Mark-8-2s and six Mike 117s each airplane, not counting air-to-air, and two Foxtrot-Four Juliets with full air-to-air.” Guru told the FAC.

“Roger that, Camaro. Be advised Red air is in the area, both fast movers and helos. Air-defense threat is regimental level and higher.”

“Copy all,”

“Target is armor and some artillery, southeast of the junction of Highway 183 and State Route 36,” Nail said. “How many runs can you give me?”

“Nail, Camaro. One run only,” said Guru. That had been a squadron policy since the early days. Only one run in the target area unless the threat permitted. “Can you mark the target?”

“Camaro, Nail, affirmative,” Nail replied. “And I have visual on you. Can you send in your Juliets?”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Camaro One-Five and One-six, make some bad guys go away.”

“Roger, Lead,” Paul Jackson replied, and the two RAF F-4Js charged in ahead of the strike birds.

If the RAF was expecting meat on the table, they were initially disappointed. Just as the F-4Js came in, the Mi-24s all got down low-very low, and the RAF backseaters had trouble getting a good Sky Flash lock, while if they took a Sidewinder shot? Chances were that the missile would home in either on a flare or a burning vehicle instead of the target helicopter. But just as they came in....

“Six, this is Five,” Flight Lt. Karen McKay called. “Fitters at Four O'Clock!”

“Roger, Five,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson, the lead pilot, replied. “I see 'em, Break right and climb.”

The two Soviet interlopers were from the 3rd Squadron, 1st Guards Fighter-Bomber Regiment, which was far from their peacetime station at Kumnadaras, Hungary. The Regiment had been in the thick of the fight since 1986, and though they had made their presence known, they had also taken their share of lumps-especially during the Battle of Wichita, where they had lost nearly a squadron's worth of aircraft in just two days. After pulling back to Texas, the Regiment had been pulled off the line to rest and absorb replacement aircraft and pilots. To the Regimental Commander's horror, although the new Su-22M4s were welcome, the pilots were among the first of the wartime classes to join front-line regiments, and they didn't have the training experience those who had come up in peacetime or the first year of the war had. His squadron commanders told him that the novices were most likely to get themselves killed, and he knew it. Still, he told them to get on with it.

The Soviet flight leader happened to be the Commander of 3rd Squadron, and as he saw the two F-4Js coming in, he ordered his wingman to break. The Major jettisoned his air-to-ground ordnance (KMGU Cluster Bombs) and kept his two R-60M (AA-8 Aphid) AAMs, but as he turned left, his wingman was following him, then the young Lieutenant reversed the turn to his shock, and those two F-4s were still closing in.

“I've got the leader,” Paul Jackson called.

“Wingman's mine,” McKay added. She rolled in behind the Fitter, and it appeared to her that the pilot was a rookie. “Didn't Intel say the Sovs cut corners in training?”

Razor Wilkenson, her GIB, said, “His problem, not ours.” He maintained his visual scanning. “Six is clear, Susan. Take him.”

“He's taken.” McKay centered the pipper on the Fitter, and uncaged a Sidewinder. The missile seeker growled in her headset, then it went really loud. Missile lock. “FOX TWO!” McKay squeezed the trigger, and an AIM-9L shot off the port rails. The Sidewinder went right, then left, before flying up the Su-17's tailpipe. There was a fireball, then the Fitter's fuel and ordnance blew in a larger fireball, before what was left tumbled down to the ground in flames. There was no chute. “SPLASH!”

In the lead, Dave Gledhill was scanning visually when he heard McKay's call. “That's nine for Susan, Paul.”

“Caught up with that crazy one, then?” Jackson said as he ran down the lead Fitter. This Russian was good, constantly reversing to try and prevent a Sidewinder lock. “Can you get him?”

“Wait one..” Gledhill replied as he worked the radar controls. “Steady... We've got him! SHOOT!”

“FOX ONE!” Jackson called as a Sky Flash missile came off the left forward station. The missile motor ignited, then as it accelerated away, he squeezed the trigger again. “FOX ONE AGAIN!” A second Sky Flash came off the left rear station, but this one, rare for a Sky Flash, was a dud, for it just fell away. But the first one went straight and true, as the Su-17 turned left, then reversed and rolled, the Sky Flash speared the Fitter just aft of the wings. The enemy plane fireballed, and blew in half, and as what appeared to be two miniature nuclear fireballs plunged to earth, both Jackson and Gledhill were surprised to see a flash from the cockpit half, the seat fire, and there was someone in a chute.

“Well, I'll be damned,” Gledhill said. “Bugger made it.”

“That's a surprise,” Jackson agreed. “One-five has a splash!”


“Hear that?” Goalie said in 512's rear seat. “RAF got two more.”

“I heard,” Guru replied. “Nail, Camaro Lead. Fast-movers are splashed. Can you mark the target?”

“Affirmative,” Camaro,” Nail replied. The A-7K rolled in and fired four rockets, each with a WP warhead. The White Phosphorous would not only mark the target, but also set fire to anything it touched. “There's your target. Crossroads of F.M. 411 and F.M. 295. Armor and APCs up front, artillery close behind.”

“Roger, Nail. Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and let's go.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara called back, and the others followed.

Guru saw the WP smoke and began to roll in. “Flight, Lead. One pass south to north. Watch for Triple-A and SAMs.”

“Camaro, Nail, watch for missiles. Seen about twenty of the bastards,” the FAC advised. “Some small, some big.”

“Roger, Nail,” Guru said. “Ready back there?” He called Goalie on the IC.

Goalie replied, “Switches set.” She added, “Everything in one.”

“Copy that.” Guru then saw the smoke drifting, then just south, armor and what looked like guns in the open. Your bad day, Ivan, he thought. “Flight, Lead. Target's in sight and Lead's in!”

“Ready,” Goalie said from the back seat.

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


Down below, the commander of the 58th Motor-Rifle Division was having a fit. His division had been in Cuba since 1986, and only recently had been shipped over to Texas. The division, from Kyzrl-Arvat in the Turkestan MD, had been a prewar Cat B division, and had been brought up to strength quickly upon mobilization. After being shipped to Cuba-and the General had been grateful that the convoy bringing his division to Cuba had few losses, what he had seen gave him pause. For there had been an air strike on the convoy,either from Bermuda or a carrier, and he had watched as a munitions freighter simply...disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame as it took a missile hit, while a tanker had been crippled, and had to be left behind to fend for itself. The captain of the RO-RO cargo ship he and his lead regiment were on had told him the next day that the tanker had been finished off by an American surface ship-one of their heavy cruisers, and that if that ship had found the convoy, the damage would've been frightful, even with the cruiser and several destroyers that were escorting the convoy. After unloading at the port of Banes, the division had spent the following year training, as well as assisting Cuban units that were working up themselves to deploy. While the news from the front was, of course, heavily censored, his intelligence officer was able to get more accurate reports, and news of the Battle of Wichita had dismayed him. Now the battle lines were back in Texas, and the horrendous losses during Wichita and the American Counteroffensive meant that his division would get the call. And in January, it did.

The General flew over and met with his new Army Commander, General Sisov of 32nd Army, and Sisov had warned him that his unit would be facing American formations that were hardened veterans out of III and II Corps. The division sailed from Banes to Corpus Christi, and after unloading, had made a road march to join the 32nd Army. Just in time for a spoiling attack that the Front Commander had planned. Sisov briefed his division commanders, and told them that they were going to go at the boundary between III and II Corps-the latter of which was spread out to the west along Interstate 20, and see what havoc they could create in the American rear before pulling back. Maybe the division might break through and get to the Interstate, and the Army's 78th Tank Division would then pass through and go on a large-scale armored raid in the American rear. Maybe.

Now, the General was up front with the 162nd MRR. The regiment (and division) had originally been T-62 equipped, but had received T-72Ms from the Martin Works in Czechoslovakia that had been sent to Cuba, and the division had left its T-62s on the island. The General was pleased for the moment, for the division had broken through against elements of the 7th Infantry Division, a Light Infantry Division last known to be in Colorado. Now, having reached a crossroads, the regiment was preparing to turn north, for the interstate, with the divisional tank regiment, the 231st Tank Regiment, ready to follow through, when two things came to the regimental commander's (and thus the General's) attention. First, the American light infantry had pulled back, but armor had been reported moving in from the west, and II Corps was known to have the 9th Armored Cavalry Regiment under its command. Second, from the east, a brigade from the 1st Cavalry Division was also reported on the move, and clearly, the Americans intended to seal this breakthrough as quickly as possible. All the more reason to move forward. The General's command vehicle (a BTR-70) was just pulling up to the Regimental Command Group when the vehicle commander turned to him.

“Air attack, Comrade General!” The man's face showed horror.

“TAKE COVER!” The General said as he, his aide, and a communications man jumped from the vehicle and found a nearby ditch. As they did so, he looked up and saw an American aircraft orbiting, and what looked like an F-4 Phantom coming in. “DOWN!”


“Lead's in!' Guru called as he came in on the bomb run. He saw the vehicles gathered around the intersection, and they looked like they had just halted. Lost, perhaps? Or had they taken their objective and were waiting for orders? No matter. You'll be dead just the same, Guru thought as he lined the APCs and command tracks in his pipper. As he did, tracers began coming up from several vehicles, but they flew wide. Not today, Ivan... “Steady... Steady... And.... HACK!” The CO hit the pickle button, and his six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off their racks. He pulled up and away, jinking as he did, and a quick glance to his left revealed an SA-7 flying past just above the left wing. “Lead's off target,” he called.


The General heard the F-4 come in, and as he did, the bombs came down. A dozen explosions followed, some bigger than others, and after the last one, he looked up from the ditch. His BTR had been tossed aside like a toy, while the Regiment's command vehicles either had the same thing happen, or were just blasted apart. Shaking his head, he started to get up when someone pulled him back into the ditch. Furious, he turned to see his aide.Before the General could upbraid him, the young Captain said, “More aircraft coming in!” He pointed to the south. What looked like another F-4 was coming for them, and the General ducked.


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

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as he jinked left and right, and another SA-7 (or SA-14) flew past on the right side.

“A couple, but we tore up those bastards.”

“Good enough,” Guru replied as he turned north for the I-20.


Kara rolled in behind the CO and began her run. “Two's in hot!” She called. Ignoring the light flak and a couple of MANPADS that came up, she followed Guru down and watched as his bombs tore into some APCs and what might have been a command group of some kind. Kara noticed some tanks off to the left of the bomb blasts and selected those as her target. Your turn, Ivan, she thought as she went down on the tanks. Some of the tank commanders must've spotted her, for tracers were coming up form the tanks and from some APCs just to the south of the CO's target. Too late, boys.... “And....Steady... And... NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, and another dozen iron bombs came off racks to land on the Russians below. She then pulled up, jinking as she did, and cleared the target area. “Two's off, she called.


“DAMN IT!” The General shouted as Kara's F-4 came in. He had seen the regiment's tank battalion halted, and that was one of the things he had planned to give the Colonel in command a good blast about, but obviously, that was no longer possible. The General saw the tanks' machine guns open up, but their aim was well off, and the F-4 came in and released its bombs. He dropped to the floor of the ditch, hearing and feeling the bombs as they went off, The General raised his head and saw several tanks on fire, while a couple of others had been flipped on their sides by bomb blasts. Shaking his head as one of the burning tanks exploded, sending its turret flying into the air, he turned, and saw another F-4 coming down. This time, he didn't need his aide, who looked properly terrified. The General dropped to the bottom of the ditch.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat. “And we have secondaries!”

“What kind?” Kara asked as she continued jinking, and saw another SA-7 fly past her right wing.

“Good ones!”

“Good enough for me,” Kara said as she turned north, picking up the CO's bird and heading for the I-20.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she went down on her run. She saw Kara's run, and spotted some artillery pieces south of the intersection, along with their prime movers. Your turn, she thought as she took her bird down onto the target area. Sweaty, too, ignored the 23-mm flak coming up, as she selected a gun battery as her target. Oh, for some Rockeyes, she thought. No difference.... The battery grew larger in her pipper as she closed in... “And... And... Steady.... And... HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and her dozen bombs were off the aircraft. She then pulled up and clear, jinking just as the CO and Kara did, When she cleared the area, Sweaty made the call, “Three's off target.”


“Sookin sin!” The General muttered. Son of a bitch. Glancing up from the bottom of the ditch, he saw Sweaty's F-4 pulling up and away, and he heard the bombs going off, followed by the concussion of the explosions, then more explosions. Sympathetic detonations, the General thought. But what? He glanced up from the trench to see where the regiment's artillery battalion had set up, several hundred meters to the south, and one of the batteries was completely engulfed in smoke and flames. One battery down, the General knew. He glanced up,noticing two F-4s that were orbiting. Reconnaissance, maybe? Then he saw another coming in... The General dropped back into the ditch.


“GOOD HITS!” Preacher yelled. “And we've got secondaries!”

“How many and what kind?” Sweaty asked as she jinked left, watching as a missile-this one likely an SA-13, flew by on her left.

“Several of the righteous kind,” the ex-Seminary student called.

“I'll take that,” Sweaty said as she turned north, looking for the CO's element and the I-20.


“Four in hot!' Hoser called as he came in. He saw Sweaty's run, and the secondaries that followed, and he noticed what looked like fuel and ammo carriers to the southwest of the intersection. You're selected, he said to himself as he rolled in. Hoser, too, ignored the flak, and even what looked to be an SA-13 fired in head-on mode, but didn't guide. “Not this time” he muttered. “Steady... And... Steady.... And.. THEY'RE OFF!” Hoser hit his pickle button, releasing his bombs, and he pulled up and away. Like the others, he began jinking to give the flak and missile gunners a harder shot at him. Once he was clear, he made the call, “Four's off target.”


“Of all the...” The General muttered as Hoser's F-4 came in and released its bombs. He heard the howl of the jet, then the bomb blasts and also felt the concussion, even through the ditch. Ignoring his aide, the General got up and saw where the bombs had gone-right into where the regimental rear services-the fuel and ammunition trucks, repair, and maintenance had parked. Now, he saw trucks that were either blasted apart by bomb blasts, had been tossed aside as if they were toys, or were burning furiously. He turned to his aide. “Find the regiment's alternate command post. Order them on my authority to get everything they can here, and give all possible assistance. Then find me a radio to talk to the divisional Chief of Staff. The Americans are going to be coming down on us, and we need to be ready.”

“Comrade General!” The aide said.

This has been a bitch of an afternoon, the General thought. And it's not over yet.


“BULLSYE!” KT yelled. “And there's secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Hoser asked as he banked left to avoid another SA-13, then came back right.

“Big and good,” KT said. “The righteous kind, as Preacher likes to say.”

“I'm not arguing with that,” Hoser said as he turned to pick up Sweaty's bird.


In 512, Goalie was grinning beneath her oxygen mask. “Four in and out.”

“It is that, and we fly for ourselves,” Guru replied. “One-five and One-six, get your asses clear and away.”

“Roger, Lead,” Paul Jackson replied. “One-five and One-six coming out.”

“Camaro, Nail. I give you one hundred percent bombs on target. Nice work, fella,” the FAC called.

“Roger that, Nail, and we may do this again today.”

“Copy that, Camaro. Safe flight back.”

“Roger, Nail, and thank you,” Guru called. “Jayhawk, Camaro Flight is Winchester and we are RTB.”

The EC-130 controller replied, “Roger, Camaro. Clear to RTB.”

“Copy, Jayhawk,” Guru said. He glanced to his right and saw Kara in 520 right with him. “I see you, Two. Sweaty?”

“On your six,” Sweaty called. “And Hoser's with me.”

“One-Five and One-six have a visual on Lead,” Paul Jackson added.

“Roger, One-Five,” said Guru. “Form on me and egress.”

Camaro Flight cleared the area and headed for the tankers. They drank enough fuel to give them some loiter time in case the pattern at Sheppard had problems, then they headed back.

When Camaro Flight returned, they did have to wait in the pattern. The Marines who had gone ahead of them were orbiting, but one F/A-18 flight was cleared in ahead of everyone else due to battle damage in one of the aircraft. After waiting for the others to come in, Camaro Flight was cleared in to land.

After landing, they taxied clear, and saw an F/A-18 in an open area to the east, and two trucks approaching it. A small object sticking out from one of the engines was obviously the item of interest, and both Guru and Goalie knew what it was.

“Somebody's got an unexploded missile in their ass,” Guru said.

“Been there, done that,” replied Goalie. “Twice. Once at Williams, once at Cannon.”

“Don't remind me,” Guru said. Twice he had brought back unexploded SA-7s in 512's afterburner cans. And both times, the SA-7 warheads, though the missile had tracked perfectly, had failed to go off on impact. Though EOD had been on the ball each time, it still gave him chills. Though the F-4 could-and did-take punishment, that was still the kind of battle damage that made one pause. An engine change at least, and a check for any other damage, and that meant a valuable combat aircraft out of action for several hours at least.

Goalie understood. Guru had gone skydiving once. And that was something she didn't want to experience firsthand, even if they had to eject over friendly territory. “Part of the job,” she said.

“I know, but still...” Guru's voice trailed off as he taxied past.

As the RAF F-4s taxied in, both crews held fingers up to signal kills, and those watching were cheering. The RAF ground crew especially: they knew that one of their own had tied the Wild Thing in the kill count, and that was reason enough to let out a cheer.

Also watching was Jena Wendt's news crew. “When Kara finds out one of the RAF pilots tied her, there's going to be hell to pay tonight,” she said.

“First they have to get to tonight,” Trever Scott, her cameraman, reminded her.

Another group was watching near the flight line, and they, too, were very interested. Chief Ross had picked up Ms. Mason from the SAC Molehole, and the two, along with Erica's Marine escort, had watched the planes come in with binoculars. “What's that sticking out of that one plane?” Erica asked.

“Looks like somebody's got an unexploded missile in their afterburner,” Ross said. He'd seen it before, both in Southeast Asia, when an F-4 had limped back from North Vietnam with an Atoll missile in its right engine, and here, with several 335th birds with unexploded SA-7s or SA-14s.

Erica lowered her binoculars. “How do they get those out?” She asked.

“Think two porcupines having sex, Ms. Mason,” replied the Chief. “Carefully.”

“Oh.”


Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, and after getting the “Shut down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, shut down the two J-79 engines. After going through the postflight checklist, he took a deep breath. “That's the first one.”

“CAS, you mean,” Goalie said.

“Yeah. And we're at this the rest of the afternoon,” he reminded her as he stood up in the cockpit.

“Not good. Where are the Hogs and SLUFS?” Goalie asked, referring to the A-10s and A-7s.

Guru nodded as he got onto the crew ladder. “A very good question,” he said as he climbed down.

After Goalie followed, Sergeant Crowley came up with a thermos and two cups. He poured hot coffee and handed a cup to each. “How'd it go, Major, and how's my bird?” The Crew Chief-like so many others, liked to remind pilots and WSOs that they merely “borrowed” the aircraft, and the Crew Chief “Owned” it.

Guru took the cup and sipped from it. “Made a Russian CP go away, and the others went after some armor. And Five-twelve's flying like a champ.”

“Great, sir!” Crowley said. He glanced to the rear of the revetment, and the ordnance carts that were waiting. “Looks like you're going out again soon.”

Guru and Goalie looked to where the CC was focused. Ordnance carts with Rockeye CBUs were coming. “Looks like antiarmor for this one,” Goalie said.

Guru nodded. “Looks like,” he said. “Sarge, you guys get her ready for the next one. Just you and the ordies don't argue, you hear?”

“Always, Major,” Crowley beamed. “All right, people! You heard the Major! Let's get her ready.”

Guru and Goalie headed out the revetment, and found Kara and Brainiac there, waiting. “Well?”

“Tore up some armor,” Kara said. “And saw you do that to a CP.”

“Anybody shooting back?”

“Just SA-7s and 23-mm,” Brainiac said. “Not Shilkas, though.”

“For which we should all be grateful,” Sweaty said as she, Preacher, Hoser, and KT arrived, with the RAF crews right behind them. “Made an artillery battery go away.”

“And fuelers here,” Hoser added.

Guru smiled. Then he shook Dave Gledhill's hand. “Nice work, Dave, making those Fitters go away.”

“Into the ground,” Kara spat. She knew that McKay now was tied with her. Though the RAF detachment was part of MAG-11, they flew their missions with the 335th, and a rivalry had developed.

“And that means, Karen,” Guru went on. “You and Kara have the same score,” he nodded at both of them.

“For now,” McKay grinned. As long as the RAF was flying BARCAP and TARCAP, they would have the most chances to splash the bad guys.

The last thing either CO wanted was any sort of problem... “Save it for the Russians later, or the Pool Table tonight,” Guru reminded them.

Kara grinned herself. “It'll be a pleasure.”

Just then, a Dodge Crew-Cab pulled up, with Sin Licon, the SIO, in the driver's seat. “Major? We need to do a quick debrief. Chief Ross has food and hot drinks by the office.”

“Let's go,” Guru said, and they all piled into the truck.

After getting back to the squadron's office, they found tables set up with snacks and hot drinks. As usual, Chief Ross was on top of things, and the CO was pleased. The debriefing was quick, and since there were witnesses to the two Fitter kills, Sin and his RAF counterpart both listed them as confirmed.

Once the intels were finished, everyone was getting something to eat or drink, for CAS meant quick turnarounds, and it wouldn't be long until time to go.

Guru was attacking a turkey sandwich when Dave Golen and Flossy came up, with their GIBs, and an old friend. Dave, I see you've brought Athena,” the CO said, nodding at Capt. Sharon Valerri-Park. “And Helo,” he added, referring to now Capt. Karl “Helo” Agathon.

“Well, when we got the CAS call, somebody also wanted pictures,” Athena said. “Dave and Flossy rode shotgun.”

“Any MiGs or Sukhois?”

“Not a one,” Dave said. “Though we did hear the RAF splash a pair.”

“They did,” Kara grumbled. “Karen McKay's tied with me now.”

“For now,” Flossy said. She had seven herself, and was also looking for two more to tie Kara.

Other 335th crews arrived, and what they had seen and done was a topic of much discussion. Then another Crew-Cab arrived, and Chief Ross got out, followed by Ms. Mason and her Marine escort. “You're back, Major,” Erica said, slinging her AKM.

“This time,” the CO said. Not only did he notice her AKM, but her Marine escort was slinging an M-16. “Made some Russian armor and artillery go away.”

“To hell,” Erica said with due seriousness.

“One can hope,” Kara replied.

Changing the subject, the CO asked, “How'd you do with the SOF types?” He nodded in the direction of the old SAC Molehole.

“It went pretty good,” Erica said. “Maybe we could've done things a little differently back in the hills, but once those Spetsnatz showed up, it was a matter of time, they said.”

Heads nodded at that. Though no one had read her debrief, the relevant details were in the SERE Bulletin. “No use beating yourself up over that,” Guru said. “Jed made a call, and it might have been right at the time.”

“Hindsight's always 20-20,” Flossy said. “If I'd made that warning call a few seconds earlier, maybe Colonel Rivers-he had the squadron before Guru there-might be alive now. Or maybe not.”

Preacher nodded. “You can't change the past, no matter how much you want to.”

“I know,” Mason replied. “Major, they told me about you being involved with something while you were on R&R. Something about an Off-road trip, some Cubans, and one of your people catching a Cuban and all she wore were a pair of combat boots and an M-16.”

Howls of laughter followed, but Guru silenced that with a raised hand. “Quite true,” he said.

“Only it wasn't me,” Goalie said. “It was Ryan Blanchard. She runs our Combat Security Police detachment. I was there, and saw it happen.”

Erica was amazed. “So all she had on were her boots and her M-16? Well, I'll be.”

“Yep. She killed two Cubans, I got another, and maybe two or three others got away. The one guy Ryan caught was an officer,” Guru said.

“And that officer was begging us to kill him because a naked woman caught him. I'll bet when he got to a POW Camp, word got around about what happened to him,” Goalie added.

Dave Golen let out another laugh. “And his friends have probably never let him forget it.”

“That's one bet I wouldn't take,” Kara said.

An Ops NCO came up right after that. “Major? Your flight's ready to go. Squadron Leader Gledhill's element is with you, as is Major Golen and Captain Jenkins.” He was referring to Dave and Flossy.

“Break time's over,” Flossy said as she drained a cup of coffee.

“It is that,” Guru nodded agreement. “Okay, hit the latrines and meet up at 512's revetment. Time to fly.”

Erica put out her hand. “Good luck, Major,” she said.

Guru shook it. “Thanks. Never know if we'll need it.”

The crews followed the CO's advice, then they all met at the CO's bird. Sure enough, all four of the CO's flight were loaded with Rockeye CBUs, while Dave Golen's and Flossy's birds each had six AGM-65 Mavericks. They gathered around for the CO's final instructions.

“Okay, people,” Guru said. “Dave Golen and Flossy have Mavericks.” He looked at both of them and their GIBs, Capt. Terry McAuliffe and 1st Lt. Chloe “Jang” Winters. “You guys kill anything that looks like a SAM track or a gun vehicle first of all. Dealer's choice if you don't see any of those.”

“Fat chance of that,” Jang said.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “So, Dave, You and Flossy kill anything that can kill an airplane.” He then looked at Dave Gledhill's people. “Dave Gledhill? You do what you did earlier this afternoon. Make anything with a red star on the fuselage go into a smoking hole in the ground.”

“Will do,” Gledhill replied, and Golen nodded.

“And us?” Sweaty asked.

“Antiarmor by the looks of our ordnance load,” Guru said, nodding at 512, loaded with a dozen Rockeye CBUs on the inboard wing and centerline stations.

“Making some tanks go away?” KT asked.

“Looks that way,” Goalie said.

“It does,” the CO nodded. “Threat levels are unchanged, and so are bailout areas,” he added. “We meet up at Ten Grand overhead. Anything else?”

“One more after this one?” Kara asked.

Guru checked his watch. “Maybe two if they decide to push it, but once the sun starts setting, using the Mark One eyeball gets a little dicey. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “That's it. Mount up and it's time to fly.” He clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed for their respective aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went to 512, they found everything ready. “Major, Captain? She's all prepped for you,” Sergeant Crowley said.

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did a quick preflight walk-around, then after signing for the aircraft, climbed up the crew ladder and into the cockpit. After strapping in, putting on their helmets, and connecting their oxygen masks, they went through the preflight.

“Long afternoon,” Goalie said as she went through the checklist.

“I didn't say it, you did,” Guru replied. “Arnie?”

“Arnie's up and running,” replied Goalie. They meant the ARN-101 DMAS nav system. “Backup INS up as well. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom; check yours.”

“Mine's ready. Preflight checklist complete and ready for engine start.”

“And so we are,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both J-79 engines were up and running. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Flight with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Flight rolling.” Guru then gave the “Chocks” signal to his Crew Chief, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the wheels, and after releasing the brakes, Guru began to taxi.

Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and once clear, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, which Guru and Goalie returned. As Guru taxied 512 to the runway, the rest of the flight followed. Once they got to the holding area, a Marine F-4 flight from VMFA-333 was ahead of them-and they were loaded with CBUs just as Camaro Flight was. The Marines had to wait for the Eastbound C-141 to come in and land, though. Once the big Starlifter had taxied clear, the Marines taxied onto the runway, it was Camaro Flight's turn.

Guru taxied into the holding area, and the armorers removed the weapon safeties. He watched the Marines launch, then he called the tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-seven for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A final cockpit check, and everything was good to go. A quick glance at 520 followed, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, and it was time.

“Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff,” Guru called.

As usual, the tower didn't respond over the radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said to Goalie. He pulled down his canopy, closing and locking it, and Goalie did the same. A final look at 520 showed Kara and Brainiac had done the same. “Ready back there?”

“Not ready, but let's get this over with,” Goalie said. She-and everyone else in the squadron, including Guru, despised CAS runs.

“I know what you mean,” Guru said. “But we have someplace to be.” He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512, with 520 on its wing, rumbled down the runway and into the air. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, followed by Dave Golen and Flossy, with the RAF right behind them. Camaro Flight then formed up at FL 100, then headed south for the tankers.

[Matt Wiser]

Next one:


Over Central Texas: 1455 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was orbiting just north of the FEBA, which meant in this part of Texas, the I-20. They had joined up with the tankers, and after topping off, had been directed by AWACS to contact the EC-130. The EC-130 controller had then put them in a holding pattern, saying, “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.”

As the crews orbited, and descended on the direction of the controller, they could see well into Enemy territory, and noticed the air activity not just at altitude, but down below. MiGs orbiting well to the south, while the ground-attack side was going in as well. Missile tracks coming up-from both sides, punctuated by the occasional fireball in the air and flaming wreckage falling to earth. Then there were the occasional dogfights, while attack helos down below went about their business. Just another day.

In 512, Major Wiser looked around. Camaro Flight had dropped in altitude as flights ahead of them had been handed off to FACs, and they were now at 11,000 Feet. He saw what looked like the EC-130 off to the east, then as he glanced to the south, a large explosion behind Soviet lines caught his attention. “Somebody just scored,” he said.

Goalie, in the back seat, saw it as well. “Who did it? Us, or did some Army pukes drop a few shells on 'em?”

“Maybe we'll find out ten years after this war's over and the Official History comes out,” Guru quipped. “Jayhawk, Camaro Lead. Any tasking for us?” He said as he called the EC-130.

“Camaro Lead, Jayhawk,” the controller replied. “Negative. Descend to FL 100 and continue to hold.”

“Roger, Jayhawk,” Guru called back. “Flight, Lead. Follow me. Drop to ten grand and we continue to hold.”

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

Guru dropped down to FL 100 and got into another holding orbit. Two Marine flights of Hornets were ahead of him, and it wasn't long before the first, then the second, got handed off. Camaro Flight was at 8,000 when the EC-130 Controller called.

“Camaro Lead, Jayhawk. Contact Nail Two-eight for tasking.”

“Roger, Jayhawk,” Guru said. He switched over, and called the FAC. “Nail Two-six, Camaro Lead. Understand you've got some business for us.”

In the back seat of an A-7K, the FAC checked his map. “Camaro Lead, Nail. That's affirmative. Say aircraft and type of ordnance, please.”

“Roger, Nail. Camaro Flight is eight Foxtrot-Fours. Four Echoes with Rockeye, two Echoes who can take Rifle shots, and two Juliets for air-to-air.”

“Copy all, Camaro. Stand by one.” The FAC paused, then picked up. “Camaro, Nail. Can you send your Rifle shooters in first?”

“That's affirm,” Guru replied.

“Copy, Camaro. Target is a regimental-level formation in the open, west of the junction of F.M. 296 and F.M. 295. Mostly armor with some APCs. Regimental air defense with some divisional assets behind.”

Guru glanced at the map. Not far from where they had hit on the previous one. “Roger, Nail. Say bandit threat?”

“Camaro, Nail. Some fast-movers and helos encountered. Watch for 'em and have your Juliets splash 'em.”

“Nail, Camaro. Roger that, and can you mark the target? One run, south to north.”

“That's a roger, Camaro and copy one run south to north.”

Good man, Guru thought. “Flight, Lead. Got some work to do here. Five and six go in first and take your Rifle shots. Seven and eight, kill any bandits. Soon as five and six are clear, rest of us go in.”

“Roger, Lead,” Dave Golen called back, as did Paul Jackson.

“Camaro, Nail. Marking your target,” the FAC called.

Guru watched as the A-7K rolled in and fired several rockets, producing a cloud of WP smoke as they detonated, and the A-7 pulled up.

“Camaro, Nail. There's your target.”

“Roger, Nail,” Guru said. “Five and six, do your thing, Seven and eight cover.”

Dave Golen and Flossy shot ahead, and it didn't take long for “Rifle!” calls to come over the radio. A couple of minutes later, Dave Golen came on the radio.

“Camaro One-five and One-six are clear” he called. “Four Sierra-Alpha Nine and four Shilkas gone.” Plus two tanks, he said to himself.

“Roger, One-five,” Guru said. “Starbuck, on me. Sweaty, you and Hoser follow. Switches on, Music on, and let's go.”

“All set back here,” Goalie called from the back seat. “All ordnance in one.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Target in sight.” He then took 512 down on the bomb run as more “Rifle” calls came from Dave Golen and Flossy.



Below, the 58th MRD had thrown in two more regiments, the 161st MRR with BMPs and T-72s, and the 231st Tank Regiment with T-72s and BMP-2s. Both regiments were trying to race to the I-20, and then the 78th TD would pass through. Or so the Divisional Commander had been told by General Sisov.

The 58th MRD's commander was following the tank regiment, as he felt a divisional commander should, right behind the 231st's tanks. He was riding in his Chief of Staff's command vehicle-the previous one having been wrecked in an air strike earlier that afternoon. The General had been told by both the tank regiment and the 161st MRR that they had broken into undefended terrain, and he smiled. Not much farther to the I-20, then the 78th will pass forward. He looked ahead through a viewport, and to his horror, he saw several fireballs erupt, as the 231st's air defense vehicles opened fire, only to have them silenced by fireballs. The General opened a hatch and stood up, only to see what looked like an F-4 Phantom pulling away. Then more missile trails appeared, and three more fireballs came as those missiles found their targets. When a staff officer told him that the 231st's air defense battalion had been hit hard, he knew what was coming. Air attack. Then a shout on the radio, and he turned. More American fighter-bombers coming in... “AIR ATTACK! Warn the 231st!” He shouted in his throat mike.

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he came in on the bomb run. He saw Dave Golen and Flossy make their Maverick runs and take their shots. Good. Though a missile did come up, this one likely an SA-9, but the SAM flew right past his right wing. Not today, Ivan... He picked out some tanks in the lead, still in a column, and selected them. You'll do, he said to himself. As Goalie called out altitude, Guru lined up the middle of the column in his pipper. Just then, they began to deploy out of the column. Too late... He lined up a company's worth in the pipper as tracers came up at him from the tanks-tank commanders using their machine guns. “Steady, Steady.... And.. And... HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, sending a dozen Rockeyes onto the armor below. He pulled up and away, jinking as he did, for there might still be a SAM operator or a ZSU-23-4 able to shoot. When he cleared the area, he called. “Lead's off safe.”

“Sookin sin!” the General yelled to no one in particular. Son of a bitch. He watched helplessly as the American came in right over his vehicle, and unloaded his bombs on the 231st's Second Battalion. The Cluster Bombs going off looked like a couple thousand firecrackers, only these were punctuated by fireballs as tanks exploded. The General got on the radio to the 231st, demanding to know what was going on, before turning his ire on the radio to his Air Force Liaison, calling for fighters to protect his division.


“SHACK!” Goalie called as 512 pulled clear. “We've got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as a missile flew by on his left wing. This one looked like another SA-9 by its size..

“Enough!”

“Fine with me,” Guru said as he turned north, headed for the I-20.


“Two in hot!” Kara called as she took 520 in. She saw the CO's run, and a number of fireballs erupt in his wake, and smiled beneath her oxygen mask. Kara picked out another battalion of tanks deploying, this one to the right of the one Guru had hit, and selected them. She, too, drew SA-9 fire, but the missile flew past on her left wing, Not this time, Ivan, she thought as the tanks grew larger in her pipper-along with the tracers. Kara picked out the lead company and chose them... “And steady.....Steady....And....THEY'RE OFF!” She hit the pickle button, releasing her Rockeyes, then she pulled up and applied power. Like the CO, she was jinking as she did to give any surviving flak or missile gunners an easy target. When she got clear, Kara made the call. “Two off target.”


“Of all the...” The General muttered as Kara's F-4 came in. He watched as a 9P31 (SA-9) launch vehicle fired a missile at the F-4, but it just flew by. The General cursed as the F-4 released its bombs, and more Cluster munitions fell on the 231st, this time the Third Battalion. More fireballs came as the F-4 pulled away, and the General shook his head. He turned to his staff officer, who was in combat for the first time, and the captain's eyes showed terror. “Steady yourself,” the General said, then he looked out again to the south. Another F-4 coming in....


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted from 520's rear seat. “Multiple secondaries back there!”

“Define multiple,” Kara said as she avoided another missile, this one likely an SA-7 or -14 on her left wing.

“Multiple hand multiple,” her GIB replied.

“Good enough,” Kara said as she turned north, looking for, then picking up, the CO.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in. She saw Kara's run, and as she came in, she picked out what looked like APCs behind the tanks. You're mine, Sweaty thought as she came down, picking out the middle of the column in her pipper. Two shoulder-fired missiles came up at her, but they failed to guide, passing by beneath her aircraft as she approached bomb release. No way, not today, she thought as the APCs grew larger. “And....And....Steady...NOW!” She called as she hit the pickle button, and a dozen Rockeyes fell onto the BMP-1s below. Sweaty pulled away, applying power and jinking like the others, before clearing the area. “Three's off target.”


“NYET!” The General shouted as Sweaty's F-4 went on its run. He watched as several missile gunners fired their Strela shoulder-fired missiles, but to no avail, as the F-4 came in on the 231st's Motor-Rifle Battalion, released, then climbed up and away, chased by tracers and two more missiles. More Cluster Munitions went off on the BMPs as one company took the brunt of the attack, and several BMPs went up in oily fireballs. He cursed again, and told his driver to head for the 231st's forward command point, where the Regimental Commander was. Then his staff aide tapped his shoulder, and pointed south. One more F-4 coming in...


Preacher shouted, “BULLSEYE! Multiple secondaries back there.”

“How much is multiple?” Sweaty asked as a shoulder-fired missile flew by her right wing, then another went by below the aircraft.

“Double-hand multiple,” the ex-Seminary student turned WSO said.

“Good for us, bad for them,” Sweaty said as she turned north.


“Four in hot!” Hoser said as he came in on his run. He saw tracers coming up, then a fireball below at the source of the tracers. Somebody's shot a Maverick, he thought, before hearing a “Rifle!” call on the radio. Thank you, whoever you are, he added. Hoser spotted some SP artillery setting up, and decided to hit them. Your turn, he said to himself as he adjusted his run, then lined up a battery in his pipper. “Steady...And...And....HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, then he pulled up and away. Like the others, he was jinking as he did so, and dodged another SA-7 on the way. Once clear, he made the call, “Four's off,”

“Mother of..” the General said as he saw Hoser's F-4 make its run, and he knew right away what the Phantom was going for. Regimental artillery, the General said to himself. He watched as the F-4 released its bombs, and more CBUs fell, this one on a battery of 2S1 122-mm SP guns. Fireballs erupted as two or three of the guns exploded, but more fireballs came as ammunition trucks also took hits and blew-all that remained of the trucks-and one MTLB-were pieces of rubbish flying away like rags in the wind. The General winced as the F-4 flew clear, then two more F-4s came in from the south, following the others, but they didn't make bomb runs. That wasn't his concern, but a call on the radio was. American armor to his right flank, and more armor to the left. The Americans clearly intended to seal off and eliminate the penetration. “Get me to the regiment's command post,” the General ordered.


“GOOD HITS!” KT called from the back seat.

“Secondaries?” Hoser asked as he dodged a shoulder-fired missile that flew past on his left wing.

“Multiple, and several big,” KT said.

“Righteous, as Preacher would say,” Hoser said. He dodged one more missile, then turned north for his element leader and the I-20.


In 512, both crewers heard the call. “Four in and out,” Goalie said.

“Now we fly for ourselves,” Guru said. “Five and six, how copy?”

“Five is Winchester,” Dave Golen replied. That meant “Out of ordnance.”

“Six is Winchester,” Flossy added.

“Roger that, One-Seven and One-eight, get your asses clear,” Guru called the two RAF birds.

“Roger, Lead,” Paul Jackson replied. “Coming out.”

“Camaro Lead, Nail. I give you a four-decimal-zero. Good bombs on target, fella.”

Guru replied, “Roger that, Nail. Might be doing this again before too long. Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's egress.”

Camaro Flight formed up and headed for the tankers. They drank some fuel, then headed back to Sheppard. As they got into the pattern, a Marine A-4 flight from Altus asked to come in, as they had a battle-damaged aircraft. The Tower cleared them, and those orbiting watched as an A-4 came in trailing smoke, then as it landed, burst into flame, and the aircraft spun around and came to a stop on Runway 35R.

There were three other flights ahead of Camaro, and when they were finally cleared in to land, the crews saw a burned-out A-4 on 35R, with the fire trucks playing foam on the hulk, while a dazed aviator was walking around, before medics escorted him to an ambulance and the trip to the base hospital. “That could easily have been one of us,” Guru said as he taxied away.

“Don't want to think about that,” Goalie said as both of them popped their canopies

Those watching on the flight line were disappointed to see no fingers held up, and thus no kills as Camaro Flight taxied in. The aircraft taxied into the squadron's dispersal area, and as Guru taxied into 512's revetment, he saw not just the ground crew, but ordnance people. The latter had carts with more Rockeye CBUs. “Looks like antiarmor for the last one,” Guru commented.

“Get some Hogs and A-7s back from wherever,” Goalie said. “I do fucking hate this.”

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Guru said as taxied in, and he got the “Stop” signal from Sergeant Crowley. Then the ground crew put the chocks around the wheels, before Crowley gave the “Shut down” signal.

Guru and Goalie went through the post-flight check, as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. “Time for one more,” Guru said as he stood up in the cockpit.

“Oh, boy,” Goalie nodded. “Any Night Hogs around?” She asked. That meant A-10Bs, the two-seat night-attack variant of the A-10.

“Don't know, but there had better be some,” Guru said as he climbed down the crew ladder.

“Major? Captain?” Crowley asked. “How's my bird, and how'd you guys do?”

“Five-twelve's still truckin' Sarge,” Guru said. “And we made some tanks go away.”

“As in fireballs,” added Goalie.

“Shit hot, sir!” Crowley said, his face beaming. “Looks like you've got one more coming,” he said, nodding at the ordnance people, who were waiting.

Guru nodded. He was getting tired, as back-to-back missions were the most tiring. He needed some coffee and something to eat. “Let's get her prepped and ready,” the CO said. “We've got time for one more run.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley turned to the ground crew. “You heard the Major! Let's get this bird ready!”

Guru and Goalie walked to the revetment entrance, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting, as usual. “Well?” Guru asked. “Made some tanks go away, so how'd you two go?”

“Same drill,” Kara replied. Got some tanks, and saw some of yours go up.

“APCs this time,” Sweaty added as she and Preacher, with Hoser and KT, arrived.

“Artillery for us,” Hoser said.

Dave Golen, Flossy, Terry McAuliffe, and Jang Winters came over, with the RAF. “Guru,” the IDF Major nodded.

“How'd things go for you?” Guru asked.

“Took our Maverick shots, and Hoser there owes me a beer,” Golen said. “Shot a Shilka with my last Maverick as he was rolling in.”

“Dave,” Hoser said as he extended his hand. “That's one debt I'll gladly pay.”

“Paul, Dave,” Guru said to the RAF crewers. “No Red Air this time?”

“Not a one,” Dave Gledhill said. “They all were either to the east or west.”

“Too bad,” Karen McKay added. Everyone knew she was looking for one more kill, then she'd be Top Gun in the Squadron, even if the RAF people were technically “attached” to the 335th and MAG-11.

“Down, Karen,” Dave Gledhill said.

Just then, a Crew-Cab pickup arrived, and the driver got out. Airman Brandon Kellogg said, “Major, Captain Licon sent me to get your flight, with his compliments. He wants to debrief outside the office, and there's snacks and hot coffee for everybody, he says.”

“We going out again?” Sweaty asked.

“Got time for one more,” Kara reminded her.

“That we do,” Guru said. “Let's go.”


After being driven back to the squadron's office, they found Sin Licon waiting outside, with the tables full of drinks and snacks. Other aircrews were taking advantage of the sustenance, and after the quick debrief, Guru's people did the same.

“How many more?” Sweaty asked, in between bites of a turkey sandwich.

“Time for one more, Guru said, checking his watch, then downing a cup of coffee.

“Where are the Hogs?” Kara asked. She was saying something everyone in the squadron wanted to know.

Guru nodded understanding. Though the CO had to put a good face on it, he, too, loathed CAS runs, and wanted to know where those who specialized in CAS were. “That is a very good question.”

Then Ms. Mason came over with Jena Wendt's news crew in tow, along with Lieutenant Patti Brown and Marine Lieutenant Alex Monroe-the PAO/escort Colonel Brady had assigned. “Major, you're all back,” Erica said.

“This time,” Guru nodded. “One reason we don't like CAS runs is that we attract the attention of anybody and everybody with a gun.”

Kara nodded, “From AK-47s on up. Machine guns, Shoulder-fired missiles, vehicle mounted SAMs, ZSU-23-4s, you name it.”

“Shilkas? We ran into those when they were escorting convoys,” Erica recalled. “Matt Eckert would hit one with an RPG to signal the ambush.”

Guru nodded again. “On the ground or in the air, those things are damned deadly. Which is why we had Major Golen,” the CO nodded at the IDF Major, “and Flossy take missile shots to kill them before we went in.”

“We did our job,” Flossy said. “Then they went in and put the hurt on some tanks.”

“That we did, Ms. Mason, So, what do you think of the Air Force so far?”

“I never knew how much it takes to get a plane into the air, much less a couple of dozen,” Erica said.

Kara replied, “Ninety percent of the people in the Air Force aren't involved with flying. But they do their jobs so we can go out and do ours.”

“All of 'em,” another voice said. It was Capt. Mark Ellis, the XO. “Can't do our jobs without them. Ordnance, fuelers, mechanics, support folks, even Ryan Blanchard's security people.”

Erica thought about that for a minute. Then she said, “Never thought about how other people are helping win the war. You're so focused on your little part...”

“And losing sight of the bigger picture,” Goalie said.

“Yeah,” Ms. Mason nodded. “Now I know different,” she said.

An Ops NCO came over right after that. “Major? Your flight's birds are up and ready. Major Golen's element's going with you, along with Squadron Leader Gledhill's.”

“Showtime,” Guru said, finishing another cup of coffee.

Erica looked at them. “No rest for the weary?”

“Or the wicked,” Patti Brown said, glancing at Kara.

“Well, Ms. Mason,” Ellis said, “As the CO likes to say, 'We'll rest after the war, or when we're dead. One of the two.”

“And either answer can be graded as correct,” Guru said. “Okay people! Hit the latrines, then meet up at Five-Twelve's revetment. We've got somewhere to be and people and things to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“Be careful, Major,” Erica said.

“Always,” Guru said. “Got shot down once, and don't want to repeat that.” He added as he grabbed his flight helmet.

After hitting the latrines, the flight gathered at Five-twelve. A quick look at the CO's aircraft saw another Rockeye CBU loadout. “More antiarmor,” Goalie said.

“Looks like it,” Guru nodded. “Okay, folks. This is likely to be our last one today. Treat it as if it's the first. No complacency, Treat these guys as if they're Cat I with Tunguskas and SA-11s.”

Kara said, “Got it, Major.” when she used his rank, or anyone else in the squadron for that matter, it was understood that he was serious.

“This our last one?” Hoser asked.

“It should be,” Sweaty said.

“Not a guarantee,” Guru reminded them. “We've had CAS runs where we take off when the sun's still up, and need runway lights when we get back.”

“Had to ask,” said Hoser.

Guru nodded. “Don't blame you. Okay, Dave Golen? How are you guys loaded?”

“Six Mavericks, same as last time,” Golen replied.

“All right. Same drill as last time. Go in ahead of us and kill anything that can kill aircraft. If you can't ID anything like that? Kill some tanks.”

“A pleasure.”

“Dave Gledhill? You guys kill any Red Air in the area, and do bad things to party-crashers.”

Gledhill looked at Karen McKay, who was definitely looking for that tenth kill. “Will do. But Karen won't go out of her way to do it.”

Both COs looked at McKay, who nodded. “Understood.”

“Good,” Guru said. “Radio procedures, weather, bailout areas? All unchanged, and we form up at Ten Grand overhead. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Mount up and let's fly. Time to hit it.” The CO clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews went for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and found 512 loaded just as she had been for the previous mission: A dozen Rockeye CBUs-six centerline and three on each inboard wing pylon, Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, an ALQ-119 ECM pod, two wing tanks, and full 20-mm for the Vulcan gun. “Major, Captain? Sergeant Crowley said. “Five-twelve's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did a quick walk-around, then after signing for the aircraft, they mounted the aircraft and strapped in with the help of the ground crew. After putting on their helmets and plugging in both com and oxygen, they went through the preflight checklist.

“Think our guest has a new appreciation for the Air Force?” Goalie asked as they went through the list.

Guru replied, “I think so. We'll find out for sure tonight. Arnie?” He was asking about the ARN-101 nav system.

“Arnie's set. That we will. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours. And you're right about that,” said the CO.

“Got it. Preflight checklist complete and ready for engine start,” Goalie said.

“Roger that.” Guru gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the Run-up was complete, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower,” said Guru. “Camaro Lead rolling.” He gave the 'Chocks” signal to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away, and Guru got the “Taxi” signal from Crowley. Once 512 was clear of the revetment, Crowley snapped a salute, which was returned by Guru and Goalie.

Guru taxied out, followed by the rest of the flight. As they taxied out to Runway 35L, the crews saw a low-boy truck and trailer combination hauling a burned-out A-4 away towards the base dump. “Not a good thing to see as you're going out,” Guru commented.

“No,” Goalie agreed. “Wonder what he ran into?”

“Whatever it is, hope we don't run into it,” Guru said as they got to the holding area. A Marine Hornet flight was just ahead of them, and after the Marines taxied to the runway, Camaro Flight was cleared to taxi into the holding area.

There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, making the ordnance “live.” After the Marines launched, Guru called the Tower.”Tower, Camaro Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower,” the controller called back. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-zero at eight.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru said as a C-141 came in onto Runway 35C. That should be the Eastbound Shuttle, both crewers knew. He then taxied onto 35L, and Kara followed in 520. A final check showed everything ready, and a quick look at 520 saw Kara and Brainiac giving a thumbs-up to show they were ready. “All set?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” she replied. “Time to fly.”

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

As was usual, the tower didn't reply by radio.A green light flashed by the controller signaled Clear for Takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, closing and locking his canopy.

“Down and locked,” Goalie said.

A quick look at 520 showed Kara and Brainiac had done the same. All set.

“Then we have somewhere to be,” Guru called. He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. The rest of the flight followed at thirty-second intervals. The flghth formed up at FL 100, then headed south for the tanker track.

[Matt Wiser]

Last run of the day, an SA-6 rears its ugly head, and Erica sees the Animals in the Zoo:

Over North-Central Texas: 1610 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was orbiting just north of the FEBA, having checked in first with the AWACS, then the EC-130, and being told-again, “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.” As the flight orbited, and descended as strike flights ahead of them were handed off to FACs, the crews had a look around.

What the crews saw as they did take a look was that off to the east, there were other strike flights going into the East German sector, and the occasional SAM coming up, along with the usual AAA. Fortunately, no one saw fireballs in the air to signal the ground defenses had scored. A look off to the south revealed the flashes of artillery fire down below as Soviet artillery was sending shells north, along with flak and SAM activity as BAI strikes went in. Further south, crews could just make out Soviet fighters orbiting on CAP station, but staying well clear of friendly artillery and SAMs, and for good reason. Being in the same patch of sky as a 122-mm or 152-mm artillery salvo wasn't a good idea, and they had heard that on occasion, Soviet FACs and artillery spotters hadn't communicated well, and Soviet artillery fire had actually claimed either helos or ground-attack aircraft. And to the west, silhouetted against the sun, additional strikes were orbiting, waiting, and then going in. In both directions, there was also friendly artillery fire, and down below, Army attack helicopters going about their deadly business.

In 512, Guru and Goalie were waiting, wanting to get on with it, and they knew their flight mates were just as antsy. “How long have we been here?” Guru asked his backseater.

Goalie checked her stopwatch. “Twenty minutes,” she replied. “And some people wonder why we hate this.”

In the front seat, Guru nodded. He didn't mind very occasionally doing CAS, for that was helping out the guys and girls on the ground, directly. But CAS wasn't their bread and butter: BAI and counter-air was, and he'd rather be ripping up a supply dump or truck park, or tearing up an airfield. “Girl, you are preaching to the choir,” he said. Then the CO called the EC-130. “Jayhawk, Camaro Lead. Any tasking for us?”

The EC-130 controller got back to him. “Negative, Camaro Lead. Descend to FL 100 and continue to hold.”

“Roger, Jayhawk.” Guru then got onto the flight frequency. “Flight, Lead. Drop to ten grand and maintain holding pattern.”

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

As they dropped down to FL 100, Sweaty came on the radio. “Lead, Three. Anyone ever tell those chumps that we can't stay up here forever? And it's starting to get dark.”

“Sweaty, Lead. Somebody did, once.”

“What'd they say?”

“Guess.”

In her bird, Sweaty knew what the CO meant. “Same old-same-old,” she muttered aloud, with Preacher listening on the IC.

Goalie in 512 knew what Guru meant as well. “Let me guess: 'Hurry up, wait your turn, and STFU.”

Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “You said it: I didn't. But whoever did ask got the controller on a bad day, I'll bet.”

“Who did ask?”

“Somebody we got to know and loathe,” Guru replied.

“Frank?”

“You got it,” the CO said. He was referring to the departed and despised Major Frank Carson, who had not only been described as “Frank Burns with wings” (on a good day), but had an exaggerated sense of entitlement and Boston Blue Blood snobbishness.

“Camaro Lead, Jayhawk,” the EC-130 called. “Descend to FL 90 and maintain hold.”

“Roger, Jayhawk,” Guru replied, though thoroughly disgusted by now. This was one thing that he and the other crews in the squadron despised about CAS: the waiting. We bust ass to get down here, and these chumps tell us to hurry up and wait.

A few minutes later, the EC-130 controller called again. “Camaro Lead, Jayhawk, Contact Nail Two-nine for tasking.”

“Roger that,” replied Guru. He then called the FAC. “Nail Two-nine, Camaro Lead.”

“Camaro, Nail,” the FAC in the A-7K's back seat responded. “Say aircraft and type of ordnance, please.”

“Roger, Nail. Camaro Flight is four Foxtrot-Four Echoes with Rockeye, two Echoes with Rifle, and two Juliets loaded air-to-air.”

The FAC responded, “Copy all, Camaro. Your target is divisional artillery at the intersection of F.M. 411 and F.M. 1027, Northwest Corner, east of Hammer Lake. Be advised SAMs are in the area.”

“Roger, Nail. This single-digit or double?”

“Single so far, Camaro,” the FAC said.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Will send two Echoes in with Rifle, Juliets to clear the air, then rest of us go.”

“Your call, Camaro,” said the FAC. “How many runs?”

In 512, Guru rolled his eyes at that. How many times did FACs ask, and as far as he knew, every fast-mover who had to do CAS gave the same answer. “Nail, Camaro, Single run only, south to north.”

“Roger, Camaro,” Nail called. “Can mark the target.”

Good man, Guru thought. Then he got back onto the flight frequency. “Flight, Lead. Time to go to work. Got some divisional artillery in the open. One-five and One-six, go in and kill anything that can kill an airplane. One-seven and One-eight, kill any party-crashers, rest of you, follow me in. Switches on, music on, and let's go.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Going in hot, Dave Golen called. Then “Rifle” calls came as he and Flossy took Maverick shots.

“Switches set,” said Goalie in 512's back seat. “Ready back here.”

Just then, as Flossy in 1569 took her second Maverick shot, her EW display lit up, and it filled her with dread. A box on the screen, with a “6”. “Oh, shit!” She called. “SA-6 in the target area!”

“Where'd he come from?” Jang asked as she locked onto the Straight Flush missile radar track. “He's locked.”

“No idea,” Flossy replied. “RIFLE!” She shot her third Maverick as Dave Golen also locked up the radar track and fired. Then the RADAR and MISSILE lights came on, as one of the missile TELs fired. “SAM, SAM, SAM!”

“Oh, shit!” Guru called as he saw the two missiles launch. Only they didn't track any of the F-4s. The two missiles tracked and exploded the FAC, which fireballed. “Jayhawk, Camaro Lead. Nail Two-nine is down!”

The controller called back. “Roger, Camaro. Any chutes?”

“Stand by, we're a little busy here, fella.”

“GOT HIM!” Flossy called as the Straight Flush fireballed from two Maverick hits. “Lead, One-six. Got the Straight Flush.”

“Roger that. Flight, change in plans. Flossy, you and One-five kill any mobile guns. Starbuck, Lead. Follow me in on the SAM site. Sweaty, you and Preacher take those artillery pieces.”

Kara replied, “Right with you, Lead.”

Then Sweaty called, “Three's in.”

“One-Five copies,” Dave Golen said. “Rifle!” Another Maverick was in the air.

“Copy all.” Guru replied. “Let's go!” Then he took 512 down on the bomb run.


Near the Kub (SA-6) battery, a Soviet artillery Major was grimacing. His battalion from the 244th Artillery Regiment had set up on what had been ranchland, but the ranch buildings had long been blasted and burned-probably during the initial invasion, the Major thought. Just as his battalion had finished setting up and carrying out fire missions, those air-defense fellows had arrived-without any word from regiment, the Major cursed, and had quickly gotten their missile battery ready for firing. An American aircraft had been spotted circling nearby, and the missile battery tracked it, then fired two missiles. The artillerymen watched as the American tried to evade, but at least one of the missiles tracked him down and the plane became a fireball.

As his men cheered, the Major watched as the missile radar swiveled to the south, and the missile launch vehicles did the same, only to see two missiles come in from the sky, find the missile radar vehicle and it became a fireball of its own, sending pieces of the radar, vehicle, and crew in all directions as it erupted in orange and black flame. The Major then saw two trucks with ZU-23s open fire, before they themselves were blasted by incoming missiles. A tap on his shoulder then revealed his deputy, who pointed south and up. Smoke trails, and dots preceding them. American aircraft! “AIR ALARM! TAKE COVER!” The Major shouted, then he jumped into a freshly-dug foxhole along with his radio operator and another officer.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called. He saw the Straight Flush explode, then the two gun trucks go up, and smiled beneath his oxygen mask. Okay, Ivan. Your turn. He lined up two of the missile launch vehicles in his pipper, then he picked out the northernmost one, hoping to get most of the battery with his CBUs. Guru saw at least two SA-7s fly past, and at least one stream of tracers from a ZU-23 coming up at him. No way, Ivan. Not now. “Steady, And... And.... HACK!” He hit the pickle button, sending his dozen Rockeyes onto the SAM site below. Guru then pulled up and away to the north, jinking as he did. As he cleared the immediate area, he made his all. “Lead's off target.”


“Sookin sin!” the Major yelled. Son of a bitch. He watched as Guru's F-4 went down on the SAM site and release its bombs. The Major saw the CBUs come off, and the big Phantom pull up and away, and what looked like a couple thousand firecrackers going off in the midst of the missile site, punctuated by three fireballs as CBU bomblets found either missile launchers or other vehicles. The Major shook his head, then saw another F-4 coming in....

“SHACK!” Goalie called in 512's back seat. “Multiple secondaries back there!”

“What kind?” Guru wanted to know as he continued jinking, and a missile-probably another SA-7, flew past his right wing.

“Big and good!”

“I'll take those,” the CO said as he turned due north, headed for the I-20.


“Two's in!” Kara called. She watched her CO make his run, and leave at least two of the misile launchers-and maybe a couple other vehicles-fireball in his wake. She saw two of the missile tracks untouched, and selected those. You are mine, she thought as they grew larger in her pipper, and she ignored the 23-mm tracers coming up. Not today, Ivan.... “Steady... And...Steady... HACK!” Kara hit the pickle button, and her twelve Rockeyes came off the racks. Then she pulled 520 up and away, jinking like the CO, and clearing the area. “Two off target,” she then called.

“Of all the...” the Major muttered aloud as Kara's F-4 came in. He watched as the American Phantom went down on the missile site and released. Helpless, the Major saw the CBUs open up, and a rain of bomblets again fell onto the missile site. Again, several thousand firecrackers seemed to be going off, and more vehicles fireballed. The Major ducked as a missile, cooked off by an exploding transporter, flew by just overhead, like a Victory Day fireworks show. The Major then stood up in the foxhole, but before he could say anything, his deputy pointed south. Another American was coming in, and the man pulled the Major back into the foxhole.


“BULLSEYE!” Brainiac shouted in 520's back seat. “Good secondaries back there!”

“How many?” Kara asked as a missile-this one another SA-7 type, flew past on her left wing, and another flew by above.

“Several, and they're big!”

“Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch,” Kara said as she turned north, and as she did, she picked up the CO's trail.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came down on her run. She picked out the guns, and selected the easternmost battery as her target. A quick glance to the Eleven O'Clock position saw the SA-6 site engulfed in smoke and flame, with the occasional secondary still going as missiles were apparently cooking off. She then focused on the artillery battalion below, concentrating on the bomb run and ignoring tracers from two ZU-23s and at least one SA-7 coming up. No way, no how, she thought as she lined up the battery in her pipper, and noticed the ammo trucks just behind the guns. “And....And...Steady....And....NOW!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, releasing her Rockeyes onto the artillery position below. She then pulled up and away, jinking as she did, and not giving the missile shooters or flak gunners an easy shot. Only then did Sweaty make her call. “Three's off.”


“NYET!” was the Major's shout as Sweaty's F-4 came in and released. He ducked as the big Phantom roared overhead, leaving another rain of CBUs in its wake. The Major heard the explosions, and felt the concussion as secondary explosions went off. He poked his head above the foxhole to find his Third Battery position had taken the brunt of the strike, as the D-20 guns were either wrecked by direct hits or near-misses, flipped over as the stockpiled ammunition had gone off, or were intact, but the gun crews had been cut down by exploding bomblets. The Major ducked as a burning Ural-375 ammo truck exploded, sending pieces of truck, shells, and crew in all directions. The man shook his head, but as he stood up to give orders, his deputy pulled him back into the foxhole. Another American plane was coming in.

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

“How good?”

“Righteously good!” Replied the ex-seminary student.

Sweaty banked to the right to avoid an SA-7, then jinked back left to avoid another. “Good enough for the guy upstairs, good enough for me.” She then turned north, hoping to pick up the CO's element.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in. He saw his element lead's run, and watched as Sweaty's CBUs did their work. Hoser then picked out another battery, and adjusted his run to hopefully take some vehicles parked in the middle of the battalion position. Time to go, Ivan. As in go up, he thought. Ignoring the 23-mm flak and at least two SA-7s, Hoser came down onto the battery. “And...And...And....THEY'RE OFF!” He shouted as he hit the pickle button, and a dozen more Rockeyes came off racks and onto the artillerymen below. Hoser then pulled up and away, jinking like the others, until he got clear of the immediate target area. Then he made his call. “Four's off safe.”


“Of all the...” the Major said as Hoser's F-4 came in. He watched helplessly as the Phantom roared overhead, releasing its CBUs, then pulling up. The Major ducked as the CBUs went off, and again, not only did he hear explosions, but also the concussion as secondary detonations followed as ammunition went up. Only after the F-4 was gone did he get up and out of the foxhole, and what he saw dismayed him. Only one battery, the Second, was operational, while Third and now First had been put out of action by the American air strikes. As sympathetic detonations of ammunition continued-two of which included ammunition trucks, the Major looked around and saw his battalion command vehicle, a 1V14 ACRV, a burning wreck. He then saw his radioman stand up and take off his backpack radio-which had a piece of shrapnel sticking out the back. Shaking his head, he turned to his deputy. “Find a working radio and report this to Regiment. Tell them we need all possible assistance, and that only Second Battery is able to answer calls for fire. Then get first-aid parties to tend to the wounded.”

“Right away, Comrade Major!” the deputy, a Captain, said.

As the deputy went off, the Major shook his head. What a day, he thought. And it's not over just yet.


“SHACK!” KT shouted from Hoser's back seat. “We've got secondaries!”

“What kind?” Hoser asked as he dodged an SA-7 on his right, then after jinking, another on his left.

“Multiple, and that's two hand multiple,” KT replied.

“My kind of secondaries,” Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. He then turned towards the I-20, picking up Sweaty as he did.


“Hear that?” Goalie called in 512's back seat. “Four in and out.”

“I heard,” Guru said, just as Dave Golen, then Flossy, called, “Winchester.” Meaning “Out of ordnance.” “Flight, Lead. Anyone see a chute from the FAC?”

“Negative, Lead,” Kara replied. And the others' calls were similar.

“Had to ask,” he muttered over the IC. Then he called the EC-130. “Jayhawk, Camaro Lead. All birds off target, and no chutes from Nail.”

“Roger, Camaro,” the controller replied. “Nail Three-two called it in also. Confirms negative chutes.” And two more airmen had just bought a farm in the sky. Not good.

“Copy, Jayhawk,” said Guru. “Camaro Flight is Winchester and we are RTB.” That meant Return to Base.

“Roger, Camaro. You are cleared RTB. Thanks a bunch.”

“Copy,” Guru said. Then he got back to the squadron's frequency. “Flight, Lead. Get your asses clear of the I-20, and egress.”

“Roger, Lead,” Dave Golen called as he and Flossy had already cleared the area once their last Mavericks were expended.

Paul Jackson added, “One-seven and One-eight coming out.” The two RAF F-4Js then left their TARCAP orbit and found the CO's element.

“Sweaty?” Guru asked.

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

“Starbuck on Lead's right,” Kara added.

Guru glanced right, and saw 520 tucked in with him. “Roger that. Let's hit the tanker track, and go home.”


Camaro Flight climbed to altitude and found the tankers north of Mineral Wells. They drank enough fuel to give them some loiter time in the Sheppard Pattern if it came to that, then headed for home.

When they got to Sheppard, there was the Eastbound C-141 shuttle, and two flights-one Marine and one 335th, ahead of them. When it was their turn, Camaro Flight came in and landed, and as they taxied clear and popped their canopies, those waiting and watching on the flight line were disappointed that no one held fingers up to signal MiG kills. Oh, well. Kara and Karen are still tied. Maybe tomorrow.....

As 512 taxied by the news crew, they saw them filming, with Ms. Mason accompanying them. “Wonder what she thinks of the Air Force now?” Guru wondered.

“A very good question,” Goalie said. “And does the network back in Sydney dock the crew's pay if they don't film every day?”

“Also a very good question,” Guru said.

The flight taxied into the squadron's dispersal, then found their revetments. Guru taxied into 512's, then stopped when Sergeant Crowley gave the signal. The ground crew came to put out the chocks, then Crowley gave the “Shut down” signal.

After going through the post-flight checklist, Guru stood up in the front seat.”Still a little bit of time,” he said as he checked his watch. It said 1643.

“Let somebody else do it,” Goalie said as she climbed out. “I'm beat.”

“You aren't the only one,” Guru said as he clmbed down. Sergeant Crowley was waiting for both of them, with bottles of water. “Sarge.”

“Major, how's my bird?” Crowley asked. Crew Chiefs made sure they “owned” their aircraft, and that the pilots and WSOs merely “borrowed” them.

The CO grinned. “Five-twelve's still truckin' like a champ, Sarge. Whatever you're doing? Don't change a thing. And that's an order.”

Crowley grinned, as the rest of the ground crew overheard. “You got it, Major!” He looked around. “No ordnance guys comin'.”

“Maybe they know something we don't,” Goalie said.

“Maybe,” Guru nodded. “Tore up an SA-6 site, and put the hurt on some artillery pieces,” he added.

“Shit hot, sir!” Crowley said.

“Yeah,” Guru said. He was tired, and just wanted some food in his belly and something to drink. It had been a busy day. “Get her prepped and ready, just in case the ordnance guys do show. If they don't? Have her prepped for the morning.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “Okay, people! You heard the Major! Let's get this bird ready!”

As the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie walked to the revetment entrance, where Kara, Brainiac, Dave Golen, Terry McAuliffe, Flossy, and Jang were already waiting. “That one had a high pucker factor,” the CO said.

“Haven't been that close to an SA-6 since Lebanon in '79,” Dave Golen said as Sweaty, Hoser, and their GIBs came over.

“Yom Kippur War close?” Kara asked.

“Today? Yes.”

“Dave, you and Flossy did good, taking out the radar track,” Guru said.

“And you and Kara got the rest of them,” Golen said.

“Hopefully,” Goalie nodded.

Guru nodded agreement, then turned to Sweaty. “How'd you two do on those guns?”

“Made a couple of batteries go,” Sweaty grinned.

“As in go up,” Hoser added.

Dave Gledhill and his people then arrived. “This one was interesting,” he said. “Where did that SA-6 come from?”

“I'd like to know myself,” Guru said. “We can't exactly ask the FAC, though.”

Heads nodded at that. That SA-6 crew had been deadly. And who knew if they had killed any others prior to being put out of business-hopefully permanently.

“You've got that right,” Karen Mckay said.

A Dodge Crew-Cab pulled up, and Chief Ross got out. “Major, Captain Licon sent me to get you, with his compliments. He did have a message from Ops: no other sorties going out.”

“Halleujah,” Preacher said.

“I'll second that,” Guru said. “Let me guess: he wants a debrief?”

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “He also said that the XO's in the pattern, and Ops is about twenty behind him. All aircraft off target and safe, he says.”

Guru breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody down, and no letter-writing today. At least in his squadron... “Okay, Chief. Pile in, and we can make Sin happy. Then you all need to check your desks for any paperwork that can be done in the next twenty minutes or so. Then we can hit the Club.”

Heads nodded at that, and Ross saw the strain on the crews' faces. “One of those days, Major?”

“One of those days,” the CO agreed.

“It's been that,” Kara nodded.

“It has. Come on and let's go,” Guru said as they piled into the pickup for the drive back to the squadron office.



335th TFS, 1655 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was in his office, behind his desk and going over some papers. He had cleared out what really needed to be done, and found that there really was some material that could be dealt with by the XO, signed “For the Commanding Officer,” and that would be that. The CO then got up and went to his office window. Flight ops were winding down, and though his birds were all in, some Marines had launched late, and they wouldn't be back for a half-hour at least. Or sooner-as finding targets with the Mark-One eyeball was often very difficult. More so when the bad guys on the ground were shooting at you.... A knock on the office door then followed. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The XO, Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss, got a few things before we officially knock off.”

“Lay it on me, Mark,” the CO said. “It's been one of those days.”

“First: aircraft status report. We've got twenty-one birds for the morning.”

Guru was pleased at that. All aircraft full-mission capable. Though sixteen birds had flown BOLO II, six had been armed and fueled as spares. Now.... “One-hundred percent full mission capable. Nice to hear.”

“And we'll have twenty-two after lunch,” the XO reported.

“Say again?”

“We're getting a bird from Japan,” Ellis said. “After the necessary stop at Hill.” He meant the Ogden Air Logistics Depot at Hill AFB in Utah.

The CO knew what that meant. “Where the stuff that Japanese law frowns upon is installed: AGM-65 controls, TIESO, the toss-bombing computer, and the nuclear consent switches.”

Ellis nodded. “You said it, Boss. I didn't.”

“Do we get to keep the crew?”

“Negative,” replied the XO. “As soon as that bird is signed over? They hop the Westbound C-141.”

Guru didn't like that, but hid his disappointment. “That still leaves us with twenty-five crews for twenty-two birds. A couple more extra crews would be handy.”

“They would. But you and every other F-4 squadron CO is probably thinking and wishing the same thing.”

“Misery loves company,” Guru nodded. “What's next?”

Ellis handed him a list. “This was on the C-141 for us. Two new J-79 engines, two new ejection seats, and the usual in terms of spare parts.”

“That's good.”

“And three dozen LGB kits.”

“That's better. We need to play with those a lot more-and I do mean a lot more, than we have. Find Ross and tell him not just to find more kits, but see if he can't find us another Pave Tack or Pave Spike pod.”

“Or two?”

The CO had an evil-looking grin on his face. “Even better.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Remind Ross to tell his people no felony arrests, nobody gets hurt, and nobody gets caught.”

“Done,” Ellis said. “Oh, one other thing on that list. Somebody's screwed up again and confused us with a MASH. There's 15,000 tongue depressors and 10,000 sterile dressings for us.”

Guru's jaw dropped, then he put his right hand to his head and sighed. “Find Ross-” He stopped, then nodded. “I was going to say to have him go to the nearest MASH and horsetrade, but have him take that stuff to the nearest civilian hospital. They can use it.”

“Will do,” the XO said. “Updated weather report: the storm is still on schedule. Hitting the West Coast now, and it'll be here late tomorrow night.”

“And we still get a stand-down day,” Guru said. “We can get caught up on maintenance, paperwork, and sleep. In no particular order.”

“And bedroom gymnastics,” a voice from the open door said. It was Goalie.

“That, too,” the CO said. He saw a paper in her hand. “What's that?”

Goalie handed it to her pilot (and lover). “It's an Airman to Pilot Application. One of Don Van Loan's airman wants into that.”

The CO scanned the paper. “Airman Second Class Joanne Westbrook. Salem, Oregon. Five Semesters, Oregon State. Math Major-and the Review Board'll like that.” He then took out his pen and endorsed the application, before handing it to the XO. “See that it goes out, and remind her that if she earns her commission and wings? There's still a commitment to the AF, even if the war ends the day after being winged.”

“Will do,” the XO said. “Oh, one more thing: You taking our guest up?” He meant Ms. Mason.

“Sometime tomorrow, assuming the ATO Gods don't bite us in the ass like they did today,” Guru said. Both heads nodded at that. “We'll find time, and do some DACT with Kara and Goalie in one of the old Scud Boxes from last year.”

Goalie nodded. “And she sees what we-and that AF guy she mentioned-do day in and day out. I think she's realizing just how much effort it takes to do what we do..”

“So do I,” Guru said. “Any leftover ice will be shattered after that hop.” He looked at his Exec. “Anything else?”

“That's it,” the XO grinned.

Guru nodded, saw that by the office clock it was 1707, then grabbed his bush hat and cold-weather flight jacket. “Now we're off the clock.”


The three walked over from the Squadron's office to the Club, and just as they got there, there was a good-sized commotion. They watched as a young AF officer was given the boot out of the Club, and Colonel Purcell, the base commander, was wiping his hands. “What the hell was that all about?” Goalie asked.

“I'd like to know myself,” Guru said as Colonel Purcell came over. “Colonel,” Guru said as all three snapped salutes.

“Major, Captains,” Purcell said. “I'm sure you're wondering what that was all about?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, long stories short, the former Club Officer raised a stink about one of the Marine squadrons getting a Club Card for their German Shepherd mascot-like your Buddy, Major.”

The 335th people looked at each other. “That's not the only reason. Uh, sir,” Mark Ellis said.

“No, Captain. He also raised hell about our VIP guest coming in,” Purcell said.

Guru shook his head. “Colonel, speaking from past experiences similar to Ms. Mason's?”

“Go on, Major.”

“Sir, I'd say that her having survived five months of guerrilla warfare, and being one of only two survivors of her group, she's entitled to have a beer every once in a while. Even if it's just a toast to lost friends.”

Purcell nodded agreement. “Not just my sentiments, Major, but just about everybody in there.”

The 335th crewers grinned. “Good to know that, sir,” Guru said. “Where's he headed?” He nodded at the former Club Officer.

“I was thinking Loring or Plattsburgh,” Purcell said.

“Sir?” Goalie said. “May I suggest Goose Bay?”

Purcell laughed. “I'll take that under advisement, Captain.”


The four then went into the Club, and Purcell found Colonel Brady, while the three 335th Crewers bellied up to the bar. “Smitty,” Guru said to the barkeep. “Got the usual?”

The barkeep quickly produced three bottles-a Sam Adams for the CO, Bud for the Exec, and Bud Light for Goalie. “Heard you guys were hard at it this afternoon.”

Guru nodded, then paid. “That we were. Three CAS runs for just about everybody.” He took a swig from his bottle. “And we had an unexpected SAM site at the target area.”

Smitty wasn't a pilot, but a former Recon Marine. But he'd been around pilots and aircrew long enough to know what that meant. “Ouch!”

“Big ouch,” Goalie said. “He nailed the FAC, before Dave Golen and Flossy took out the radar track. Then we finished up.”

“Kara and I did that,” Guru said, taking another pull on his beer. “Sweaty and Hoser did the artillery unit the FAC wanted us to hit.”

“Any chutes?” the XO asked.

“Negative,” Guru said. “The good thing is that on that strike? I'm not the one doing the letter-writing. The bad? Somebody else is.”

Smitty gave a respectful nod, for two more airmen had gone in with no chance of survival. “Not good, Major.”

“No.”


Then Dave Golen, Flossy, along with their WSOs, came in, followed by the RAF. They were in a very celebratory mood, for one of their own was now tied with Kara for Top Gun in the F-4 community on base. Kara herself, along with several other 335th crewers, were right behind them. And those watching could see that Kara and Karen McKay were in a festive-but competitive-mood.

“How long until they go at the pool table or poker?” Goalie wondered aloud.

“After dinner,” Guru replied. “Dave Gledhill and I insisted on it.”


After finding a table, and the rest of their flight joining, Guru raised his beer bottle. “Hell of a day.”

Sweaty nodded. “You got that right, Boss. Five strikes, three of 'em back-to-back-to-back CAS runs, an SA-6 popping up out of nowhere, a dead FAC, and oh, by the way, we've got a national hero on base for a few days.”

“Speaking of which,” Hoser gestured in the direction of the bar. “There she is, with our newsies and PAO.”

Heads turned, and saw Ms. Mason with Lieutenant Patti Brown from the 335th, Lieutenant Alex Monroe from MAG-11, along with Jana Wendt and her news crew. The conversation looked to be friendly as they went to the bar. To those watching, it was a surprise to see her just get a 7-Up, though a beer would not be out of the question later. The party found a table and it looked like the news crew was doing some shooting-no doubt for the interview Ms. Wendt likely wanted to do.

“Hope Wendt knows what questions to ask and what not to,” Kara said. “And that's all I'll say.”

Guru nodded. “She didn't say anything bad about you when she did her piece on her check ride,” the CO pointed out.

“True, but still, one thing to ask us about a bad day,” said Kara. “It's another about Ms. Mason and how many bad days she had.”

“Point taken.”

Just then, Sin Licon came by with the day's newspapers, courtesy of the Eastbound C-141. “Got some papers here,” the Intel said. “L.A. Times for the CO.”

“Here,” Guru said. That was the closest thing to a hometown paper someone from Central California could get.

“Orange County Register for Goalie.”

“Thanks,” Goalie said as she took the paper, saving the front page and handing the comics and entertainment page to KT.

The Intel asked, “Who's for Stars and Stripes?”

“I'll take it,” Kara said.

“And USA Today?”

“Here,” Sweaty said. She, too kept the front page, but gave the entertainment section to Brainiac.

As the Intel made his rounds, chatter about headlines from the various papers picked up.

“L.A. Times has a recap of Iowa and New Hampshire,” Guru said. “Right now, it's Babbit who won Iowa, and Gephardt who took New Hampshire.”

“No real front-runner?” Kara asked. “USA Today has an interview with Jesse Jackson.” The civil rights leader's candidacy as a “Peace” Candidate was viewed by just about everyone as doomed to fail, but he was there anyway.

Guru shook his head. “Bill Bradley got second in New Hampshire, and then there's quite a few Southern states on Super Tuesday.”

“And those'll be up for grabs by just about anybody,” Preacher noted.

“You got that right.”

Kara was going through Stars and Stripes. “Not much on the war today.”

“Slow news day, and World War II had those,” Dave Golen said from the next table over.

“Yeah,” Goalie said. “OC Register, Page Four.”

“What?” Guru said as he finished scanning the front page and went for the other most important part-the comics.

“Hungarian Rebel Government orders their troops in North America to defect to Allied Forces,” AP says. “Soviets are denouncing them as 'Counterrevolutionaries and Traitors.'”

“About time,” Hoser said. “First WARPAC Country out of the war.”

“Don't count your chickens just yet,” Goalie reminded everyone. “Soviets control the Eastern Half of the country. Rebels the Western. And there's enough loyalists in the Soviet controlled area...Article says the Soviets are going to try to retake Budapest.”

“When?” Sweaty asked.

“Doesn't say.”

“What's Chebrikov thinking?” Kara wondered. “They've got a two-front war here, there's what's left of the Chinese Army on their border still causing trouble. Then there's Afghanistan.”

Sin Licon overheard that from a nearby table. “I'm wondering about that, and so are a lot of people with pay grades higher than mine.”

“1956 again,” Dave Golen noted. “Only this time, it's a lot bloodier.”

“A valid assumption, Major,” Colonel Brady said as he came by.

“Here's another one,” Goalie said. “Some French tourists were in Prague and they saw an anti-war march. If you can call two dozen people a march. All of 'em mothers of guys killed over here.”

“How long until they got heads busted and tossed into a paddy wagon?” KT asked.

Dave Golen said, “Not long, I'd bet.”

“No bet,” Goalie said. “They went quiet, but get this: their signs were in both Czech and English.”

Sin Licon digested that. “They wanted their message to get out. One way or another.”

At the table where Colonel Brady was, Ms. Mason was the guest of honor. She overheard that conversation, and asked, “So what does that mean?”

Brady replied, “Seems some folks in Eastern Europe don't want any more part of a war the Russians dragged them into.”

“But not enough to make much noise.”

“No,” Brady nodded. “And their secret police forces are pretty good at finding dissidents and either locking them up, or worse.”

Erica nodded grimly. She knew full well what “or worse” meant.


Then the restaurateurs who ran the Mess Operation arrived. “Folks, we've got Texas Fried Chicken, or Pork Chops, and all the sides. Come and get it!”

After people got their food, it was time for the CBS Evening News. “Good Evening from Los Angeles,” Walter Cronkite began. “Today, things were quiet for the most part along both fronts, but there was some serious fighting west of Fort Worth, Texas. Our Richard Schlesenger has a report from the front lines.”

“The Ninth Armored Cavalry had a rough fight with some Soviets, and though the Cavalry got pushed back at first, they regrouped, and pushed the Russians back to where they started.” The reporter turned to an Army Major. “Major, what happened here?”

The Major replied, “Well, Richard, the Russians tried putting a division through a gap in our lines, but some hard chargers here in the Buffalo Soldiers, and our brothers in First Cav, made sure they didn't get far.” Images of blasted and burned T-72s, BMPs, and even 2S1 122-mm SP Howitzers were on the screen, with Soviet corpses also very much in evidence.

“How hard was it?”

“It was tough at first,” the Major said as footage of M-60A3 tanks firing, AH-1 Cobras flitting overhead and launching TOW missiles, and fighters making runs-AF and Marine F-4s, Marine Hornets and Skyhawks, and Navy A-7s played. “But we rallied, and they got beaten up pretty good..”

“And this part of Texas has seen this since last Fall, with both sides making small gains, holding on to some of them, or getting pinched off and wiped out in others. Richard Schlesenger, CBS News, with the Ninth Cavalry, somewhere in Central Texas.”

“In other news..”

As the rest of the news went on, people dug in. It was a slow day, and apart from a decent On the Road Segment with Charles Kuralt, where the reporter went to Lake Champlain on the New York side. There, one could almost forget there was a war on-until the rumble of SAC bombers from Plattsburgh AFB interrupted.

Cronkite then signed off with his trademark. “And that's the way it is. From all of us at CBS News, good night.”

Then AFN went to a rerun of a 1983 L.A. Lakers-Phoenix Suns basketball game. “No matter how many times they rerun it,” Kara quipped. “LA still wins this one.”

“That's one thing technology can't change,” Sweaty quipped.

“Major?” Colonel Brady said. “I'd say it's time to give our guest a proper welcome.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said, standing up, and the other squadron COs did the same. They then followed Colonel Brady to the bar, where he rang the bell.

“All right, People! Settle down for a minute,” the MAG-11 CO said. When things calmed down, he continued. “First things first, I know it was a rough day for all of you, with five, and some flying six, strikes-and some of those being CAS, but our RAF friends-who still don't have a date yet in San Diego-livened things up, with one of them tying the Wild Thing for Top Gun in the F-4 community here. Flight Lieutenant Karen McKay, stand up and be recognized!”

McKay stood up, to cheers, applause, and even some laughter. “Someone has to catch up to that one,” she said.

Hearing that, Kara muttered, “You're not beating me that easy.”

“Be careful, both of you,” Brady said. “You might just run into a Russian or Cuban looking for his tenth.” There was some laughter at that thought, then he went on. “We also have a special guest with us for a few days. You've probably read her story in official publications, such as the SERE Bulletin, or unofficial ones like Time, People, Newsweek, or seeing her on CNN's Larry King show. We've got one of the two surviving Wolverines with us, so Ms. Erica Mason? If you'd be so kind to stand up and be recognized?”

Erica stood up, and got a standing ovation in return.

“She'll be with us for a few days, as I said, and she's had an eye-opener in terms of how tacair works.”

Goalie said. “She said she didn't realize how much it takes to put a plane into the air, let alone a couple dozen.”

“Or more,” Hoser pointed out.

“Or more.”

“And she'll also see how the animals in the zoo behave when we're off,” Brady said, to howls of laughter. “Eat, drink, and be merry, because tomorrow, we do it all over again.”

“Or they can't separate us from the rest of the aircraft,” Flossy noted.

“That, too,” Dave Golen agreed.


With that, things settled down only slightly, as Kara went to the pool table. She defeated a C-130 pilot doing an RON, then one of the Special-Operations officers, before a female SOF Major came and laid down her $50.00. Kara matched the bet, but to her-and many others' suprise, the female Major was the one left standing. Kara had a fit of the sulks as she came back to the table.

“Well?” Guru asked. “That major may have been doing it longer than you have.”

“I still don't like it when somebody comes into my turf and spends my money,” Kara spat.

“Even generals?” Flossy laughed.

“Even that-and General Olds has done it to me three times.”

Guru nodded. “Then do what you usually do.”

Kara grinned, went and got another beer, and proceeded to defeat a VMFA-314 Hornet pilot, a VA-135 A-7 driver, and one of the RAF Rockapes.

Then Doc Waters, the 335th Flight Surgeon, rang the bar bell. “Twelve-Hour now in effect!”

People turned in their drinks, and got something nonalcoholic. Guru got a Coke and a plate of nachos, and went back to the table. “Well?”

“All out tomorrow?” Goalie asked.

“Yep, because we got some weather coming in,” Guru said. “And if Ivan gets uppity again...”

“More CAS,” Jang, Flossy's GIB, said. It wasn't a question.

Guru nodded. “You said it. I didn't.”

“Let's hope not.”

“Yeah, let's.”

Ms. Mason then came over. “Major,” she nodded.

“Erica,” Guru said. This was no time to be formal or semi-formal. “How do you like the zoo?”

“They said this place rocks,” Erica said. “I'd say it does.” She then nodded at Kara. “She as crazy as I've heard some people say?'

“Crazy in the air?” Guru asked. “Yes.” Crazy here? Yes.”

“And in other.....things? I heard something about a supply shack, a sleeping bag, and shedding clothes.”

Heads nodded, and Guru winced. “Yeah....Only if you owe her money at the pool table or a poker game, and you can't pay. She doesn't take checks. Cash on losing, or see you in the shack.”

“Then I won't bother,” Erica said. “I do have better things to do with my money.” It was an open secret that she was getting a Spec 4's pay from the Army.

Dave Golen smiled. “You have more sense than a few people on this base.”


It wasn't long until 2100 came around, and one of the Navy Flight Surgeons rang the bar bell. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!”

With that, those flying in the morning headed off to their bunks. For it wouldn't be long until Aircrew Wakeup at 0430 and another day in the air.

[Matt Wiser]

This one was up at the HPCA Writers page on Facebook after the end of the previous board: Erica gets her "check ride" in Guru's F-4:


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 13 Feburary, 1988: 1100 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight taxied in after its second mission of the morning. The first one had been a strike on a supply dump down in the East German sector, while the second had been another airfield-this one the Comanche County-City Airport, which was being used by the Soviets for both helicopter operations and as an Su-25 FOL. Both strikes had gone off like clockwork, though unlike the previous day, no enemy aircraft had been encountered in the air, much to the disapppointment of the aircrews. Not just the CO's flight, but also the RAF as well.

After taxiing into 512's revetment, the CO got the “Shut Down” signal from his Crew Chief, and shut down the engines. After going through the post-flight check with his GIB, he took off his helmet and climbed down from the aircraft.

“Two and done for this morning,” Major Matt Wiser said as his GIB climbed down from the back seat.

“And they pay us for this?” Captain Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn quipped.

“Not enough,” the CO said as the Crew Chief, Tech Sergeant Mike Crowley, came over with a hot cup of coffee for both crew. “Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said as he took the cup.

“No problem, Major,” Crowley said as Goalie got hers. “Come on, Major, even you know forty-five cents of every dollar goes back to Uncle Sam come April 15th.”

“Don't remind me,” Guru replied. “Anyway, Five-twelve's humping like a champ. Get her ready for a special flight. No 20-mm expended, so just refuel her.”

Crowley nodded. “Just like with that reporter and her cameraman?” Seeing the CO nod, he added, “They going up again?”

“No, but that VIP we've got here for a few days is. Should be here in a few.”

Crowley knew who the CO was talking about. “Yes, sir! We'll get her ready.” He turned to the ground crew. “All right, People! Let's get this bird turned around for a special run. Get to it!”

As the ground crew got to work, a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup arrived, with Sin Licon, the squadron's intelligence officer, getting out, along with Lieutenant Patti Brow, Chief Ross and Erica Mason, their VIP guest. She was already in a flight suit, G-suit, and harness, and had a helmet in hand. “Major,” Sin said. “We can debrief out here, since you're going back out.”

The CO nodded as the rest of his flight showed up. “How'd it go?” Guru asked as Kara and Brainac, along with Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT, gathered around.

“Tore up part of the ramp,” Kara replied. “Just as you did-and you had a transport go up.”

“What kind?” Sin wanted to know.

“An-24 or -26,” Guru said. “There were a couple of Hips there-”

“Didn't see them go up,” Kara said.

“Okay. And a lot of CBUs got dumped on the ramp. Sweaty?” Sin asked.

Sweaty pointed to an airfield chart as Jana Wendt's news crew showed up along with the RAF crews. “Took down the hangars.”

“And the Russians will just use wood and sheet metal to build new ones,” Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill said.

“That's a given,” Sin nodded. “Hoser?”

Hoser nodded as KT pointed to a spot on the map,east of the strip, and halfway to State Route 16. “Put ours on the fuel dump.”

“Big fireballs,” KT said.

“Okay, any air-to-air?” The Intel asked. He saw heads shaking no, and the dour expression on their faces. “I'll take that as a negative,” Sin said. “Flak and SAMs?”

“Light stuff,” Kara said. “Twenty-three and 37-mm.”

“SAMs were shoulder-fired,” Guru nodded. “Had a couple fly by on my way out.”

Sweaty added, “Somebody shot an SA-9 or -13 over me on the way out.”

Brainiac shook his head. “SA-9s are pretty much useless. No real IR seeker.”

“I know,” Sin replied. “Photo-contrast sucks, but they do get lucky once in a while. Anyway, we'll need some imagery to complete the BDA, but I'm assessing this field as out of action for about twenty-four hours.”

“Until somebody strikes it again,” Guru spat. This was getting too much like the air war in Southeast Asia that he had read about. A seemingly endless circle of strike, repair, then strike again. And repeat as necessary. But until the battle lines moved south towards the Rio Grande and the Gulf of Mexico....

“Afraid so, Boss,” Sin said. “Anything else, Major?” The CO shook his head. As did everyone else. “Okay, that's it. I'll see you guys later, and I think you and Kara have a special engagement.” He nodded as Ms. Mason waited patiently.

“That we do,” Guru nodded.

As the intel headed back to the squadrons office, a small crowd began to gather, with Colonel Brady, the MAG-11 CO and Doc Waters, the 335th's Flight Surgeon. “Okay, let's get the next show on the road,” said Guru. “Ms. Mason, you ready?”

“Ready,” Erica said. “Patti Brown showed me how to use a parachute and the survival radio.” She tapped the bulge in her survival vest with radio antenna sticking out. “And Doc there told me to put as many air-sickness bags in the flight suit pockets. He told me I'd need them.And so did Ms. Wendt.”

Heads turned to the Doc and to Ms. Wendt, who had taken Doc's advice when she flew with Kara a few weeks earlier. She had wound up using every last bag. Doc simply nodded, while the reporter's face blushed slightly At least she didn't puke in the cockpit...

“He did,” Kara grinned.

“Yep,” the CO nodded, then he took out a map from a flight suit pocket and unfolded it. “Here's where we're going.” He pointed with a pencil as both Kara and Ms. Mason paid attention. “Here, east of I-27, are what we called Scud Boxes. The Russians would hide mobile missiles in these boxes during the day, and at night? They'd shoot them at targets in Eastern New Mexico.”

“And you had to find them,” Erica said. It wasn't a question.

Guru, Goalie, and Kara nodded. As did the others. “That we did,” Guru said. “Sometimes we'd find them-and they did shoot in daytime every once in a while. But most of the time, we didn't.”

“So what did you guys hit?”

Goalie said, “You name it, we found and hit it: truck parks, supply convoys, armored columns, ammo or fuel dumps, chopper fields, and so on. One out of ten, maybe fifteen, we'd find what we were looking for.”

“She's right about that,” Guru said, and saw Colonel Brady nod. He'd flown a few of those himself. “And we did run into MiGs on a few occasions. Got my gun kill on one, and Kara made ace on another.”

“She did,” Colonel Brady said, jumping into the conversation. “Ask her about what happened the next morning and you'll see how she celebrated after the O-Club closed.”

Erica saw Kara blush ever so slightly, amid howls of laughter. Most everybody there had either been there or had heard about it. “Maybe I will later,” she said, grinning.

“And if we run into MiGs?” Kara asked, getting back to business.

“Good question,” Guru said. “If we run into a fighter sweep, a strike, or recon, and they want to play? Fight's on. You take the lead because you have Goalie in the back seat and two working Sparrows.”

“Got you.”

“And we call AWACS for some help,” Guru said. “We join the party only if they initiate combat. Other than that, we call it in and let the F-15s or -14s handle them.”

“Understood.” Though Kara wanted that tenth kill, and she knew the CO also wanted a couple more, this run wasn't the time or place. But maybe in the afternoon...

Just then, Sergeant Crowley came out of the revetment. “Major? Five-twelve and 520 are all ready.”

“Time to go,” Kara said, grabbing her helmet.

“It is that,” Colonel Brady said. “Major, Captains? Show our guest what we all do in the air. Have fun and be safe.”

“Will do, sir,” Guru said. “Any other questions?” Kara, Goalie, and Erica shook their heads no.
The CO clapped his hands for emphasis. “We've got somewhere to be. Let's fly.”


Kara and Goalie went to 520, while Guru and Erica went into 512's revetment, with the news crew following them. Sergeant Crowley and the ground crew were waiting, and Crowley was smiling. “Major, Ms. Mason? All set to fly?”

“All ready on this end,” the CO said. He turned to Erica. “You ready?”

“Let's do it, Major,” Erica smiled. Finally, she would get to make that final connection to Andy, even if it wasn't a combat mission. And who knows? Maybe some MiGs might come in...

“All right,” Guru nodded. “Just wait here while I do the preflight walk-around, and then we'll get you strapped in.”

Erica and the news crew watched-and the latter was filming-as the CO did that necessary preflight ritual. Then he came over and signed for the aircraft. “All set?” She asked.

“All set,” Guru agreed. “Let's get you in the back seat.” The ground crew had put up two crew ladders, one on each side, so that not only could Erica get in, but someone could be on the other side to assist. After she got into the seat and settled in, both Guru and the Crew Chief were helping her get strapped in, and plug in the hose for her G-suit.

Erica took out a Kodak Disc Camera from a flight suit pocket.. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” said Guru. In her position, he'd want some pictures as well.

She smiled, then put on her helmet. Sergeant Crowley helped plug that in, then it was time.

“Okay, last thing before we close the canopy,” Guru said. “If we have to eject? I'll say 'Eject, Eject, Eject!' You know where the handles are?” He saw Erica point to the handle-one on each side of the seat, then the handle between the legs, and the handle above her head. “Okay, Patti taught you. Don't bother waiting after that third call. Just go. And I'll be right behind you.”

“Got you,” Erica said. “But you'll make sure we don't have to?”

“Do my best. You ready?” Guru asked.

“Ready.”

Guru nodded, then nodded again to Crowley. They got off, and a ground crewer came to both sides of the rear cockpit and pulled off the crew ladder. Guru then walked around and climbed into the front cockpit, and got himself strapped in. After putting on his helmet and plugging in, he asked. “You want to close the canopy now? It's up to you.”

“Go ahead, Major,” Erica said. “I can open it up when we land?”

“Right you are.” Guru pointed to Crowley, then the canopy. Erica closed the GIB's canopy, and she locked it. “Patti Brown showed you?”

“She did.”

“Good girl, both of you,” said Guru. He went through his pilot's preflight, and the only other thing Erica had been taught was how to arm the ejection seat. “Finished up here. Preflight done and we're ready to start engines.” He gave a thumbs-up to Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal in return. First one, then both, J-79s were up and running. And Guru noticed that just before he started the first engine, the news crew had scrambled clear. It was time. “Tower, Mustang Lead with two, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Mustang Lead rolling.” Guru then gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled clear, and Guru released the brakes, taxiing out of the revetment. As he cleared, Crowley snapped a salute, as usual, and Guru returned it. Then 520 taxied clear of its revetment, and followed him to Runway 35L's holding area. Right in front of the two-ship was a four-ship of Marine F-4s, and they were loaded for a strike. After the Marines taxied onto the Runway, they thundered down the runway and into the air. Then Guru taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. “Okay, Erica, those Sidewinders are now live.”

“So you can fire if you have to.” It wasn't a question.

“Right. Tower, Mustang Lead,” Guru called. “Request clear to taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to takeoff. Winds are Two-six-five for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. He made a final check in the cockpit. All set. “Ready back there?”

Erica had snapped shut her oxygen mask. “Ready, Major. Let's go!”

Guru smiled as he snapped shut his own. She was ready and maybe a little too eager. She wanted a ride, though... “That we will,” Guru said. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

Even though it wasn't a combat mission, the Tower controllers acted as if it was. The tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his. A quick look showed 520's canopies down as well, and both Kara and Goalie giving thumbs-ups. Guru returned them, as did Erica. “Hang on, because you're about to get a pretty decent kick in your rear end,” the CO warned his guest.

“Let's do it, Major,” Erica replied.

“Then let's.” Guru firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air with full afterburners, with 520 right with them. After climbing to FL 100, the two-ship turned west for the old Scud Boxes.


Over the Texas Panhandle: 1135 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight was headed West, right into the old Scud Boxes from the previous Summer. As the flight headed on its way, both Major Wiser and Kara were pointing out landmarks they had gotten all too familiar with during PRAIRIE FIRE I and II. And where they had a pickup dogfight of sorts with some visiting F-20s a few weeks back. A fight that had left none of its participants satisfied in any way, and leaving some unfinished business between them.

In 512's back seat, Erica was looking around, and she had snapped a couple of pictures of both 520 and the ground below. Had Andy flown over this patch of Texas in his F-15? Maybe. And after the war, she could find out. “How often did you guys run into the Russians in the air?”

“Back then?” Guru asked. “Oh, every once in a while. Had my gun kill not that far from here. Jumped a pair of MiG-23 Floggers that were after some A-10s. Got too close to one of 'em to use a Sidewinder, so I had to gun him.”

“Russian?”

“Not this guy. He was Cuban. Pulled up alongside him, and he had his arms folded in front of his chest. Gave the hand signal to eject, and he shook his head. Went in with the airplane.”

“That's weird,” Erica said.

“Every war has its weird moments,” Guru said as twin ribbons of concrete appeared ahead and below them. “Okay, that's I-27 up ahead. Time to play.”

“Boss, Two,” Kara called. “You ready to give our guest some ACT?”

“Ready when you are,” Guru replied. Then he called Erica on the intercom. “Snap on your mask and get ready.”

“Hang on over there,” Goalie called.

“She's right,” Kara added. “Erica, you're about to have the most fun you'll ever have with your clothes on.”

In 512's back seat, Erica was smiling underneath her oxygen mask. “She joking or..?”

“You'll find out,” Guru said. “Two, Lead. Typical 1v1. Let's break, come in for a merge, then have at it.”

“Ready when you are, Lead.”

“Break!”

The two F-4s broke formation, Guru heading south and Kara north. They went about five miles, then reversed course, coming for each other. One thing about this fight? Both had the J-79 engines that, though much improved over their Southeast Asia predecessors, still put out enough smoke that the smoke trails could be seen before the aircraft.

Both pilots spotted each other, then rolled into a descending circle, with both pilots trying to draw lead. As the altitude dropped, someone would have to pull up, but Guru had a different idea. He pulled up, nearly straight up, and as Kara tried to reacquire him visually, she leveled out. Big mistake....

Guru then did a right barrel roll and dropped in right behind her. He uncaged a Sidewinder, though the weapon was still “Safe.” “Hear that growl in your headset?” Guru asked Erica.

“Yeah, what's that?” She asked.

“Just the missile's heat seeker looking for a target.” Then the growl got really loud....”FOX TWO on Kara!” Guru called.

“Shit!” Kara yelled. She and the CO had never really played against each other. The one time that had been scheduled, on her theater orientation ride? MiG-23s had come instead and they splashed the pair of interlopers. And not just Guru, but Colonel Rivers himself, had said that she was the best stick in the squadron. “He just got lucky.”

“Maybe,” Goalie said as Kara pulled back into the vertical.

“Okay, one more,” Guru called. “Then we'll go down low and show her some of the old targets.”

The two F-4s pulled into a vertical rolling scissors, and as they did, Erica snapped a couple of pictures. She could pick out both Kara and Goalie in 520, and she could see the concentration in Kara's eyes as they rolled against each other.

Then Guru stomped right rudder, applied throttle, then tore back down low. Kara followed, trying to match the maneuver. She got in behind him, and as Guru pulled up, she smiled. Too soon, Boss. She drew lead, then called, “GUNS!”

“Are we dead?” Erica asked Guru.

“We are,” the CO said as Kara flew past them.

“We're even, Lead,” Kara called. “One more?”

“If we had more time to play, I'd say best two out of three,” Guru replied. “Time to get down low and show our guest some old targets. Then we'll do an Immelmann and get above those clouds.” He meant the clouds at FL 150 and up to FL 250. “Then it'll be time to go home.”

They formed up again, then got down low, but instead of gradual, it was fast. The three veterans pointed out old targets they had hit, and in some locations, they had been cleaned up. Others, like a helo field or at least one Scud battery, hadn't. Remains of Hind helicopters and Scud TELs were still quite visible, even with some recent snow on the ground. “It'll be a while before all of that gets cleared,” Erica said. If Colorado was any guide... “But those are good Hinds.” She remembered that ambush where both Toni and Robert had been killed.

“Not the only one to say that,” Guru said.

“Lead, Two,” Kara said. “Want to show her a SAM break? We did with the reporter.”

Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. “Call it. I'll show her how it's done, then she can see you. Ready?”

“Ready back here,” Erica said. She checked her airsickness bags. They were unused. So far.

“Lead, SAM! Five O'clock!” Kara called.

Without even thinking, Guru pulled up, high and in a tight turn to the right. If it had been for real, he would've been popping flares and chaff as the missile tried to match his turn. He rolled right, going inverted, before rolling out before turning back. “How was that?” He asked his passenger.

“And you guys do this a lot,” Erica said. She was trying to be brave, and not use those bags.

“All the time,” Guru said. “Okay, get your camera out.” He saw Kara, then made his call. “Two, Lead. SAM, Eight O'clock!”

Kara pulled 520 into a similar maneuver, only to her left. Then she, too, rolled before levelling out. “Nice one, Lead. Ready for the Immelmann?”

“Ready. Form on me and let's go.”

Kara brought 520 into Combat Spread and both F-4s began to climb at full military power. They went through the clouds before breaking into clear blue sky just above 25,000 Feet. Guru broke left, and Kara right. They leveled out before forming up again.

“Time to go home,” Guru said. He turned back towards Sheppard, and as they did, he began scanning above them.

“What are you looking for?” Erica asked as she snapped a photo of 520 in formation with them.

“High flyers,” Guru said. “U-2s, SR-71s, maybe a Recon MiG-25.”

Erica thought for a moment. “Ever see any?”

“A couple of times. Had the reporter for one of 'em,” the CO said. “Never did figure out who they were.”

This time, the high skies were clear. Guru and Kara dropped down below the clouds and as they did, the area around Wichita Falls was revealed. Guru rolled left so that Erica could take a picture, then rolled back. He called for landing instructions, then got into the pattern. Mustang Flight had to wait until a westbound C-141 and two strike flights came in. Then it was their turn.

Guru brought 512 in first, and as he taxied clear, Kara came in with 520. Both F-4s taxied back to the squadron's dispersal, canopies popped open, and as usual, the news crew was filming. “Do they get their pay docked if they don't shoot anything?” Erica asked. She was trying to keep up a brave front, even though her stomach was starting to turn.

“I'd like to know that myself,” Guru admitted. “Her biggest disappointment was not being on the air, live, as an air raid came in. She's been on air during Scud attacks, though.”

“She an adrenalin junkie?” Erica had heard that term a lot from her association with SOF over the past year or so.

“Maybe,” Guru replied. “If she wasn't one before? She is now.”

As with Ms. Wendt's ride, there was a small crowd gathered to watch. Both 512 and 520 found their revetments and were taxied in. After Guru got into his, he got the “Shut down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, as the ground crew replaced the chocks and came with the crew ladder.

The CO went through his post-flight check, then said. “That's it.”

“Just like that?” Erica asked.

“Just like that.” Guru took off his helmet and handed it to Crowley, then stood up in the cockpit and then climbed down from the aircraft.

Crowley handed the helmet to a crewer, then helped Erica get out. She took off her helmet, smiled as she climbed down the ladder. She shook hands with the Crew Chief, then the CO, before she threw up on the tarmac!

“I was wondering if she'd do that,” Crowley said. “Did you...”

“I didn't use the bags,” Erica said, some pride in her voice as she shakily stood up.

Guru went over to her. “You okay?” He asked as he waved for Doc Waters to come over.

Doc came, along with Colonel Brady, Kara, Goalie, and the news crew. “You need some Dramamine?” The Flight Surgeon asked, bottle in hand.

Without a word, Erica took two of the pills and swallowed them. She then took an offered bottle of water from Sergeant Crowley and downed some of it. “Thanks.”

“Well, Erica?” Colonel Brady asked. “How'd you like your exposure to tacair?”

Even woozy from airsickness, Erica stood up and smiled. “Major? Thanks. I needed that. Now I've got a better connection to Andy. But I don't think I'll make a career out of it.”

“And now you know what he did before he was shot down, and you also know what we do,” Guru said.

“Day in and day out,” Kara added.

“Yeah..” Erica's voice trailed off. “Major? How many Gs were that?”

“On the SAM Break?” Guru asked. He saw Erica nod, then added, “Oh, about five. If it had been for real? It would've been seven or so.”

“Felt like five hundred,” Erica winced. “But it was worth it.” She then felt something furry nuzzling her and it was Buddy, the Squadron's mascot. And unofficial therapy dog. “Oh, you must be Buddy.”

“He seems to know when somebody needs him around,” Goalie said.

“I guess so,” Erica said, petting the dog. She took a few steps, shakily. “Okay...Plan B.”

Doc asked, “Do you want to go to Medical?”

“Just take me back to the squadron. I think I'll be fine.”

Guru turned to Goalie and Kara “You two, help her with Doc.”

Nodding, the two aircrew helped Erica go back to the squadron's office.

As the crowd broke up, Ms. Wendt asked the Major,”How'd she do?”

“She's made of the same material you are,” replied the CO. “You flew with the Marines and the RAF not long ago.”

Wendt nodded. She had flown backseat in two more F-4s. One Marine with VMFA-333 and the other with the RAF. With the Marines, she had only used half of her airsickness bags. But on the hop with the RAF? None. “You could say I got used to it. And her?”

“Considering what she experienced in those mountains?” Guru asked. “I'd say some turning and burning might be what she needed. She connects with that AF guy who ran with them for a while, and she sees what we do on a daily basis.”

“I'll ask her that,” Wendt said. “Her interview's this afternoon.”

“You can use my office if you like,” Guru nodded. “Just wait until I'm out on a mission.”

Hearing that, Wendt was pleased. The Major was a lot more receptive to the Media than when they had arrived. “We'll do that.” She got back into reporter mode. “And now what?”

“Get the aircraft turned around, get some chow, because the second half's starting before too long.”

Wendt nodded again. Now that she had been around fighter pilots for a while, she understood. “Busy day?”

“Busy day.”

[OtisRNeedleman]

Thanks! Good to be reading these stories again!

[Matt Wiser]

Glad to have you back. BOLO II will be reposted soon: first the Prologue, then the actual strike.

[jemhouston]

Wars need every cog turning to make it work.

[Wolfman]

So Col. Purcell proves to be jerk with a heart of gold (or maybe he’s a dog person)…

Nice work, Matt. I’m waiting for not just the BOLO II material, but the rest of the stuff about the 335th TFS.

[Poohbah]

So Col. Purcell proves to be jerk with a heart of gold (or maybe he’s a dog person)…

Nice work, Matt. I’m waiting for not just the BOLO II material, but the rest of the stuff about the 335th TFS.

General Lodge delivered a (mild) rebuke to Purcell on behalf of Purcell's rabbi, during the run-up to BOLO II, and Purcell took it to heart. He's sincerely trying to do better.

[Matt Wiser]

One thing General Lodge impressed on him was that even though he's an "unrated weenie" (which is what the aircrews and missileers refer to those without any kind of wings-even jump wings, he has his niche in the Air Force and needs to strive to do that to the best of his abilities. The AF needs the "Unrateds" to perform so that those on the tip of the spear can go out and do their jobs.

Oh, and did anyone notice the headline in Air Force Times? Navigators now eligible for command positions... The AF is catching up with the Navy and Marines, who allow NFOs to have squadron, CAG, and ship command. This lays the groundwork for Goalie,once she's a Light Colonel, to have a squadron of her own, and then become CO of the 366th in due course.

[Wolfman]

When in this story do the characters look at the AF Times?

[Matt Wiser]

When Guru and Goalie are having lunch in his office after meeting Ms. Mason.

[Matt Wiser]

And the last mission of the day: FYI this takes place just after Poobah's Range Therapy story.



335th TFS Headquarters: 1440 Hours Central War Time:

For the CO, it had been a busy morning, and was turning out to be a busy afternoon. After flying their VIP guest, and enjoying lunch, he and his WSO had taken some target practice at the small-arms range before getting their next mission. And after that? A meeting with not just his senior NCO, but a Marine Warrant Officer who had given him notice that their scrounging efforts needed to be much more closely coordinated, so that the “No Felony Arrests” rule would not be broken. If those assholes in Supply weren't so stuck in peacetime mode, the CO thought, everything would be copacetic. No such luck, for General Tanner at Tenth Air Force had swung the ax at that department three times since the war had started, and it seemed that the replacement officer turned out to be just as bad as his replacement. And Sundown Cunningham had been just as ruthless at higher levels, but the results had been the same, and thus the cycle repeated.

After that, came another mission. This one went down to the East German sector, and though no MiGs had gone down, the Stephenville Airport had another set of bomb craters and CBU bomblets to add to those already deposited, and a couple of transports-an An-26 and a L-410, had gone up in fireballs.

The CO then looked at the clock on his office wall. Time to get some time at the fitness center, he thought, when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

Chief Ross was back. “Sir.”

“What's up, Chief?” The expression on the Chief's face was a complete 180 from what it had been at that pre-mission meeting.

“It's about Airman Kellogg, sir,” Ross said. Airman Brandon Kellogg had joined the AF out of a refugee camp and had lied about his age. He had only turned seventeen back in November, and was back on the ramp, where he wanted to be, working on F-4s. The kid was also a local, having fled Wichita Falls with his older brother ahead of the advancing Soviets, and his older sister had fled Austin, last he had heard. His parents, though? They were believed to be in a mass grave that the FBI and Army CID war-crimes investigators were going through.

“Is it, now?” Guru asked. Seeing the Chief nod, he went on. “Lay it out, Chief.”

“Sir, my OSI contact finally came through. Second Lieutenant Jennifer Kellogg is going through her F-4 pilot training at Moody, sir. That's where the F-4 transition training on the East Coast is located.”

“So she qualified for the Airman to Pilot program,” Guru observed.

Ross nodded. “Yes, sir. And before you ask, I have the contact info so that they can get in touch.”

Hearing that, Guru was pleased. Not that often he got to give out good news like this. He went to his office phone and called up his Maintenance Officer. “Kev, Guru. You know where Airman Kellogg is? Good. Have him report to my office right away.”

After hanging up, Guru asked the Chief. “Any word on his brother?”

“No, sir,” Ross said apologetically. “My contact at VA-135 called in a marker, and found out the brother is in the Navy, like we knew earlier, but is not on any of the Navy's casualty lists. Nothing more than that.”

Guru thought for a moment. “So we'll have to wait a while. Maybe even until this is over?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, Chief-” Guru said, just as there was a knock on the office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The door opened, and in a grimy set of fatigues, was Airman Kellogg. To both Guru and the Chief, the kid couldn't be more happier. He was keeping busy, and building a new life after the invasion had destroyed his old one. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Kellogg asked as he came to attention.

“As you were, Kellogg,” Guru said. “We've got news on your sister. She's in the Air Force, and is an officer and has earned her pilot's wings. She's at Moody AFB in Georgia learning how to fly the F-4.”

Kellogg's eyes widened. “Jenna's a fighter pilot-or will be, sir?”

“You could say that,” Guru nodded. “Chief Ross has the contact info to give you, and you can exchange letters, at least. She'll be glad, no doubt, to find out you're okay.”

“Sir, I know not everyone comes back from a mission,” Kellogg said, a hint of concern in his voice. “But for now, she's okay, and that's what counts.” Ross then gave him a paper with the needed information. “Thank you, sir.”

Guru had a smile on his face. It wasn't often he got to give this kind of news. “You're welcome, Kellogg. In case you're wondering, no more news on your brother, other than he's in the Navy and is not on any casualty lists.”

“Will you-”

“We'll keep trying, Kellogg,” said the CO. “But the Chief isn't in the habit of making promises he can't keep. And neither am I.”

“I understand, Sir,” Kellogg replied. “Is that all, Sir?”

Guru shook his head. “Just this: once you get off your duty shift? I'd be writing a long letter to your sister. No doubt she's been wondering about you and your brother.”

“Is that an order, Sir?”

“Make it so, Airman.”

“Yes, Sir!” Kellogg's face brightened at that.

“That'll be all, Kellogg, and you have a good rest of the day.”

“Sir,” said Kellogg. He did an about-face, then left the CO's office. And both the CO and the Chief could tell he was on Cloud Nine.

Guru nodded, then turned to the Chief. “Keep an eye on him, and relay that to Captain O'Donnell, if you would. He still has...issues. Especially since we don't know much about his brother.”

“Understood, Major,” Ross said. “I'll talk to his sergeant as well.”

“Do that, Chief,” Guru said as he saw Kara coming to the office. “And thanks.”

“Sir,” Ross said just as Kara knocked on the office door, then came in.

“Boss? We've got another mission.”

That meant his trip to the Fitness Center and making Doc happy would have to wait. Probably until tomorrow. “Briefing packet?” Guru asked.

“Don's got it. Want me to-?”

“I'll get it. You round everybody up. We getting the RAF?”

“As usual, Boss-man,” Kara said. “And if anyone's in the gym?”

“Briefing Room in fifteen,” Guru said firmly. “Tell anyone on the treadmill or lifting weights showers can wait.”

“On it and I'm gone,” his wingmate said, heading out the door.

“Looks like I'll be busy, Chief. Thanks for the good news,” the CO said.

“My pleasure, sir,” said Ross.


Guru went over to the Ops Office and found Don Van Loan, already geared up for his own mission. “Don, Kara said-”

“Here you go, Boss,” Van Loan said, And looks like you drew the Libyans again.”

The CO opened the packet and read the summary in the FRAGO. “Lovely. Weasels?”

“Nada, Boss. Too many taskings and-”

“I know, not enough assets. We are getting the RAF, as usual.”

“Four-decimal zero, Boss,” Van Loan said.

Guru nodded. “Dave and Flossy?”

“Recon escort. Athena asked for 'em, and they're already on the taxiway.”

“Had to ask,” Guru said as the rumble of J-79 engines came. “All right, Don. You have a good one yourself, and be careful out there. Don't want to break Kara in as Ops.”

“You too, Boss,” Van Loan said. “Don't want to be Exec just yet.”

The CO nodded again. “Will do, Don.” He then headed to the former classroom that his flight used as a briefing room, and found his people already there, along with Buddy, the squadron's mascot. And to Guru's relief, the dog was already asleep.

“What's up?” Sweaty asked as Guru came into the room.

“We are,” Guru said. He opened the packet, and maps photos, and some papers spilled out. “Here's the deal. We've got a Scud storage site. And here's the kicker: it's not Russian or East German.”

“Libyans again?” Goalie asked. She had just finished a mile of her usual four when Kara had found her, and she was sweating, even in the cool winter air.

Guru nodded. “You got it. East side of Lake Whitney is their AO. The target area is at the intersection of F.M. 1227 and F.M. 1246. North side.” Then he pointed to a photo-probably from one of Athena's RF-4Cs, and the photo showed a field with trees to the northeast, a pond-probably a ranch pond, to the north, and a line of trees on the west side, with another clump of trees on the north side of the F.M. 1227. “This field is being used for missile storage.And by the looks of it, there's quite a few there.” The CO then showed another photo-this one the field to the north, and there were multiple earthen revetments on the imagery. “The revetments are the warhead storage, and we get to make both of those go away.”

Heads nodded, then Kara asked, “So who takes what?”

The CO thought for a moment, then nodded. “You and I-” Guru nodded at his wingmate. “We take the missile storage. Sweaty? You and Hoser take the revetted warhead storage, but Hoser?”

Sweaty's wingman and KT, his GIB, perked up. “Boss?”

“If you see too many secondaries due to Sweaty's bombs going off?” Guru tapped the photo and pointed out some farm buildings with trucks and UAZ jeeps parked nearby. “These farm buildings are likely being used for admin or whatever. If you can't drop on the warhead storage, you can drop on these.”

Hoser nodded. “Got it, Boss.”

“And the defenses?” Goalie asked.

“Getting to that,” Guru said. “The Waco SA-2s are back up, and we're not that far from them. And to the east of the target? There's the Hillsboro SA-2, but no info as to status. Assume it's operational.”

“Flak?” Kara asked.

“Light stuff at the target, ZU-23s, machine guns, and MANPADS,” Guru said, reading from the intel summary in the target folder. “The Libyan brigade north of there has SA-8, but we'll give them a wide berth.”

Heads nodded at that. Then Sweaty asked, “Ordnance loads?”

“Everybody gets the same: six Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117R Snakeyes. Mark-82s have the Daisy Cutter fuze extenders. Plus four AIM-9Ps and two AIM-7Fs each airplane, along with full 20-mm, an ALQ-119 ECM pod, and two wing tanks.”

“And us,” Dave Gledhill said. “Four AIM-9Ls, four Sky Flash, centerline SUU-23 gun pod, and two wing tanks.”

“Good, Dave,” Guru said. “As for MiGs? The two MiG Regiments that we tore up along with the Fencers on BOLO II are now active again out of TSTC.” He was referring to their BOLO II strike, were not only had a Su-24 Regiment been wiped out, but heavy damage had also been given to a pair of MiG Regiments-one of -21s, one of -23s. “And there's this: A Cuban MiG-23 Regiment is now at Hillsboro Municipal, and they're only twenty miles to the northeast of the lake. They're the closest threat. Add to that there are the MiG-23s at Temple Regional, MiG-29s at Gray AAF, and the two Flanker Regiments at Bergstrom.”

Hearing that, Brainiac noted, “Intel's full of good news for the last one.”

“They are,” Guru said. “Dave? You guys break up anyone on CAP, and kill anyone even thinking of being a party-crasher.”

“Will do,” Gledhill replied. “And our way in?”

“Getting to that, Guru said. “We hit the tanker track at Mineral Wells, top up, then we get down low, and cross the Fence at the I-20.” The Interstate was not the actual front line, but it was considered as such for navigation purposes, as the actual front lines were a few miles south of the freeway. “Pick up the Leon River, then follow it-State Route 16's just to the west, and that's the boundary between the East Germans on the east, and Soviet 32nd Army to the west. Follow the river to Lake Proctor, then we turn east. We clear U.S. 67-377, then U.S. 281 south of Hico, then we pick up State Route 6. Follow Highway 6 until we get to Meridian, which is where State Routes 174, 22, and 144 all come together. Stay on an easterly track until we hit Lake Whitney, and we overfly the lake. When we get to the town of Whitney? That's our IP. Climb and turn northeast, and pick out the target with that ranch pond. Make your runs, and when you jink after bomb release? Make sure your last jink takes you on a heading of Three-four-five to Three-five-zero. That takes you to back to the north part of the Lake, then the Brazos. Watch for flak at the Highway 174 Bridge, and once you're clear? That's the Nicaraguan sector to the East. Fly along the east side of the river all the way past Glen Rose and Granbury, and the Nicaraguan gunners shouldn't shoot at you.”

Preacher then spoke up. “Unless somebody's hit them earlier,” he noted. The Nicaraguans' enthuasism for the war had significantly cooled since PRAIRIE FIRE back in May-June, and were now very reluctant to fire on American aircraft. Unless they were actually being attacked or had just been attacked.

“Noted,” Guru said. “Expect flak if they've been hit,” the CO nodded. “Once clear, we hit the I-20, climb up, hit the tanker track, then come on home.” Guru surveyed his flight members. “Questions?”

“Rescue?” Sweaty asked.

“Same as before: anywhere rural and away from the roads is your best bet if you have to eject. And Ninety-nine percent plus of the people down there will either help or point you to someone who will. The Jolly Greens have done pretty well in that area, so keep that in mind,' said Guru. “Anything else?”

“This the last one for today?” Goalie wanted to know.

“It should be,” Guru said as an Ops NCO appeared at the door to collect the briefing materials. “We're Mustang Flight on this one. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” KT said. “Buddy's asleep.”

Heads turned to see the squadron's mascot, curled up and fast asleep on the floor. “Let him sleep,” Guru said. It was considered a good omen if the dog slept through a mission brief. If he did, it would be an easy ride. If he woke up and paid attention? The crews braced for a risky one. “That's it. Gear up, and we meet up at Five-twelve's revetment.”

The crews went to the locker rooms to gear up, and when Guru came out of the Men's, with G-Suit, Survival vest, harness, and helmet in hand, Goalie was waiting outside. She was attired just as he was, as usual. “Ready?” She asked.

“Ready,” he agreed. “Knock on wood, this is the last one today,” Guru added as they headed on out.

“And how's our guest been doing?”

They passed the CO's office on the way and saw Ms. Mason sitting down to talk with Jena Wendt and her news crew. Though Patti Brown wasn't there as she was already out on a mission, the Marine PAO was. “I'd say that answers your question,” Guru said.

Goalie nodded as they got to the door. “That trigger time on the range must've helped,” she noted. “Now, can Ross get me one of those Heckler-and-Kochs? You let me shoot it, and now I'm hooked.”

“I'll let him know,” Guru said as they walked to the dispersal area and 512's revetment. The rest of their flight was already there. Back to business, the CO thought. “All right, folks, gather 'round.” It was time for his final instructions.

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

Guru nodded. “That, and a reminder about complacency. This may be our last one, but treat it like it's the first, and the bad guys are Soviets with Cat I equipment.” That meant ZSU-23-4s or ZSU-30s, and the “Teenage” SAMs from -11 on up.

Kara nodded. “Gotcha, Major,” and the others nodded as well. When anyone in the squadron addressed the CO by rank, it signaled that they took what the CO said very seriously indeed.

“We getting a stand-down tomorrow?” Hoser asked.

Guru nodded again. “That we are. Maintenance can get caught up, we all need to catch up on paperwork, working out-we've been hitting it pretty hard past few days and Doc's not happy about that.” Doc Waters was the squadron's Flight Surgeon, and he was constantly on the aircrews case for getting their workouts in. Though some resented the nagging, he did outrank everyone, including the CO, in anything medical. “So try and catch up on that, and sleep. In no particular order.” Among other things, the CO thought, casting a glance at Goalie.

Goalie saw it and grinned. Catching up on bedroom gymnastics? Need some of that, she thought.

“Anything else?” Guru asked, and heads shook no. He clapped his hands for emphasis. “Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, where Sergeant Crowley, the CC, was waiting. “Major, Captain?” Crowley said, snapping a salute. “Five-twelve's all ready to go, and make some Commies have a really bad day.”

“Libyans this time, but I like the way you talk,” Guru said. He and Goalie did the preflight walk-around, then after the CO signed for the aircraft, the two crewers mounted the aircraft. After strapping in, and putting on their helmets and plugging in both the com line and the oxygen, they went through the cockpit checks.

“When's our next two weeks due?” Goalie asked in between items on the checklist. She was referring to some R&R.

“March or April, sometime,” Guru said as he went through the list. “Last time in Vegas was pretty good, even if it was mostly business.” He was referring to a meeting at Tenth AF HQ where BOLO II had been briefed to General Tanner, and approved.

“That it was, even if Doc looked at us funny after all the food we ate in the hotel buffet,” she laughed.

Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. Maybe a repeat. “That he did. Arnie?” He was referring to the ARN-101 DMAS nav system.

“Ready, along with the backup INS,” Goalie replied. “Ejection seats?”

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

“Same here. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

Guru gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave him the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then two, J-79 engines were soon up and running, as Guru tested the controls. All set. Once the run-up was complete, he called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Mustang Lead rolling.” Guru gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley. The ground crew pulled the chocks away from the wheels, and after Guru released the brakes, 512 began taxiing out. Once clear of the revetment, Crowley snapped a salute, which both Guru and Goalie returned, and the CC gave a thumbs-up.

Guru taxied out, and the other five in the flight followed. He taxied towards Runway 35L, and when he got to the holding area, two Marine flights-one with F-4s, another with F/A-18s, were ahead of him. But all three waited as a C-141 came in and landed on the same runway. Once the big Starlifter had taxied clear, the Marine F-4s taxied, then took off. After the Hornets taxied onto the runway, Guru led the flight to the holding area. There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties. All of their ordnance was now live. After the F/A-18s rumbled down the runway and into the air, it was their turn. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

The controller got back to him. “Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-five for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed with 520, pulling with him on the right wing. A quick glance, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, and a final cockpit check. All ready.

“Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said as he pulled down and locked his canopy. Goalie did the same, and the CO looked over at 520. Kara and Brainiac were all set. “Ready?” He asked Goalie.

“Ready, and time to make some Libyans have a really bad day,” Goalie said.

“It is that,” Guru agreed. He firewalled the throttles, then he released the brakes. Five-twelve rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, Sweaty and Hoser followed, then came the two RAF F-4Js. After forming up at FL 100, Guru flashed his formation lights and the six-ship headed south for the tankers.

[Matt Wiser]

After a break for the Holidays and some writer's block, here's the next piece:


Over West-Central Texas: 1525 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight was going in at low level, and to the crews, that meant at most, 450 Feet AGL. As they went across the I-20 and into enemy territory, their eyes and ears perked up, for now they were in bad-guy land, and all sorts of threats were out there. While the pilots maintained their visual scanning, then checking instruments, before putting heads on a swivel again, the GIBs were not just checking their instruments, but also the navigation, before their own scan outside. Experience, both in SEA and in this one, had taught that having an extra set of eyes in the cockpit could only be a good thing.

For Guru, it meant that old habits drummed into his head at the RTU were still in force. How long had it been? Three-plus years or that many lifetimes, he thought as the Central Texas countryside flew past beneath. He made a visual scan, then checked his RWR. So far, only ground-based radars, both to his left and right, but nothing signaling that a radar had him. “Anything?” He asked Goalie.

“Negative,” Goalie said. She was working the radar, and had turned it on briefly, before shutting down. Only when they got within range of the target would that come on.Until that moment came, they would rely on AWACS. Just then, a spoke appeared on the screen to the southeast, followed by the SEARCH warning light. “Spoke too soon.”

“Mainstay,” Guru said. It wasn't a question. The only consolation was that the spoke on the display was a weak one. Which meant the radar signal likely hadn't picked them up.

“Said it before, but I'll do it again,”Goalie spat. “Somebody needs to do something about those guys.”

Guru nodded to himself as he picked up the Leon River and turned to follow it. The river would take them to Proctor Lake and their first turn point. “You are preaching to the choir,” he said. “How far to the lake?”

“Two minutes.”

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

An AWACS controller got back to him right away. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Two-one-zero for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five, Medium, going away. Third Threat bearing One-seven-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy that. Say bogey dope?”

“Mustang Lead, first threats are Fishbeds. Second and third threats are Fulcrums.”

“Copy.” Fishbeds and Fulcrums.. MiG-21s and MiG-29s. “Haven't run into Fulcrums in a while.”

“Hoping either Kara gets her tenth, or Karen McKay gets tied with Kara?” Goalie quipped.

“Or better yet, I get number nine, and you get your sixth,” Guru replied. Though he wouldn't go out of his way to do it. But if they ran across MiGs, or a threat just plain got too close? Well, nothing wrong in taking advantage of that.

State Route 16 then appeared, first as they crossed the highway, then parallel to the strike flight as they headed south, about a mile off to their right. The road marked the boundary between the Soviet 32nd Army to the West, and the East German “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg” to the East, though it was used by both as a supply route. But armed reconnaissance wasn't their mission. Not today, anyway.

Goalie scanned to the right and saw what looked like a supply convoy moving along the road. “Convoy off to the right, on the highway.”

“Not their turn to die,” Guru reminded her. The CO took a quick glance at the map, then up ahead. Not that far now to the lake. “Maybe somebody's got their number later.”

“One can hope,” Goalie said. “One minute to the lake.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. A convoy out in the open like that? Flak trap, even money bet.

The highway went further off to the west as the strike flight followed the river. “Thirty seconds to the Lake,” Goalie called.

“Copy.”

It wasn't long until Lake Proctor appeared. Guru went down to 400 Feet AGL, and the rest of the flight followed as they thundered down the lake. “Turn point coming up,” Goalie said.

“Call it,” replied Guru as the dam appeared-and the flak gunners there were waking up, for tracers started to come up.

“Five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard left turn before settling on an easterly course. Mustang Flight overflew the town of Proctor, and though they couldn't see, a number of locals saw the flight passing overhead and waved, much to the chagrin of their occupiers. They happened to be Soviets from an Army Rear-Area Protection Division, and the older Captain in command of the the company forming the garrison simply shrugged. Waving at passing American aircraft was one thing. Actual guerrilla activities were something else entirely, and so far, there had been none of that. Yet. As for the aircraft? Where they were going and who they were going to attack wasn't his problem.


“Steady on Zero-nine-two,” Guru said as he settled on course.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Time to Lake Whitney...three and a half minutes. Fifty-seven miles.”

“Got it,” replied Guru as he took a look at his EW display. That Mainstay's signal was stronger. But at 400 Feet AGL, they should be lost in the ground clutter. Best not to take that chance...Guru went to 350 Feet AGL, and the rest of the flight, which was maintaining radio silence, simply followed his lead. But a quick check with AWACS was in order. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-zero-zero for sixty-five. Medium, Going away. Third threat bearing Two-seven-zero for seventy-five. Medium, Closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Do you have Bogey Dope?”

“Mustang, Crystal Palace. First and second threats are Fulcrums. Third are Fishbeds,” the controller replied. “Stand by one. Mustang, Fourth threat now bearing One-eight-two for ninety. Medium, closing. Fourth threats are Flankers.”

“Flankers?” Goalie asked.

“Copy all, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. “Flankers. Just hope that Mainstay doesn't have us and those chumps are listening to their controllers.” Some of the Su-27s based in Texas were believed to be Voyska PVO-the Soviet Air Defense Force, and in the V-PVO, a GCI or Airborne controller's word was law. A quick glance at the EW display only showed the Mainstay radar. Not even the SA-4s the East Germans operated for Army-level air defense were showing up. And both Guru and Goalie were hoping it stayed that way.

“Here's hoping.”

The Texas Hill Country passed by as Mustang Flight headed East. Ranches, ranch ponds, dairies, and farms were just a blur, as were several small towns-either ruins or just places on the map-flew by beneath them.

“How long to Hico and 281?” Guru asked. He was referring to the town and U.S. 281, which was serving as a navigation checkpoint. Though Mustang Flight would not be passing right over the town, just the sight of it off their left wing would be enough.

Goalie checked the ARN-101 DMAS, then her map. “Eight miles. Thirty seconds.”

“Roger that.” As they got closer, Hico appeared. “Hico at Eleven,” Guru called. And as the town passed by, some flak from a battery south of the U.S. 281 bridge over the North Bosque River appeared. “Somebody's on the ball.”

“But they're lousy shots,” Goalie observed as the flak flew wide of the strike flight. “Just over two minutes to Lake Whitney.”

“Got it,” Guru said as the town disappeared in their wake.


In Hico, the East German garrison commander was having one of his usual fits. A supply convoy headed to Soviet 32nd Army had stopped in the town, and the Russians were throwing their weight around, as some of the vehicles were tank transporters, each with a T-72 tank on them. Then there were the other Soviets-from a Rear-Area Protection Division, and their job was to keep U.S. 281 and both State Routes 6 and 220 open. Which they did from the safety of their BTR-512 APCs and a platoon of T-54 tanks, and hardly went onto the side roads for fear of being ambushed. Though one could argue that was their job, making sweeps to clear the area of any “Counterrevolutionary Bandits and Diversionists” (to use his Stasi Security Officer's phrase), the Soviets assigned to the job were overage reservists whose average age was forty. To make matters worse, the said Stasi Officer was hunting for those elements as well, and the only good thing was that there wasn't a PSD officer in town. Oh, there had been, once, but the man had made many enemies among the occupiers-not to mention the locals, so when the man's car had set off a roadside bomb, there were no reprisals or any other action.

In his office in City Hall, the Major was tending to his paperwork when the sound of AA fire attracted his attention, along with some cheering. The Major went outside to see several F-4 Phantoms heading East, with the AA gunners at the bridge shooting well behind them. He saw some locals cheering, and shook his head. As he went back towards his office, he thought about reporting the American aircraft, but decided against it. Where they were headed, and what, along with who, they were going to attack was not his concern.


Guru stayed on course, checking his RWR display. Still just that Mainstay, and no fighter radars. “How long to Meridian?”

“One minute thirty,” Goalie replied.

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

The AWACS controller replied at once. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Zero-nine-five for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat Bearing One-five-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat Bearing One-eight-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say Bogey Dope?”

“Mustang, First and second threats are still Fulcrums. Third Threats are Flankers.”

“Roger,” Guru said. “Flankers going away.”

“That's good,” Goalie said. “Don't fancy our chances against those guys.” She checked her map and the DMAS. “One minute to Meridian.”

Mustang Flight kept going east as the hill country gave them some cover from the Mainstay radar, They flew roughly parallel to Highway 6, until they crossed the highway about halfway between the small town of Iredell and Meridian. Then came the North Bosque River, and Meridian a couple of miles off to their right. “That's Meridian,” Guru said.

“That checks,” Goalie said. “Forty-five seconds to the lake. One minute thirty to the IP.”

“Roger that,” Guru called as the hills passed beneath, then the lake appeared. “There's the lake. Set'em up.”

Goalie knew what Guru wanted. All the bombs in one go. That had been a longstanding squadron rule unless the threat allowed for multiple passes. She worked the armament controls. “All set.”

Guru then turned on his ECM pod.”Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by.”

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

Mustang Flight thundered across the lake, to the relief of some locals who were fishing, and the shock of some Soviet, East German, and Libyan soldiers who were also fishing there. Both groups were trying to add to their rations, and as the F-4s thundered past, the locals were thrilled. Seeing friendly aircraft meant the Army was getting close. While the soldiers were left wondering if the propaganda their political officers had been trumpeting about the “Socialist Forces' Command of the Sky” was worth the paper the pamphlets had been printed on.

“Lakeshore coming up. Whitney on the right,” Guru called.

“Twenty seconds to IP,” Goalie acknowledged. “Stand by to pull.”

“Call it.”

“Five, four, three, two, one, PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and 512 climbed. As it did, he had his eyes out, looking for the target. Then he saw it. Lots of truck tracks, and long objects in a field. Right where the imagery said it was. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara called.

“Ready back there?” Guru asked Goalie.

Goalie tightened her harness, then said, “Ready.”

“Then let's go,” Guru said, rolling 512 to the left and setting up his attack run.


Below, just north of the intersection, a Libyan Army Captain of Missile Troops was having a good day for a change. The Missile Brigade's technical support battalion had finally received a shipment of reload R-17 missiles, and many of them had had already been checked out, certified ready, and sent off to the firing batteries. Though the Captain had heard that the Libyans now had to get clearance from the Soviets before actually conducting fire missions, that wasn't his concern. Making sure the missiles were mated with their warheads (HE and CBU) and sent off was, though providing the batteries with missile fuel wasn't. He glanced over to the east, where a depot was being set up to store missile fuel, but he had heard that no propellants had arrived. No matter. The Captain turned to his deputy, a Lieutenant, who was also in charge of their air defense, and was about to say something when the Lieutenant froze and pointed to the Southewest. The Captain looked in that direction, and saw the smoke trails. He'd been hit from the air before and knew what was coming. F-4 Phantoms. “AIR RAID! TAKE COVER!”

“Lead's in!” Guru made the call as he turned on his bomb run. The CO lined up one row of missiles, neatly arranged in what had been some rancher's field prewar, and smiled. “No way. Not today,” he muttered as tracers-most likely 23-mm from ZU-23s, came up, along with at least one SA-7. The missile bodies grew larger in his pipper ad he came in. “Steady, And... Steady, Steady.....HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, and six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the racks. He then pulled up and away, jinking as he did, so as to give the flak gunners and SAM shooters a harder time of it. Only when he was clear did Guru call. “Lead's off target.”


“Allah Akbar!” The Captain shouted as Guru's F-4 came in and released. He had ducked into a drainage ditch-a quite muddy one-and huddled as the American bombs went off. A dozen explosions followed, and the Captain glanced around the ditch. His deputy looked calm, but a younger officer looked properly terrified. “Not my first time,” he said, trying to calm the man. He then glanced up and saw that a good number of the missile bodies had been wrecked, but a shout, along with the ZU-23s turning back to face the south, meant that another American was coming in....

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. No SA-7s this time, she noticed.

“Secondaries?”

“Negative, but there's a couple of missiles the bombs sent flying.” Too bad they weren't fuel tanks or trucks..

“That'll do,” Guru said as he picked up the Brazos.


“Two in hot!” Kara called as she took 520 in on its run. She saw where the CO's bombs had landed, and missile bodies-and pieces of them-were flying around. Kara then picked out the second row of missiles, and lined them up in her pipper. She, like the CO, ignored the flak and didn't even notice two SA-7s flying past (though Brainiac did and he involuntarily ducked) “On it. Steady...Steady... And... They're gone!” Kara hit the pickle button, and her dozen bombs came off 520's racks. And just as the CO did, she began jinking as she cleared the area, and as she did, she picked up the CO's smoke trail, then had a visual on 512. “Two's off target.”


“Mother of-” the Libyan Captain said as Kara's bird came in. The AA gunners were shooting either wide, or too high, or past, and he scowled as the F-4 went in, undamaged, and laid its bombs in the missile storage area. He ducked as missile bodies and pieces of them flew in all directions, and watched in horror as a piece of a missile landed on top of a soldier trying to aim a Strela-2M (SA-7b) and killed him. The Captain looked around, and was relieved to see the warhead storage still intact. But before he could head that way, the sound of additional AA fire made him jump back in the ditch. More Americans, he knew.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainaic shouted in 520's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked, dodging an SA-7 that flew past the right wing, then another as she jinked left.

“Maybe one or two, but we tore up those stored missiles.”

“Good enough,” Kara replied as she found the CO's bird and formed up with him.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. Seeing the missile storage area covered in dust, smoke, and flame, she smiled underneath her oxygen mask. Sweaty picked out the warhead storage revetments and lined them up in her pipper, ignoring an SA-7 that flew past on her left, along with the 23-mm tracers coming up. No way, no how, she thought as the revetments grew larger in the pipper as she closed in. “And...And.. Steady.... THEY'RE OFF!” Sweaty shouted as she hit the pickle button, and her Mark-82s and M-117s came off the racks. She, too, began jinking as she egressed, and when she cleared, made her call. “Three's off target.”


“Of all the-” the Libyan Captain muttered as Sweaty's F-4 came in on its bomb run. He watched as the AA fire seemed to be flying everywhere but where the American was flying, and made a mental note to reprimand his deputy later. The Captain saw the bombs come off as the F-4 pulled up a little later than the first two did, and then it hit him. Warhead storage. He saw the bombs land, and in the middle of the detonations, saw at least three more explosions. Ducking back in the ditch, he knew full well what had happened. Shaking his head, he waited for the explosions to die down, then he stood up. Before he could say or do anything, someone pulled him back into the ditch. The sound of AA fire again, and that meant another aircraft.


“BULLSEYE!” Preacher yelled as Sweaty pulled off. “We got secondaries!”

“How good?” Sweaty asked as she jinked. She saw an SA-7 fly overhead, and another fly past on the left.

“Righteously good!” The former seminary student called back.

“Good enough.” Sweaty then turned for the Brazos and a meetup with the CO's element.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw Sweaty's run, and the whole warhead storage area was covered in smoke and flames, and the occasional secondary explosion as warheads cooked off. That made him switch his target to the farm buildings the CO had indicated. He saw the flak coming up, both 23-mm and what looked like small-arms fire, and ignored it as he picked out a couple of farm buildings with military trucks parked ext to them. You'll do, Hoser thought as he lined them up in his pipper. “And...And... And... HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, and a dozen more bombs fell onto the Libyans below. He then pulled up and away, jinking as the others did. Only when he cleared the target did he call. “Four's off safe.”


“This can't be happening,” the Captain muttered as Hoser's F-4 came in and released.

“Feels like it's happening,” one of his officers said, unknowningly echoing two Russians at TSTC Airport when the Americans had struck that a few weeks previously.

Nodding, the Captain got up and not only saw the secondary explosions at the warhead storage, but saw his headquarters and billeting going up as bombs exploded around and on the buildings. Shaking his head, he climbed out, just as two more F-4s thundered over without making a bomb run. Ignoring them, he turned to his deputy. “Find a radio and notify Brigade we need all possible assistance, NOW!”

“Immediately!” The Lieutenant said, going in search of a vehicle with a working radio.

What a day, the Captain thought as he saw the chaos get under control as officers and NCOs began to get things under control . Somewhat, he reminded himself.


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted.

“How good?” Hoser replied as he jinked to avoid some 23-mm tracers, then jinked back as an SA-7 flew overhead.

“A couple of good secondaries.”

“Nice to have those,” Hoser said as he picked up his element lead.


“Four in and out,” Goalie called in 512's back seat.

“Roger that. One-five and One-six, get your asses down and clear.”

“Roger, Lead,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson replied. “We're coming out,”

AWACS then came on the line. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. Bandits, Bandits! Bearing Zero-eight-five for twenty-five. Medium, closing fast. Bandits are Floggers. Repeat; Bandits are Floggers.”

“Hello,” Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Two, Lead. On me, Drop tanks and fight's on.” He dropped his wing tanks and turned hard left, intending to do a 180, then pick up the bandits. Floggers from that direction? That meant Cubans.

Kara, too, was grinning beneath her own mask. A shot at double ace was too good to pass up. She,too, dropped her wing tanks, but went right, then formed up in Combat Spread with Guru. Sweaty and Hoser, too, heard the call, dropped their tanks, turned on their radars, but also picked up their visual scanning.

Once again, though, the RAF had something to say about it. Jackson and Flight Lt. Karen McKay, One-five and One-six, picked up the MiGs as they came in. And for them, it was a first. Cubans. “Fidel's boys this time,” Jackson said as they ID'd the MiG-23s.

“Got them, Lead. Tally two Floggers,” McKay called. Just then, the Cubans must have seen either the two RAF F-4Js or the four F-4Es closing in, for they broke. “I'm on the leader.”

“I'll take the wingman,” Jackson said as the MiG wingman was closest to him. He armed his AIM-9Ls and as he did, the MiG pulled up. Jackson matched him, but as he did, he saw two things. One was at least two F-4Es coming in from the Northwest, and the second was his RWR lighting up as the Hillsboro SA-2 site came up and fired two missiles.

In 512, Guru was watching the radar repeater as it showed both the MiGs and the two RAF F-4s. Then his own RWR lit up with a strobe, a “2” in a box next to it, and the RADAR and MISSILE warning lights came on at the same time. “Oh, shit!” Two SA-2s were suddenly in the air. “Break!”

Kara broke right in 520, going back low, and Guru broke left, going back low as well. Most SA-2s couldn't track a target below 2,000 feet AGL, but some could go down to between 800-850 feet. “Who are they?”

“Hillsboro,” Guru said. He did a 180, and saw an F-4 lining up behind a MiG. He armed his own Sidewinders, ready in case whoever that was missed, and the MiG came his way.

“I've got him,” Jackson said to Dave Gledhill, the growl of the missile seeker very loud in his headset. “Six clear?”

Gledhill had his head on a swivel, saw a missile fly overhead at least several thousand feet above, then said. “Six clear. He's yours.”

Jackson didn't reply, but fired a Sidewinder instead. The AIM-9L shot off the port rail, went left, then steadied right and flew up the MiG-23's exhaust. The Flogger became a fireball, and what was left of the aircraft corkscrewed left twice, before fireballing again on impact with the ground. There was no chute. “SPLASH!”

“That's what, eight for those two?” Goalie asked as 512 climbed back up.

“Figure that out later,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a game on.” He glanced at his RWR and saw another SA-2 launch. “SHIT!” He broke right and headed back down low.

Karen McKay got behind the MiG leader, and she saw this guy was good. He was doing his best to throw off her ability to take a shot, even doing a Yo-yo, but she stayed right with him. The fact he was in a MiG-23 with manual wing sweep and horrid rear visibility didn't help as she closed in. Her Sidewinders were armed and as the growl sounded in her headset, she prepared the squeeze the trigger. Then Razor Wilkenson's call surprised her. “SAM, Five O'clock!” She broke away, turning hard into the missile and diving low as the SA-2 flew by.

That opened the door for Sweaty, as she charged in with Hoser on her wing. She had been trying to lock up the MiG in case McKay's shot missed, but seeing the F-4J do a SAM break, and an SA-2 missile fly over by at least 1500 feet, gave her a chance as the Cuban MiG-23 leveled out. “He doesn't even see us,” Sweaty said as the Sidewinder growl got large enough to show lock.

“His problem,” Preacher said. “Six is clear, and you can take him.”

“He's taken,” replied Sweaty. She squeezed the trigger, and shouted, “FOX TWO!” She fired a Sidewinder, which flew straight and true, spearing the MiG in the tail section. The MiG trailed fire and plunged towards a ranch pond, exploding in the air just before impact, sending what was left into the pond. There was no chute. “One-three has a SPLASH!”

“Copy, Sweaty. Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's get the hell out of here,” said Guru as he turned again, picking up the Brazos River.

“Roger, Lead.” Kara called, as did Sweaty and Jackson.

With the target hit and two MiGs splashed, it was time to fly not for Uncle Sam, or Queen and Country, but for themselves. The rest of the flight joined Guru just shy of the Route 174 bridge, and the Libyan gunners on the east side were their usual selves, shooting anywhere but ahead of the aircraft.

“With me, Two?” Guru called.

“Right with you, Boss,” Kara said.

A quick glance to the right showed 520 right with 512 in Combat Spread. “Got eyeballs on you. Where's Sweaty?”

“Right on your six, Lead. Got Hoser with me, and two Juliets just behind me.”

“Thirty seconds to the Brazospoint Bridge,” Goalie said in 512. “One minute to Highway 67.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as he took 512 down to 400 Feet AGL. “Crystal Palace,Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. Nice work with those Floggers, by the way. First threat bearing Zero-nine-five for forty. Medium, closing. Second Threat bearing One-six-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-eight-five for eighty-five. Medium, going away. Fourth threat bearing Two-three-zero for ninety. Medium, closing.”

“Copy that. Say bogey dope?”

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

“Roger, copy.”

“Bridge coming up,” Goalie said as the Brazospoint Bridge appeared. Once again, the Libyans were wildly inaccurate as Mustang Flight charged north. “Thirty seconds to Highway 67 and Glen Rose, One Minute to Granbury and Highway 377,” Goalie advised as they cleared the Bridge.

“Got it,” said Guru as he followed the river, but on the East bank, North of Brazospoint, it became the Nicaraguan II Corps Sector, and the Nicaraguans on that side of the river were reluctant to fire on passing aircraft unless they were also being attacked, or had just been attacked.

It didn't take long for the Glen Rose Bridge to appear, and though the Nicaraguans didn't fire, the East Germans on the West Bank did, with 37-mm and 57-mm fire, but Mustang Flight was too fast for the gunners to track visually.

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-one-zero for fifty. Medium, now going away. Second Threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-five Medium, going away,” the AWACS called.

“Floggers and Flankers don't want to play,” Goalie said.

“Their choice,” Guru said as he saw the fighter radars for the MiG-23s drop off the RWR. All that was left was the Mainstay. “How far to Granbury?”

“Dam coming up, and thirty seconds after that to the 377 Bridge.”

“Copy.”

Again, the gunners at the dam opened up on the East German side, but the Nicaraguans stayed quiet. The same thing repeated at the Highway 377 Bridge. After clearing Granbury, it wasn't long until the twin ribbons of concrete that signaled I-20 appeared. Along with the Interstate bridge over the Brazos and its I-HAWK guardians.

“Flight, Lead. Verify IFF on and music off,” Guru called as the Mainstay's radar dropped off. “And that's the Mainstay.

“Still waiting for somebody's doing something nasty to those guys,” Goalie muttered.

“You, me, and a whole lot of others,” Guru said as he climbed to altitude and headed for the tanker track.


After meeting up with the tankers, Mustang Flight drank enough fuel to get to Sheppard and have some reserve. They then headed for home.

When the Flight got to Sheppard, the Eastbound C-141 was in the pattern ahead of them, along with two Marine F-4 flights and a 335th flight. The latter had no one missing, the CO was glad to see. After the big Starlifter went in, the two Marine flights followed, then the 335th Flight, with the Ops Officer, as Don Van Loan's voice came on the radio. Then it was their turn in the pattern.

Before coming in to land, the flight did the usual flyby, and both Sweaty and Jackson did Victory Rolls, those on the ground were glad to see, then Mustang Flight came in and landed. As they taxied by, the victorious crews held fingers up to signal MiG kills to those watching, as the news crew filmed the aircraft as they taxied by.

The flight found the squadron's dispersal area, then they taxied for their revetments. After Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, Guru got the “Stop” signal from Sergeant Crowley, then the ground crew went to put the chocks around the landing gear. “Four and done,” Guru said as he and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist.

Goalie checked her watch as the ground crew brought the crew ladder.. “You know, if somebody's calling for CAS? We could squeeze in one more.”

“Don't say it,” Guru said as he popped his canopy, unbuckled his harness, then stood up. “Let the Night Hogs-if any are around-handle that.”

“I know,” Goalie said as she stood up in the back seat. “But somebody's got to say it once in a while.”

“Yeah,” Guru nodded as he took off his helmet, handed it to Sergeant Crowley, then climbed down the crew ladder. “Five-twelve's still going strong, Sarge. Whatever you're doing? Don't change it.”

Hearing that, the Crew Chief was beaming. “Yes, sir! What'd you hit, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Had some Libyan missile techs have a bad afternoon,” Goalie said as she came over and accepted a bottle of water from Crowley.

Guru nodded as he, too, drank some water. “And their missiles went up-and down-in pieces.”

Crowley was pleased. “Their problem, sir. Anything special for the morning?” He knew there was a stand-down due to weather.

“Just get her ready in case we have to sit alert,” Guru said. “Have her prepped for a Zulu Alert.” That meant air defense, with a full load of Sidewinder and Sparrow.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “Listen up, People! Finish the post-flight, then let's get this bird ready to splash some MiGs.”

Guru and Goalie left the ground crew to their chores, and headed for the revetment's entrance/exit. Kara and Brainiach were already there. “Well?”

“That's another chance gone with the wind,” Kara grumbled. She was still shooting for that tenth kill and double ace status.

“Can't get them all and we all know it,” Guru said. “How'd you do on the strike? Made some Scuds go up in pieces.”

“Same here, and they came down the same way,” Kara nodded as Sweaty and Hoser arrived with Preacher and KT.

Sweaty grinned. “And the warhead storage followed them up,” she added.

“And that made me drop on the farm buildings,” Hoser said. “Quite a few military trucks parked there.”

Heads nodded at that. “Weren't they using those for admin, billeting, or whatever?” KT wondered.

Sweaty nodded. “That's what the brief said.”

“Their problem,” Hoser replied.

“It is,” Guru said as the RAF crews came over. “Dave, Paul,” Guru said to Dave Gledhill. “You and Paul-if it's confirmed, have number eight. You're tied with me if it holds up.”

“And me,” Sweaty grinned. “When Karen did that SAM break? That opened him up for me.”

“There's always next time,” Kara patted Karen on the back sympathetically.

McKay nodded. “There is that,” she admitted.

“Okay,” the CO said as Sin Licon pulled up in a Dodge Crew-Cab. “Let's get the debrief out of the way, check your desks for any paperwork that the elves missed-”

“They always do,” Goalie quipped.

KT shook her head. “That's a given.”

“And tomorrow? Stand-down for weather. It's going to be snowy,” the CO went on. Expect six to eight inches of the white stuff on this one. So we get to catch up on paperwork, maintenance, and sleep, in no particular order.”

“Among other things,” Goalie muttered just loud enough for both the CO and Kara to hear.

“That, too,” Kara grinned.

Guru knew it as well. “All right, folks. Let's pile in, because we got somewhere to be.”

[jemhouston]

Everyone needs a break

[Matt Wiser]

True, but the ones who won't get much of one-once the weather lifts-are the maintenance folks. For once the storm clears out? Twenty-two birds have to be ready to go At least with the weather, everyone gets to sleep in.

[Matt Wiser]

Next one: Time to unwind, and a stand-down due to weather come morning...



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1650 Hours Central War Time:


In the CO's office, Major Wiser was going over some final papers. The Eastbound C-141 had brought some more mail, and the CO had a scowl. Nothing really important, but some bureaucrats were wailing about “unnecessary” 20-mm expenditures in one memo, while another was screeching about how the various squadrons and wings were “circumventing normal supply procedures.” Now, the CO thought, If you guys in supply weren't so by-the-peacetime-book and more responsive, we wouldn't need those midnight raids on your depots. He decided to keep that one for himself, while that other one would go into a folder to show General Tanner the next time the General paid Sheppard a visit. Guru knew that Tanner had swung the ax at the supply people at least three times, but the new supply officers had turned out to be just as bad as those they had replaced, and thus the cycle repeated. Though General Cunningham as Vice-Chief of Staff had also swung that ax at a higher level, the CO figured he was low enough down on the totem pole to see if that chopping had produced results.

Guru had just put the last of what needed to go out into his OUT bin when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

The XO opened the door. “Boss, got a few things for you before we knock off,” Mark Ellis said.

“Lay it on me, Mark.”

“First, aircraft status report. Just over half of our birds are going to be down for maintenance. Four will be available for any Zulu Alert if MAG-11 calls for it,” the XO reported.

“Good,” Guru said. He already knew the weather from earlier in the day, but.. “Any change in the weather?”

“Negative, Boss-man,” the XO replied. He handed Guru the weather report. “Might even get a little more snow.”

Guru scanned the paper. The forecast now called for eight to ten inches of snow, with IFR flying only until after 1400, when it was expected to become partly cloudy. “Temps in the mid 30s, calm winds-which is a good thing, and it's not an Arctic Blast.”

“Which means the only bad guys we can expect are Fencers-and even they wouldn't want to fly in weather like this-even if they get their share back in Russia.”

“They've gotten a lot more cautious in how they use those now, after getting burned on BOLO II,” Guru pointed out. “That still leaves Scuds or SS-23s. What else?”

“Not much personnel-wise. Though we've got one airman who's submitting an application to Pararescue School tomorrow,” Ellis said.

Guru nodded. That was a punishing course, and it had an attrition rate of seventy-five to eighty-five percent. And almost all of that was in the Assessment and Selection phase prior to advanced training. “Let me know when he submits it for my endorsement.”

“Will do,” said the XO as another knock came on the door.

“Yeah?” Guru said as the door opened and his GIB, Goalie, came in. And both men could tell by the dour expression on her face she was pissed about something. “I see you've got something up your craw. What's the problem?

“How long have we been living in field conditions?” She asked.

“Since June,” Guru said. “Williams to Cannon to Amarillo to here. Why do you ask?”

“Well, some of us are mighty pissed off right now, because somebody found a peephole in the showers in Female Officer Country.”

Both the CO's and XO's jaws dropped. That had never happened in MAG-11, at least, that they knew of. Until now. “That's a first,” Guru said after a moment's pause. “Who found it?”

“One of the female Marines-she's an Admin officer and has graveyard this week,” Goalie said.

Guru thought for a moment. “Okay, I'll talk with Colonel Brady tonight, and you can bet he'll be on the horn to either RED HORSE or the Seabees to find a way to prevent this kind of foolishness in the future. This ain't the 4077th, and whoever thinks he's Hawkeye had better hope he doesn't get caught.”

“If he does?” Goalie said. “The female Marines already want to drag him behind a tank. Kara? When she found out, she said she wants him for a kickboxing practice dummy.”

“Not a surprise,” the XO commented. “Let Ryan Blanchard know?” Capt. Ryan Blanchard was the OINC of the squadron's Combat Security Police detachment.

“Chances are, she knows already. Still, she'll probably touch base with the Air Base Group's own CSPs. That area might get some more patrolling in the future,” said Guru. “Apart from that, anything else?”

“Just tomorrow,” Goalie said. “We all get caught up on maintenance, workouts, paperwork, and sleep.”

“Not in any particular order,” Guru noted.

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

The CO nodded. He knew what she meant by that. “Among other things,” he agreed. He looked at his Exec, who knew about their relationship. “Anything else, Mark?”

“Just that the delivery crew didn't RON. They hopped on the Westbound C-141. And that's it for tonight, Boss,” replied Ellis.

“Good.” Now that the squadron had twenty-two aircraft, they were two shy of full strength. Guru stood up and grabbed his flight jacket and bush hat. “Let's knock off and hit the Club.” The office clock read 1703.

When the trio reached the O-Club Tent, the place was already buzzing. As they entered, the objects of attention were a Marine twosome, and they were busy getting themselves happily smashed. “What's that about?” Guru asked as they came up to the bar.

“The Shamrocks have another ace team,” a Marine officer said. He turned, and it was VMFA-134's CO, Lt. Col. Richard Hardegen. A refugee from East Germany back in 1961, he was a Marine to the core. And he didn't care that on some of the strikes he flew against the East Germans, he might be killing relatives.

“What'd they get?” Mark Ellis asked as Smitty, the barkeep, came up.

“Three in one mission,” Hardegen said. “Two Su-25s and a Hind. They had two in the last six months, then now three in one mission? Talk about right place, right time.”

“I'll go along with that,” Guru said. “Smitty, the usual for all three of us. I'll pay.” He took out his wallet and handed several bills to the barkeep.

“Never decline a drink if the CO's paying,” Goalie said as Smitty handed her a Bud.

Hearing that, Colonel Hardegen smiled. “Always good advice, Captain,” he said. “Colonel Brady ought to be here any minute. He had to have a talk with an MP Officer and your Captain Blanchard.”

“I think I know what that's about,” Goalie said.

“What?” Hardegen asked as Colonel Brady came in, with Ryan Blanchard, M-16 slung over her right shoulder, behind him. The expressions on their faces were, to put it politely, more than slightly pissed.

“I think Colonel Brady should explain,” Guru said as the MAG-11 CO came up to the bar, and though still angry, he nodded his approval about the two VMFA-333 crewers getting smashed.

“Smitty, a Bud, and chances are, I'll need another,” Colonel Brady said.

“What's up, Colonel?” Hardegen asked.

Allen winced. “Seems we've got a Peeping Tom on base,” he said as Ms. Mason, accompanined by the reporter and camera crew, came in, along with several aircrew-Navy, Marine, and 335th.

“Of all the... This on the level?”

“Very,” Ryan Blanchard said. “If my people find him...”

Goalie smiled. “He'll regret it.And if Kara does?”

“He'll need a trip to Medical before the Brig,” Brady finished. That wouldn't surprise him in the least. “I did talk to Colonel Purcell.” Col. Richard Purcell was the Air Base Group Commander, who was busy getting the base rebuilt, and running the infrastructure that had been put in after Sheppard had been recaptured. “He talked to the Seabees, and they'll be making sure anyone using that peephole sees nothing but wood from now on.” He paused, then went on. “Plywood walls inside the tent walls to block such holes.

“Good to know,” Goalie said.

“It is that,” Brady nodded. “And all the women's showers will have that from now on.” He nodded at the Shamrocks crew celebrating. “How long have they been at it?”

“Half an hour, Colonel,” Smitty said. “Their squadron's flight surgeon is watching them.” The barkeep indicated a Navy officer in khakis watching the two Marines. When the sawbones decided they'd had enough, he would intervene. Not quite yet....

“Well, on that happy note, you all have a good rest of the evening. And enjoy the stand-down tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said, and the others did as well.

After finding a table, the CO and the rest of his flight settled down. They watched as Flossy and Jang-Dave Golen's wingmates-come in with Cosmo and Revlon, the other team whose F-4s were, well, “unmanned”,and there was the usual hand-waving. Then Dave Golen came over. “Guru,” he said.

“Dave,” Guru replied. “What's with Flossy and Cosmo getting together.”

“That reporter's finally putting her piece together about the all-female crews,” Golen said, nodding in the camera crew's direction, as Erica was watching. “They needed some more footage, Ms. Wendt said.”

Kara shook her head. “Not that they've got enough already,” she spat. “At least she didn't puke in my bird's back seat.”

There was laughter at that, then Brainiac said, “For which the Crew Chief will be forever grateful,”

“He ought to be,” Kara grinned.

Then Sin Licon arrived with the usual bundle of newspapers.”Got the latest papers off the Eastbound C-141,” the intel said. “L.A. Times for the CO,” he added, passing the paper to Guru.

“Orange County Register?” Goalie asked. That was her hometown paper, being from Orange County herself.

“Right here,” Sin said, tossing a rolled-up paper to her. After that, “Who wants Stars and Stripes?”

“Mine,” Sweaty called, beating Kara, who settled for USA Today.

Guru scanned the paper, handing the sports section-such as it was-to Brainiac. “Not much happening today, but they're getting set for Super Tuesday.”

“What's that?” Golen asked.

“It's the big item on the primary calendar,” Sweaty explained. “That's when a dozen states have primary elections on the same day. You do good in those, and you've got a much easier path to the nomination. Do bad and you're making a speech announcing your withdrawal from the race.”

Preacher nodded. He was scanning a page of Stars and Stripes that Sweaty had handed him.
“And there's one candidate we all want to make that speech. Jesse Jackson.”

“The 'Peace Candidate'” spat KT. “When he said he wanted a 'Peace without Victory', that pretty much doomed him before he got started.”

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “But she's right.” He scanned more of the L.A. Times. “Says here the Hungarian Rebels asked the UN for recognition.” The CO was referring to the Hungarian Rebel Government, which had seized Budapest, half the country, and had most of the Hungarian Army and Air Force with them.

“What'd the UN say?” Kara asked.

“No response yet. Don't be surprised if Philly and London are pretty favorable tomorrow. And the Russians denounced them again as 'Counterrevolutionary Traitors to Socialism.'”

“That'll be bloody come spring,” Goalie noted. “Well, O.C. Register has this: there's a photo of a Medal of Honor ceremony in Philly.”

“Nothing unusual about that,” Hoser pointed out. He was reading USA Today's sports page.

Goalie smiled. “He's from the 13th Cav. The Hell's Angels.”

Dave Golen heard that-as did Dave Gledhill at a nearby table and both shook their heads. “Only in America,” Gledhill noted. “This is the only country where you can raise a regiment out of an outlaw motorcycle gang.”

“Not the only one to say that,” Guru said. The CO then found the most important part of the paper-the comics.

Then the restaurateurs who ran the Mess Operation came in. “Folks, we've got hamburger steaks, or real fried chicken, with all the fixins. Come and get it!”

As people got their food, the CBS Evening News came on AFN. As usual, Walter Cronkite was anchoring. “Good evening from Los Angeles,” the anchor said. “Today's big news comes not from the front lines, but from Philadelphia, where two aides to embattled Senator William Proxmire were arrested by the FBI today, and formally charged with Espionage. Fred Graham, our Justice Correspondent, has a report.”

The report opened with two people, a man and a woman both in handcuffs, being taken into the Federal Courthouse in Philadelphia. “Two aide to Senator William Proxmire have been taken into custody by the FBI and both made their initial court appearance today.” Graham said. After identifying the two aides, he went on. “Both made trips to Paris on behalf of the Senator, to meet with some of his French counterparts, but they also, according to the complaint unsealed today, met with agents of the Cuban DGI. Attorney General Dick Thornbourgh, at a press conference after the court appearance, said that the two are alleged to have passed classified information that the Senator has access to as a member of both the Armed Services and Foreign Affairs Committees. It has also been learned that the FBI identified their handler in Paris, and that the French authorties have ordered a Cuban Embassy Official to leave the country. Attorney General Thornbourgh went on to say that additional charges may come about as the investigation progresses, and that discussion of the death penalty is this case is 'premature at the moment.' While Senator Proxmire is not a target of the investigation and is cooperating fully, sources say his intention to run for reelection in 1990 is being reconsidered. Fred Graham, CBS News, outside Federal Court in Philadelphia.”

“About time,” Cosmo said. She had been a grad student in astronomy prewar, and had picked up a good many opinions about the Senator and his opposition to NASA programs. “He's done. And give him membership in the Flat Earth Society on the way out.”

“Remember,” Mark Ellis said. “He's voted against just about everything we're using to save this country.Voters back home may remember that.”

“Folks in Wisconsin do like him for getting their milk subsidies,” Colonel Brady pointed out.

After a report from “Somewhere in East Texas” where a nasty fight had shaped up west of Texarkana along I-30, and another from the Northern Theater, where a regiment of Idaho National Guardsmen had given a Soviet motor-rifle regiment a serious mauling, things got to Presidential Politics. “In Liberated Texas, Democratic Candidate Governor Bruce Babbitt attacked 'Peace' Candidate Jesse Jackson in a speech to workers at a newly reactivated helicopter plant. Video then appeared showing Governor Babbit talking to the workers 'When Reverend Jackson-who we all respect for his Civil Rights work-calls for a 'peace without victory', what does that mean? It means this: It gives the Soviets and their lackeys time to rebuild, revitalize, and prepare their military forces for another crack at us and our Allies. The Russians want a fight to the finish. If elected, my Administration will give them one!' For his part, Reverend Jackson reiterated his call for a 'Peace without victory for both sides', even as his numbers continue to sink in the polls.”

“Good,” Guru said. “But nobody's going to beat Bush come November.”

“Super Tuesday's going to thin out the crowd,” Kara noted.

“Yep.”

After a piece from South Florida, showing an I-HAWK SAM site at work, and the carcasses of several Soviet or Cuban aircraft on the beach, then came a Charles Kuralt On the Road piece. This one came from Lima, Ohio, where a major tank plant was located. As M-1A1 tanks were being loaded on a train, locals were adding “Good Luck” messages to the tanks, while in a small town east of Lima, a local Amish community was supporting the war effort in their own way. Though many were pacifists, they had found a way to get involved, with either scrap metal drives-with wagons packed with scrap metal still pulled by horses, or by donating blood.

“And that's the way it is. For all of us at CBS News, Good Night.”

“That's that,” Guru said. “Slow day, but a good one.”

“Promxire's finished,” Goalie nodded. “And that's a good thing.”

“It is that,” Cosmo raised her beer bottle in agreement.

After finishing their meals, attention turned to the poker or pool tables. Kara held court at the latter, dispatching an RAF Rockape, a Marine KC-130 pilot doing an RON, and VA-135's XO. “Next!”

“She's untouchable so far,” Sweaty observed.

“So far,” Preacher reminded her.

Then a female AF Major in fatigues came up and put her money down. Erica recognized her at once. “That's Major Barzanian.”

Several 335th heads turned to her. “Say again?” KT asked.

“Had a talk with her the day I got here, with those Special Forces types. And Major? You and Goalie saw her on the range.”

“That we did,” Guru nodded. “She's a pretty good shot. And she took Kara once already.”

Kara laid down her money, and both went at it. It was even for most of the match, but the Major's skills proved superior in the end. Kara smiled, paid the $50.00, then came over to the CO's table in a fit of the sulks. “That's twice now.”

Several of her flight mates laughed, then Guru said, “Normally you lose to people with stars on their shoulders.”

“I know,” Kara grumbled. “But that's twice now, and I don't like it when someone comes onto my turf and winds up spending my money.”

Brainiac nodded. “So do what you usually do.”

Kard grinned, then went to the bar, got another beer, then went back to the pool table. She defeated a Marine F-4 GIB, one of Barzanian's officers-this one with Army Ranger tabs on his shoulder, and the KC-130's navigator. Then Colonel Hardegen decided that she had earned a crack at him.

Eyes, both AF and Marine, were glued as the two combatants laid down their money. This time, much to Hardegen's regret, Kara's skills won out. Hardegen smiled, paid the $50.00, then wondered, “Where did she learn to play pool like that?” He wasn't in a rage, but was coming close.

“Just ask the folks who run the student hangouts off-campus near Auburn,” Guru said. They might be able to explain it to us, Colonel, because none of us can.”

“Or check with the various O-Clubs on the TransPac Ferry Run,” Capt. Corrinne Cassidy, who flew as number four in the XO's flight and a TransPac vet, added.

Brady gave a sympathetic nod. “All I can say, Colonel, is that you lost to one of the best.”

“For now,” Hardegen said as he got another beer. “Haven't been outhustled like that since Iwakuni in '79.”

Then Colonel Brady checked the time. It was 1850. He rang the bar bell. “People, listen up!” The tent quieted down and people paid attention to the Colonel-even both the 335th's Mascot, Buddy, and Charger, the German Shepherd who belonged to VMFA-333. “I know you're looking forward to tomorrow and a stand-down, but we've got a little business to take care of first. The Shamrocks from -333 have another ace team, so Major Kyle Whitaker and Lieutenant Steve Somers, stand up-if you guys aren't drunk already.” The two stood up to applause. “They got two Su-25s, but their third was a Hind. I know, a kill's a kill, but couldn't you guys have gotten the Hind in between the two Frogfoots?” The room roared with laughter.

“Not the way Ivan played,” Whitaker said, his voice showing the effects of at least three beers.

“Forgive the Major,” Somers added. “He's slightly drunk.”

“Or more than slightly,” Dave Golen observed.

Colonel Brady continued. “As our Air Force brethren like to say, you two are now certified, card-carrying, aerial assassins. You're in the Club of Aces, and nobody can revoke that membership! Since you're not flying tomorrow, and you two were getting happily drunk? Carry on.”

“Colonel, that's an order we'll be glad to obey,” Whitaker said, dragging his GIB back to the bar. With the same flight surgeon watching them.

After the other COs had talked, Brady nodded at Guru. “Major Wiser? You've got some 335th business to announce.”

Guru stood up and went to the bar. “Well, since we've got a national hero on base with us,” Guru nodded as Erica smiled. “Stand up, Erica, for this is about you.”

Confused, Erica did, to applause. “What'd I do?”

“You are made of more sterner stuff than some in this room,” Guru said, nodding at Ms. Wendt and her crew. “I took her up on an orientation ride today, and she held it. Right through some low-level flying, some ACM against Captain Thrace there,” Guru paused, seeing Kara nod, then went on. “You held it. Never used an airsickness bag, and you didn't puke in the cockpit.”

“For which our Crew Chief thanks you,” Goalie said.

“She held it, right through landing, taxiing in, and shutting down. Only after getting out of the bird did she puke on the tarmac!” The 335th CO pointed to Doc Waters, his squadron's flight surgeon. “And Doc there was thrilled, because he had his first semi-emergency call since an airman had to have an appendectomy a week ago, and Doc did the surgery.” Howls of laughter at Doc, not Erica, followed.

“Hey, it gets boring after a while, with only sports injuries,” Doc protested.

“Well, Erica?” Colonel Brady asked. “What do you think of those of us in tac air?”

Erica thought for a moment. “Colonel, everyone. I've got a deeper connection to Andy now, and I also know what you all do every day. I didn't know how much it took to put a plane into the air, much less a couple of dozen or more.” She paused, then laughed. “But after today? I don't think I'll make a career out of it.” More howls followed.

“One other thing!” Guru said. “Some folks are going to be sitting Zulu Alert. My half of the squadron did it last time, so those who didn't? Element leads come on up and draw numbers of out of this bowl,” The CO had a salad bowl with several numbered pieces of paper. “And no switching!”

The 335th's XO came up, along with the concerned element leads. They drew, and Guru asked. “Who's first?”

Scorpion, who led the XO's second element, nodded. “Right here.” That meant he, along with Judge, his GIB, and Cosmo and Revlon had the first alert stint.

“Okay, twelve-hour kicks in for you right now, and Doc will enforce it as people hit that magic number. And Colonel? That's it.”

“Very well, Major,” Brady said. “Since there's no aircrew curfew and twelve-hour for everyone, have fun! And that's an order!”

Guru got a plate of nachos and a Coke, as two was his usual beer limit, even before a stand-down. As he sat back down, Preacher asked, “So, what's on tap tomorrow, Boss?”

“Simple,” the CO replied. “Get caught up on paperwork, working out, and sleep. Not in any particular order, mind.”

“Among other things,” Kara said, shooting a glance at Goalie.

“Among other things,” Goalie agreed, shooting a glance at Guru, who knew full well what she meant.

“Just as long as everybody's OUT box is full,” Guru said. “Have to keep the armchair warriors happy.”

Sweaty frowned. “Do we have to?”

“Unfortunately.”


Things went on until after 2100 or so, when those tapped for Alert, whether AF or Marines, decided it was time to go get some sleep. Then Guru and Goalie noticed Kerry Collins and Ryan Blanchard going off together, with Ryan's M-16 slung on her back. “I think I know what those two have in mind,” Guru said.

“So do I,” Goalie smiled. “You had enough here for tonight?”

Nodding, Guru downed his Coke as Don Van Loan and Sweaty went off together. “Let's go.”

As they left, Colonel Brady said, “Major, Captain? See you in the morning.”

“Colonel?” Guru asked. “You may not see much of anybody at the Chow Tent at the usual time.”

Goalie added, “And that's because everybody's going to be trying to do one thing in common.”

“Sleeping in,” Brady finished. He, too, was looking forward to getting up when he felt like it. “If possible, that is.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. He knew, just like everybody else, that a Scud attack or a Su-24 strike could come any time.

After taking their leave, both found their way to the CO's tent. Guru turned on the heater, then found his Igloo ice chest and took out a bottle of 7-Up. “Not quite Champagne, but it'll do.”

“Enough talk,” Goalie said. She got out of her flight suit and shed the rest of her clothes. “Ready?”

“Always listen to your GIB,” Guru said, doing the same before they went at it.

In the shadows, a figure listened to the sounds of passion not just from the CO's tent, but two or three others. He jotted down some notes in his notepad, then got ready to head back to the Club. Only the sight of Kara Thrace and two other officers-a man and a woman-heading to the 335th's Supply Shack, caused him to drop back out of sight. He made a few more notes, then returned to the Club. Was it just people taking the “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow they may not separate us from the rest of the aircraft” to a whole new level? Let the readers make that call, Doc Waters decided. If, that is, the Journal decides to publish the article.

[jemhouston]

If not, Penthouse will.