Repost: Yeager's Arrival

[Matt Wiser]

Brig. Gen. Chuck Yeager brings the F-20, and some young pups, to Sheppard. This lays the groundwork for some postwar grudges.....


Yeager's Arrival



335th Tactical Fighter Squadron HQ, Sheppard AFB, TX, 9 November, 1987, 1150 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt “Guru” Wiser, the commanding officer of the 335th TFS, was in his office. He and his flight had flown two missions that morning, and all of them knew that there would be two more in the afternoon. “Same-old ,same-old,” he muttered to himself as he went over some paperwork that had come in while he had been in the air. Much to his disgust, the elves never took care of it when he was gone, so he attacked the papers. The CO had just put the last into his OUT box when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

The door opened and First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, his Weapons-Systems Officer, and girlfriend, came in, with two plastic bags in hand, and a folder tucked in between her left arm and chest. “What's the old Star Trek saying? 'Beware Romulans bearing gifts?”

“You're not much of a Trekkie and neither am I,” Major Wiser said. “What's for lunch, and what's in the folder?”

“Fried chicken with Cole Slaw and mashed potatoes and gravy,” Goalie replied. “Lemonade to drink, and some not-so-good news about two WSOs,” she added. Her squadron job when not flying was as Senior WSO.

“The food can wait two minutes,” the CO said. “What's the, uh, not-so-good news?”

“For starters, Flossy needs a new WSO for a week. Digger, somehow, slipped and fell coming down the crew ladder after they got back. Sprained his ankle pretty good, and Doc Waters says he's lucky it's not broken.” Waters was their squadron's flight surgeon. “He's on light duty for a week.”

The CO was incredulous. “How the hell did that happen?”

“No idea, but he did it,” Goalie said. “Flossy has someone in mind to take Digger's place.”

“Who?”

“Jang,” replied. Goalie. She was referring to First Lieutenant Chloe “Jang” Winters. Jang had filled in for several WSOs who had been either on leave, or had been temporarily grounded due to medical issues, and was hoping to be assigned to a permanent crew.

Major Wiser thought for a minute. “Now that gives us two 'unmanned' F-4s. After Cosmo and Revlon. Which means our newsies are going to be all over them.”

“Two 'unmanned' F-4s in the same squadron? That'll make the news, all right,” Goalie said. “Run with it, or do you want me to find somebody else?”

“If Flossy wants Jang, go ahead. She's done good in temp slots, but you know as well as I do that the only way she'll get a permanent slot is if we lose somebody,” the CO pointed out.

“I'll tell Flossy, and have Jang ready to go,” Goalie said.

“How'd she get that call sign, though?” Major Wiser asked.

“Kingsley Field,” Goalie replied. Kingsley Field in Oregon was the West Coast F-4 Replacement Training Unit. “She was, uh, 'Just Another Non-Guy,'......”

The CO nodded. “And it stuck. Say no more. Okay, Flossy and Jang it is. What else is there? Because I'm hungry.”

Goalie looked at her CO-and lover. “Mark's GIB, Kicker, is with Doc right now. Doc thinks, but isn't sure, that Kicker has the Flu.” She meant First Lieutenant Kyle “Kicker” Edwards. He had gotten the call sign when his RTU classmates found out he had been a placekicker at the University of Nevada-Reno.

“The Flu?” Guru asked. “That's wonderful, and the last thing we need.”

“Doc's not sure, but...” Goalie said. “Hopefully, it's the 24-Hour kind.”

“Which can last three or four days, sometimes,” Guru added. “Okay, who does Mark want?

“Fridge.”

“Okay, he's asleep, right?” Fridge was alternating as Night-Shift SDO.

“He is. Want me to have a tentmate-and Brainiac is one of 'em, to wake him?” Goalie wanted to know.

The CO nodded. “Do it. Have him stay awake until 2100, then hit the sack with everyone else on the flight schedule. Zero-dark-thirty will be there before he knows it.”

“Will do,” Goalie said.

“Okay, let's eat.”


As they ate, they talked about the two missions they had flown that morning. And how the Libyans they had flown against on the second mission were “fat, dumb, and happy” with their supply convoys. Not to mention their habit of shooting Triple-A even after the last strike bird had egressed. “Those guys shoot like ammo's going to be outlawed in the next ten minutes,” Guru observed.

“Yeah,” Goalie replied. “And they won't stop.”

Then there was a knock on the office door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

The door opened and Capt. Mark Ellis, the Exec, came in. “Boss,” he nodded. “Got a message here for you. And before you tear my head off, there's been com delays all morning.” He handed his CO a message form.

Guru took the form and scanned it. “Yeager's coming. Today.”

“Today?” Goalie asked. “That's some advance notice.”

Guru nodded, then checked the time on the message. “Mark, this message is three hours old. What's the SNAFU?”

“No idea,” the Exec said. “Who's replacing Kicker?”

“Fridge,” Guru said. “He'll be with you until Doc clears Kicker back. Hopefully, it won't be more than a day or two. Just hope it's not the Flu, or, if it is, he's the only one who gets it.”

“To be wished for,” Ellis said. “Anyway, before you ask, we've got billeting for General Yeager's people.”

“Good,” the CO nodded. Then there was another knock at the door. “Yeah?”

Captain Kara “Starbuck” Thrace, the CO's wingmate, came in. “Boss, Yeager's here.”

“Here?”

“In the traffic pattern. Four F-20s and two C-130s,” Kara replied. “Should be on the ground in a few.”

Guru looked at the ceiling. He was thinking, Why now? “Okay, Mark? Find General Olds and let him know. He ought to be there when Yeager's people arrive.”

“He already knows,” Kara said. “He was in the Ops Office when word came in.”

“Good. Oh, find our RAF Liaison Officer and bring him as well. Yeager's people might be here when the RAF comes, for all we know.” Flight Lieutenant Steve “Jack” Lord was representing the RAF until a RAF detachment came to their little corner of the war.

“Gotcha, Boss,” Kara said. “I'm gone. See you on the ramp.”

“Let's go, people,” Guru said. “Mark? Find Van Loan.” Capt. Don Van Loan was the 335's Ops Officer.

“He's out. Left ten minutes ago,” replied the Exec.

“Okay, find our news people and let them know. This isn't classified.” Guru was referring to an Australian news crew who was on base, and had done several stories about the 335th.

“Will do.”

The CO nodded. “Then let's go.” He picked up his squadron baseball cap and led Ellis and Goalie out of the building, where they found Major General Robin Olds standing on the lawn, binoculars to his face, while several other pilots and WSOs were watching the inbound aircraft and talking amongst themselves. “General,” Major Wiser said.

“Major,” Olds replied, pulling the binoculars down. “Looks like General Yeager's brought some nice airplanes.”

“Yes, sir,” the CO replied, putting on his cap. “Things will be....interesting while he's here. You do know, sir, that there is a directive from the Chief of Staff barring him from combat, and you, as well?”

“I do, Major,” Olds said. “Nothing in that about taking a check ride, though.”

“No, sir. Just as long as it's behind the lines,” Major Wiser reminded the General. “Sir.”

“Boss,” Kara said. “Oh, General, didn't see you, sir. Brought our RAF cousin.”

“Sir!” Flight Lieutenant Lord said.

“Ready to meet the guy who was the fastest man alive at one point?” Guru asked.

Lord nodded. “Of course, though personally? I think Winkle Brown is the best test pilot of all time, in terms of types of aircraft flown.” He was referring to Royal Navy Captain Eric Brown, who was Britain's best test pilot, who also held the record for all-time carrier landings, ever.

“We can argue that in the Club tonight,” Olds said. He turned, and saw there was a decent group of 335th crews gathered. “Let's go meet Yeager.”

“Yes, sir.” Guru said. “You heard the man. Let's go.”



Sheppard AFB, Texas; 1215 Hours Central War Time:


Near the transient ramp, a number of aircrews were gathering as the four F-20s broke into their landing pattern. There was a mix of Air Force from the 335th, Marines from MAG-11, and even a few Navy from VA-135, an attack squadron flying A-7As reactivated from AMARC, and all were watching as the F-20s came in and landed, followed by the two support C-130Es. The new arrivals taxied up to the transient ramp, and Marine ground crew were waiting. After shutting down, the canopies on the new popped open, and the pilots climbed down. One of them was much older than the two young men and one woman, and everyone knew who that was. Yeager.

As people went over to have a look, Major Wiser surveyed the three single-seat Tigersharks and the lone two-seater. All had kill markings on the side, though it was easy to tell General Yeager's bird: all of his were WW II-era German crosses. As the welcoming party assembled, a Hummer pulled up, and out came another AF officer. Colonel Richard Purcell was the base commander, running the Provisional Air Base Group tasked with running the day-to-day functions of the base, getting more of the prewar infrastructure up and running, and generally staying out of the hair of those who were doing the actual flying. But protocol demanded he show up. As he spoke with General Yeager for a few moments, Major Wiser noticed one thing about Colonel Purcell: he was what the Air Force called “an unrated weenie.” Someone who was not a rated pilot, navigator, officer aircrew, missileer, or even having jump wings. Though he had several of those in his squadron, like Sin Licon, his intelligence officer, or Kev O'Donnell, his maintenance officer, and they were not only valued subordinates, but also good friends. But Colonel Purcell came across as an asshole who resented the fact that he had never been able to earn wings. Fortunately for all of the squadron commanders, Colonel Purcell reported to Tenth Air Force, and the Air Base Group was not in the chain of command for the flying units, and that meant that they dealt with him only when necessary, and Colonel Allen Brady, the CO of MAG-11, did most of the dealing.

After Colonel Purcell paid his respects, General Yeager came over to those who he had come to see and show off the F-20. And he wasn't surprised to see a familiar face among those waiting for him. “Robin Olds, as I live and breathe,” Yeager said, sketching a salute and shaking General Olds' hand.

“Been a while, Chuck,” Olds said. “They reactivated you, just as they did me.”

“But I didn't get another star,” Yeager grinned. “I'll take running the F-20 program over a second star any day.”

“No doubt,” Olds said.

“General,” Colonel Brady said. “Welcome to Sheppard.”

“Glad to be here, Colonel,” Yeager nodded. He surveyed the aircrews who had come to see the F-20. “They're young,” he noted.

“They always are, General,” said Brady. He remembered his own CO back in Vietnam saying the same thing. “Here's the senior AF flight officer here, Major Matt Wiser. He runs the 335th TFS.”

“Major,” Yeager said.

“General,” Major Wiser said. “Welcome to Sheppard. It's an honor and a privilege.”

“Pleased to be here, Major,” Yeager said, shaking Guru's hand. “General Tanner's told me some things about your squadron. All of them good, by the way.”

“Thank you, sir.” Guru replied.

After General Yeager met the other squadron commanders, people began having a look at the aircraft.

“General, with all due respect, this just looks like a souped-up F-5,” Guru said. “They're not bad, sir. But I'm a Phantom Phanatic, born and raised.”

“Double-ugly rears its head, I see. You playing air-to-ground, or have you done some in the air-to-air arena?” Yeager asked. He took a look at the 335th's CO. His own CO in World War II had been even younger.

“Eight kills, sir, plus four probables,” Guru replied. “My GIB, Lieutenant Eichhorn-” he pointed to Goalie, who was talking with the only female pilot Yeager had brought with him-has five. I see you still have your World War II score displayed.”

General Yeager nodded. “Got that 'no combat' order, but you never know. Wherever we fly? We're always armed. Two Sidewinders and two Sparrows, each airplane.”

Guru nodded himself. “You never know when you'll run into a recon element, a strike flight, or MiGs doing a fighter sweep.”

“You're right. By the way, Your old GIB is still at Kingsley Field, I hear.”

“Tony Carpenter? Haven't heard from him in a while. What's he up to, sir?”

“His instructor tour's almost up, then he's headed to the 3rd TFS at Clark. Somebody's got to watch Cam Ranh Bay, and so...”

'”General, I can think of worse places to be in a war.”

Yeager grinned. “There is that.”

When they got to the single-seaters, Guru remarked, “You have some aces, sir, if you don't mind my saying.”

“They made it because they were naturals behind the stick, but the 479th got rushed into combat just in time for Wichita. Not much time for workups or anything like that in peacetime. This squadron had eighteen planes and pilots when Wichita got going. By June? They were down to ten aircraft and thirteen pilots. One of the replacements? She's flying the two-seater. Captain Morgandorffer had four in the A-7, mostly helos, but a MiG-29 jumped her at Wichita and overshot. She took the Sidewinder shot....”

“And splashed him. Did you recruit her for the program, sir?” Guru asked.

“No, she volunteered. Though something's bothering her, and I can't put a finger on it, Major. She doesn't have a problem splashing Russians, but when it's Cuban? She turns into a fighting tigress.”

“General, this may be none of my business, but has anyone asked her?”

“No, but somebody ought to. Before she makes that one mistake....” Yeager's West Virginia twang made that perfectly clear as it trailed off. One's first mistake in combat was often the last.


While Yeager and the CO were talking, other aircrews were going over the aircraft. Kara, Flossy, Sweaty, Cosmo, and several other crews in either Air Force or Navy flight suits were talking with the object of General Yeager's and Major Wiser's conversation.

When Captain Morgandorffer told those listening the F-20 could carry up to 7,000 pounds of ordnance on its wing and fuselage stations, in addition to two Sidewinders on the wingtips, Flossy was incredulous. “That's all you can carry?”

Sweaty Blanchard, who led the second element in the CO's flight, was even more direct. “Piece of junk,” she muttered, and several Marines-both F-4 and Hornet drivers, nodded agreement.

Two of the GIBs in the CO's flight were even more direct in their assessment. Brainiac, who was Kara's WSO, turned to Preacher, who did the same for Sweaty, and said, “Wartime expedient.”

“No arguing that. They build those things, and keep them after the war? We're out of a job,” the ex-seminary student replied.

“There's the F-15E coming, so we're safe.”

Mark Ellis, the Exec, was talking with Capt. Jeb Pruitt, one of the two primary demo pilots. “These look good, but chances are, they're headed for the Guard and Reserve after the war. If we don't sell them off on the open market.”

“Maybe,” Pruitt replied. “Let's wait and get to the 'after the war' first. By the way, who do I see about doing some horse-trading?”

“That would be Master Sergeant Ross,” the XO told him. “He's not just our senior NCO, but the, uh, 'scroungers' report to him.”

Pruitt nodded. “Okay. Maybe we can talk deal.”

Ellis regarded the young captain. He did look awful young for his age, but he reminded himself that the Air Force had rolled back the educational requirement for pilots and navigators to two years of college. Then there were people who held their age pretty well, and Pruitt could be one. “Your call,” he said as some Marine mess people brought sandwiches and drinks for the new arrivals. “Hope you don't mind a piece of advice.”

“Yeah?”

“Stay away from the pork tri-tip, or the suggestion thereof,” Ellis said.

Pruitt looked at him, then grabbed two of the suspect sandwiches and a bottle of Pepsi. “Love these,” he said, and the XO shook his head.

“You've got a cast-iron stomach.”


Meanwhile, Guru was taking a look at the cockpit of General Yeager's bird. He looked at the two multifunction displays and the HUD, noting that the familiar dials and gauges in the F-4 were merely backups. The CO turned to General Yeager. “Sir, where's the slot for the quarter?”

Hearing that, Yeager let out a laugh. “Major, you're not the first person to say that. Nor will you be the last.”

“General, if you don't mind my saying, because this is your baby, but I can see some issues right off the bat,” Major Wiser said as he stood to get out of the cockpit.

“Go ahead, Major.”

“Sir, first of all: ordnance capacity. We can carry more ordnance overall, and more types. Second? Range is less than the F-4, F-15, or F-16. Third? Single engine. Lose the engine and you go skydiving,” Guru said after climbing down.

“Noted, Major, and again, you're not the first to raise those issues. The ex-IIAF boys up in Amarillo were just as vocal. Though guys who were F-5 vets back in the old country are looking forward to a transition,” Yeager said.

A couple of minutes later, Kara came over to where General Olds, Colonel Brady, and Guru were talking. “Well, Captain?” Guru asked. “What's your take on these?”

“If I get through this war, and these things show up at Nellis as aggressors? I'm going to clean up,” Kara said. “I'll love going up against these things.” And the tone of her voice showed one thing to the three senior officers. Overconfidence.

“Be careful, Captain,” General Olds reminded her. “These birds have potential, and they can bite you.”

“General, I'll go along with that,” Brady said. “These puppies remind me of the F-8. A small, nimble, and deadly dogfighter.” For a moment, Brady recalled the LTV F-8, which had the best kill-loss rate of any tactical fighter in Southeast Asia. Eighteen North Vietnamese MiGs-including four MiG-21s, for only three losses in air-to-air combat. The Navy had reactivated some for use on the Essex-class carriers, but other than that....

Guru nodded. “Don't count your chickens until they're hatched, Kara. Keep that in mind.”

“Always,” Kara replied.

“Good,” the CO said. He went over to find Goalie and the other WSOs, and,to his surprise, found the last person he expected. Major Frank Carson was the most despised and loathed officer in the squadron, and yet, he and his element were going over one of the single-seat F-20s. He made his way in that direction to rescue the others, but stopped when he heard the loathed Major talking like a mentor instead of a martinet.

“....not meant to be fighter-bombers like our F-4s. They're small, nimble, and nasty little dogfighters, And with Sparrow, they have a long reach. If used properly, they can be formidable,” Carson was saying. And the CO was wondering if he was hearing right.

“They look like F-5s,” Lieutenant Melissa Brewster, who was Capt. Sean Hennings' GIB, said.

“They are, but don't let that fool you. I had a classmate in the Aggressors pre-war, and he made his share of F-15 and F-16 jockeys look stupid,” said Carson. “They've got a better radar than the F-5, the APG-67, similar to the F-16's radar, and it's good. You'll face these things as aggressors at Red Flag when the war's over, and I'll bet money on it.”

Guru heard that, and slipped away before Carson noticed him. Was Frank turning over a new leaf? Or did the skunk have an ulterior motive, like asking to transfer to the F-20 program? He doubted the former, but the latter? He had a nagging suspicion that was Frank's real motive. If Carson couldn't get the 335th, but a newly formed F-20 squadron? Guru decided to raise the issue with both General Olds and General Yeager that night. As he walked back, he nearly ran into Goalie. “Well? What's your take?”

“Glad these aren't replacing the F-4, because I'd be out of a job, along with every other GIB,” Goalie replied. “The F-15E, now......”

“Down, girl,” the CO said. “Those puppies are at least a year away, maybe two.”

She looked at him. “Still, that's what we're shooting for.”

“It is.” Then Capt. Don Van Loan, the Squadron's Ops Officer, came over. “Don, you missed all the fun.”

“Too bad, but I'm looking for Sin Licon. Got a mission to debrief,” said the Ops Officer. “Oh, this is for you,” Van Loan added, handing the CO a briefing packet.

“Figures,” Guru said. “Okay, Don. Thanks.” The CO then went over to where Colonel Brady was, talking with General Olds. Both were watching as General Yeager was being interviewed by Jana Wendt and the crew from 9 News Australia. “Colonel, I hate to be a party pooper, but I've got a mission coming up.”

“You, me, and everybody else,” Brady said. “Okay, people!” He said, addressing the crowd. “Time to get back in the game, because the war didn't take a break because we did.”

Hearing that, the crowd began to break up, and Guru waved Kara over. “Kara, get our flight together. Five minutes.” He handed her the briefing packet.

“Gotcha, Boss,” replied Kara. “I'm gone.”

Guru nodded, motioned both the XO and Chief Ross to follow him, then went to General Yeager, who had finished his brief turn for the cameras. “General,” Guru nodded.

“I heard,” Yeager said. “You've got a mission.”

“Yes, sir,” the CO replied. “Captain Ellis will escort you and your officers to Officer Country, show you around, that sort of thing. Chief Ross will do the same for your enlisted folks.”

“Thanks, Major,” Yeager said. “We'll stay out of your hair best we can.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied.

“And Major?”

“Sir?” Guru asked.

“Kick a few, take a few, and bring everyone back,” Yeager said with due seriousness.

“We'll do that, sir, and the latter?” Guru asked. “Do the best I can.”

“All you can do,” Yeager told him. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.” Guru said. He headed on back to the squadron's offices, and found Goalie waiting. “Game time again.”

“Any idea where?” Goalie asked.

“Kara's got the packet. Time to get back in the game,” Guru told his GIB.

“Just as long as the other team doesn't score.”

Guru nodded. “Seconded. Time to brief, then we fly.”


335th TFS HQ: 1245 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and Goalie were headed to their briefing room when they came across Flight Lieutenant Steve “Jack” Lord, their RAF Liaison Officer. He had been sent ahead to lay the groundwork for a detachment of RAF F-4s that would be hopefully coming to Sheppard in a few days, and he was already getting along well with the USAF crews. “Jack,” Guru said. “Have a look at the new arrivals?”

Lord nodded. “Quite, Major,” he said. “Of course, the RAF hasn't had anything like this in a long time, and a dedicated dogfighter may be a good thing to have. “

“Or an Aggressor,” Goalie noted. “If we keep any of these after the war, they probably go to the Aggressor squadrons. There's one at Bentwaters, I believe. Or there was, prewar.”

“Still,” Jack agreed. “They still do the Aggressor role, but also as local interceptors.”

“Glad to see they're earning their pay,” Guru said. “Talk to General Yeager?”

“I didn't, unfortunately,” Lord said. “I've heard he had some unpleasant experiences with RAF personnel back in the day. I did talk to one of the demo pilots-nice chap by the name of Clancy. Looks like a good one, but he seems awfully young.”

“General Olds and General Yeager said the same thing about us,” Guru said. “Want to sit in on a mission brief?”

“Be glad to,” Jack said.

Guru nodded. 'Oh, you did see Doc Waters about a flight physical?”

“I did, and I passed. With flying colors.”

“Good,” Guru said. “Now you can do some flying with us. From the back seat, though, since you're not E qualified.”

“Understood.”

Nodding, Guru, Goalie, and Jack went to the briefing room Guru's flight used. When they got there, the rest of the flight were waiting. “All right, people, let's get the next show on the road.”

“Where to?” Sweaty asked.

The CO looked at Kara, who tossed him the packed. He opened it, and spread out some recon photos and then grabbed a navigation chart. “Here's the deal. We're headed down to the Nicaraguan sector east of the Brazos.”

“Nice,” Kara said. “Those guys don't shoot much.” Word was getting around that the Nicaraguans' enthusiasm for the war had cooled significantly since the summer and PRAIRIE FIRE.

Guru nodded. “No, but the folks we're going after? Much different story. The target is a supply dump, and it's Libyan.”

“Those guys shoot as if there's going to be no tomorrow,” Hoser pointed out, and his GIB, KT, nodded agreement.

“Yeah, and guess what? This target is close to the Brazos, which means the East Germans on the west side will shoot across the river,” Guru told them. “And there's this: the Libyans and Nicaraguans don't exactly get along, and there's a regiment of Soviets in between them.”

“Swell,” Brainiac said.

“What's the defenses?” Kara asked.

“At the target? The usual, with ZU-23s, those quad ZPU-4 machine guns, plus MANPADS,” replied the CO. “The Nicaraguans do not have heavy SAMs, but the Libyans just south of them do. We may get SA-6 or SA-8, add the East Germans across the river, with either divisional level or Army-level assets, and then there's the Soviets. It's a motor-rifle regiment, and you know what that means.”

“SA-9 and ZSU-23-4,” Goalie nodded. “This could be a rough ride.”

“No doubt,” Guru said. “And no Weasels, because they're all committed. So we go in low and fast, and rely on our ECM pods. Element leads have an ALQ-119, as usual, and wingmates have the ALQ-101.”

Heads nodded at that. “Ordnance?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes, each bird. Four Sidewinders and two Sparrows, full twenty-mike-mike, and two wing tanks,” replied Guru. “And the Sparrows are still the E models.”

“That's just great,” Kara spat. “What about General Olds and the help he was trying to get?”

Guru nodded. General Olds had been told of their Sparrow problem, and was working through Tenth Air Force to see about getting them AIM-7Fs, Sparrows that actually had a decent chance of working. “He's working on it. He has informed General Tanner, and Tanner's trying to break the logjam.”

“So, in terms of air-to-air?”

“Avoid combat, unless we come across a recon element or a strike flight. Or if we get jumped,” the CO said. “If you can take a Sidewinder shot at a chopper? Go ahead.”

Hoser looked at his CO. “MiGs, Boss?”

“MiG-29s are confirmed at Gray AAF and Bergstrom, while MiG-21s and -23s are at James Connolly AFB at Waco, along with both Waco and Temple airports. Brownwood Regional has MiG-21s, and those are East German, by the way. And you'll like this: Bergstrom has Su-27s and that's now confirmed. So remember your anti-Flanker drill.”

“Get down low, do a Doppler break, and scream for help from AWACS,” noted Sweaty.

“And pray that a 'teenage' fighter's around,” Preacher added.

“Bailout areas?” Hoser asked. “Same as before?”

The CO nodded. “Anyplace rural and away from the roads. Jolly Green's had good luck in this sector, so hole up, wait until dark, and they will be coming,” Guru said. “Before you ask, weather's still good, but that may change in a few days.” He surveyed his flight. “Anything else?”

“What about those F-20s?” Sweaty wanted to know. “They going into combat?”

“Don't be surprised if those young pups General Yeager's got driving them decide to take a side trip down to the front lines,” Guru said. “In fact, I'd expect it.”

Kara looked at her CO and flight lead. “And Yeager?”

“There's a 'no-combat' directive that applies to both him and General Olds,” Guru replied. “Comes right from the Chief of Staff himself.” Though he was privately wondering how long that would hold up. Given how the 335th-and many other units in Tenth Air Force, often would fold, spindle, bend, or mutilate such directives, regulations, etc. in order to produce results.....

“We'll see how long that lasts,” Brainiac said.

“We will,” the CO nodded. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right, let's get back in the game. Gear up and meet at 512.”


After gearing up, Guru and Goalie headed outside, and there, they found Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer” who had done a lot more than 'observe'. He was flying combat missions on a daily basis, and not only had he become an ace, he had bailed out almost everyone in the squadron from a tight spot at least once. As both Guru and Goalie could attest, for Dave had shot MiGs off them at least twice. “Dave,” Guru said.

“Guru,” Golen said. He nodded in the direction of his wingmate, Flossy. She was talking things over with her temporary GIB, Jang. “Looks like Flossy and Jang are talking things over.”

Guru took a look, and both Flossy and Jang were in a serious conversation. “I'd say so. Remember, this won't be for just a day. When you took Hoser's place? You were in my flight for a week.”

“I do,” Golen replied. “So....you're going out.”

“We are,” the CO said. “You going down to the Nicaraguan sector?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Okay, what's your mission code?”

“Mustang. You?” Golen asked.

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

“I'll say the same for you,” Golen said. “Good luck.”

“You too.”


When Guru and Goalie got to his aircraft's revetment, the rest of the flight were there. “Saw you two with Dave Golen,” Kara said. “They going with us?”

“No, but they'll be around. If we hit serious trouble, they'll be there,” Guru said. “Okay, gather around. It was time for his final instructions.

“Usual procedures on the radio?” Sweaty asked.

Guru nodded. “Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us, and there's one other thing, people.”

“And that is?” Kara asked with due seriousness.

“Do not get complacent. These may be Libyans, but they can put a lot of lead in the air, so do NOT underestimate them,” the CO said. “Treat them as if they're Cat I Soviets. Got it?” The CO saw heads nodding at that. “Okay, anything else?”

“How many more today?” Hoser asked.

“There should be time for one more,” Guru said. “If it's CAS, maybe two. That answer your question?”

Hoser nodded. “Just wish the weather guys were wrong and we were getting something in.”

“You, me, and everyone else,” the CO said. “That it?” Heads nodded in the affirmative. “Okay, time to fly. Let's hit it.”

The flight members headed to their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie went to 512, the CO's mount. They found Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, the Crew Chief, waiting, while the ground crew got out of the way. “Sergeant,” Guru said. “She ready to rock?”

“Major,” Crowley replied, snapping a salute. “Five-Twelve's ready, sir. Time to go to work.”

“It is that,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-arounds, then, after Guru signed for the aircraft, both climbed aboard and strapped in. They went through their cockpit checks, and as they did, Guru asked, “You think Yeager's going to bend that 'no-combat' rule?”

“Wouldn't you?” Goalie replied. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, check yours,” Guru replied. “You know what? In his shoes, I might, just to show that I still have what it takes.”

“Be careful of what you wish for,” she reminded her CO and lover. “Okay, Arnie and INS ready to go.” That meant the ARN-101 DMAS and the INS system.

“Final checklist complete?”

“It's done,” Goalie said. “Ready for engine start.”

Guru nodded, then gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running. After the warm-up, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Flight, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the Active.”

“Roger, Tower, Corvette Lead rolling” Guru gave another thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who then signaled the ground crew to pull away the wheel chocks. Then he gave the CO the 'taxi' signal, and Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment. As Guru cleared the revetment, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it.

Guru taxied to the runway, and the other three F-4s in the flight followed. They were actually number three in line, and when they got to the holding area, the flight held up so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. After a C-130 came in, it was time for Guru to call the tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting clearance to taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-seven for five,” the controller replied.

“Roger, Tower,” Guru said. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. After a quick check, both Guru and Goalie gave Kara and Brainiac a thumbs-up, and their wingmates returned it. Then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said. Both he and Goalie pulled their canopies down and locked them, and at the same time, Kara and Brainiac did the same. Then Guru applied full power, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, and once airborne, Corvette Flight formed up and headed south for the tanker track and their pre-strike refueling.

[Matt Wiser]

Part II:



Over Central Texas, 1335 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was headed south, following the boundary between the Nicaraguan II Corps and the Cuban 2nd Army, which was on their right. So far, not a sign of any kind of air-defense activity from the Nicaraguans, though the Cubans off to their left were active. But the strike flight's ingress at low altitude, coupled with the fact they were on a command boundary, meant that no one was shooting at them. Yet. But the RWR display showed a radar well off to the south, and that meant a likely Red AWACS, a Mainstay. “Mainstay's likely got us,” Guru said.

“Nothing we can do about that,” Goalie replied. “One minute to turn. Cleburne coming up.”

“Roger that,” replied Guru. They had hit targets around Cleburne, including its airport, several times in the past, and though weakened, the AAA there could be a problem-if the Nicaraguan gunners were alert. “Visual on the town,” he called. The town was the actual turn point.

“And.....turn.” Goalie called.

Guru put 512 into a right turn, and headed due south, with the rest of Corvette Flight with him as they flew right over Cleburne.

In the town, the Nicaraguan garrison commander was the Major commanding the 33rd Motor-Rifle Regiment, 3rd Mechanized Rifle Division. He happened to be the highest-ranking officer in town after the out-of-shape Colonel who had the job previously had been killed a couple days earlier in an Yanqui air strike on the airport. Now, he was finding out that the headaches the man had to deal with were numerous, and one thing he had learned, was that the locals, while surly and largely uncooperative, had not engaged in any serious guerrilla activities, and conducting any kind of reprisals was the last thing he wanted. The Soviets also had a garrison in town, a regimental HQ from a Soviet Army Rear-Area Protection Division, and the Russians were content to stay in the towns where their men were stationed, patrol the roads, and by and large, be content with doing just that. For once, the Soviets and the Nicaraguans were actually agreeing on something-which,since the American Summer Offensive, had been a rare thing.

Now, the Major was talking with his Regimental Political Officer, as well as the Mayor, and both were trying to assure the Mayor that the previous commander's policies would continue. Then the four F-4s came over and made their turn to the south, and to the Major's chagrin, the AA batteries only started shooting after the Yanqui aircraft had flown past. Not just that, but many of the local garrison that he had inherited were running for cover, and the locals were cheering. The Major turned and saw his Political Officer with an ice-cold stare. “Comrade Captain?”

“Comrade Major, I suggest we set a few examples for this....blatant disobedience.”

“NO. The last thing we need is guerrilla activity, and any kind of reprisals will only fuel that sort of fire.” The Major glared at his Political Officer. Why the Personnel Department sent the man to his command was beyond imagining. The Captain did look good on paper, but now.....


“Two minutes to Lake Whitney,” Goalie called from 512's rear seat. “That's the next turn point.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “So far, so good.” Nothing other than that Red AWACS was on his RWR display. “And nothing across the river.”

“That'll change,” replied Goalie.

The landscape flew by as Corvette Flight maintained its heading south. It wasn't long until the lake appeared. “Turn point coming up.”

“Copy...” Goalie said “Turn in five, four, three, two, one....NOW!”

Guru put the F-4 into a hard right turn, and did a 180. Now, they were headed north, and right for the Route 174 bridge over the Brazos, and though they had briefly gone into the East German sector, they were now just east of the river, and the Nicaraguan and Libyan AOR. “One minute.”

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Set 'em up?” She meant the ordnance control panel. They had a dozen Mark-82 500-lb bombs with Snakeye retarders.

“Go. Everything in one pass,” Guru replied.

Goalie worked the switches, then said, “All set.” She checked the INS. “Thirty seconds.”

“Copy.”

The bridge came into view, and then the East Germans on the west side started to shoot, while the Nicaraguans were slow to react at first, but there were tracers coming up from both sides of the river. “Bridge ahead,” called Goalie. That was their pop-up point.

“Got it,” Guru replied. He got on the radio. “Flight, Lead. “Switches on. Music on, and stand by to pull.” That meant to arm their ordnance and turn on their ECM pods.

“Copy, Lead,” Kara called.

'Three copies.” Sweaty.

“Roger, Lead.” Hoser.

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

Guru put 512 into a power climb, and at the same time, turned on his ECM pod. As he climbed, he looked to the north, just shy of the Twelve O'clock position, and not only did he see a bend in the river, but to the north of the bend, was their target. “Got it. Target in sight.”

“Ready back here,” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” replied Guru. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight.” He pitched down and rolled to the left.


At the supply dump that was Corvette Flight's target, a Libyan Army Captain was not in a good mood. While the site was seemingly well defended, with the East Germans across the river, and not only his own guns, but also Soviet and Nicaraguan air-defense assets, no one seemed to know who was in charge when it came to air defense, and that worried him. Then there were his laborers. Not only were they Libyan Army personnel under punishment, but there were also Mexicans who had been recruited for labor service and no one knew any Spanish. A Cuban officer who spoke Arabic was supposedly assigned to him as a liaison, but the man was nowhere to be found. He would have preferred forcibly pressing locals into labor service, but the Nicaraguan Corps Commander had flatly refused the request, and the Soviets, to his surprise, had backed the Nicaraguans. Shaking his head, he surveyed his depot, with supply trucks in the vehicle park, and supplies stacked where planned for easy access. Everything the brigade would need was here: ammunition, fuel, rations, everything. He turned to the south, and saw a sight that chilled him. Aircraft coming in, and they weren't friendly. “AIR ALARM!” He shouted, then jumped into a slit trench.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his bomb run. As he did, Guru lined up part of the dump along with what looked like a couple of office trailers. As he came in, he saw the Triple-A batteries were silent. He'd have a free ride, but the others would get some flak. Guru lined up a row of supply pallets and some trucks......”And...and....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82s came off the racks. Guru pulled up and away, and as he did, he noticed at least one of the flak batteries had started shooting. “Lead off safe.”

The Libyan Captain huddled in the trench, along with some of his men, as Guru's F-4 flew past, then the bombs detonated. Dust and debris landed in the trench, and one of his men was actually killed when a piece of a truck, hit by a bomb, landed on the man's head, killing him instantly. One thing he knew, was that American aircraft didn't attack alone. He poked his head out of the trench, and looked around. Several sets of supplies had been blown apart, but no fuel or munitions, Allah be praised, though several trucks were now burning wrecks or had been blown apart. The Captain looked to the south, and saw another speck and smoke trail coming in, and getting larger. He ducked back into the trench.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “Got a secondary, I think.”

“What'd we hit?” Guru asked as he banked left to pick up the Brazos River and head north.

“Not sure.”


“Two's in hot!” Kara called as she rolled in on her bomb run. She noticed where the CO's bombs had gone off, and only one secondary, so she decided to lay her bombs to the right of where Guru had put his. As Kara came in, she noticed the Triple-A was starting to come up, and just like previous strikes, the Libyans were shooting, but not very well. Even an SA-7 came at her from head on, with no chance of guiding, and flew harmlessly by. “Steady....and....HACK!” She hit the pickle button, sending a dozen more Mark-82s onto the target. She pulled up and headed on out, following the CO, and called, “Two's off target.”

In his trench, the Libyan Captain heard Kara's F-4 come in, and in its wake, more explosions. This time, there were several more, as either fuel or munitions had been hit. He stuck his head up, and saw what looked like fuel drums exploding, and spreading fires. Before he could do anything, someone pulled him back into the trench. More aircraft, or was it just the fires and explosions?


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

“Any guess as to what?” Kara asked as she turned to follow the CO, and gave a flak battery a wide berth at the same time.

“Fuel, looks like.”

Kara nodded as she picked up the CO. “Good.”


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty yelled. She came in, and saw where Kara had put her bombs, and noticed that the vehicle park looked to be undamaged. Sweaty decided to remedy that oversight, and lined up a concentration of trucks in her pipper. Just as the CO had said, the Libyans were shooting, and they were doing a lot of it. Sweaty ignored the flak, and lined up the trucks in her pipper. “Steady....steady, and NOW!” She hit the pickle button, and released another dozen Mark-82s down on the Libyans. As she pulled up and away, Sweaty gave the call, “Three off target.”


The Libyan Captain heard Sweaty's plane come in, and the trench shook again as bombs exploded in its wake. He poked his head up, and noticed the vehicle park, where his supply trucks were parked. Several had been tossed aside like toys from the bombs, while others were twisted, burning wrecks. And a bomb had landed near a fuel bladder meant for the trucks, and the bladder had exploded, drenching still more trucks-along with some supply pallets, with burning fuel. He started to get out of the trench, then he glanced to the south, and froze. Another American plane was coming in, and two of his men pulled him into the trench.

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

“How many?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid some flak. These Libyans may not be good shots, but they sure as hell put a lot of lead in the air.

“Got a few,” replied Preacher.

Sweaty grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Good enough for me,” she said, then she picked up the Brazos and headed north.


In his F-4, Hoser made his call, “Four's in!” As he rolled in, he not only saw the flak, but also the smoke from where not only Sweaty, but Kara, had put their bombs, and he picked out what looked like some fuel tanks. Hoser decided right then to make that go away, and he lined the tanks up in his pipper. “Steady, steady.....and...HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, releasing his twelve Mark-82s onto the target. He pulled up and away, jinking as he did so, and called, “Four's off safe.”


At the dump, the Libyan Captain heard Hoser's Phantom fly past, and then more explosions followed in its wake. He never knew what hit him as some fuel tanks and drums were hit, not only sending plumes of smoke into the air, but drenching their immediate surroundings with burning fuel, and that included his trench. The Captain and those others in the trench were turned into human torches......


“SHACK!” KT yelled. “Big secondaries!”

“Any idea what?” Hoser asked as he jinked to avoid flak. He and KT had been shot down once already, and for sure, that was an experience neither wanted to repeat.

“Looks like you hit some fuel,” she replied.

“Fair enough,” said Hoser. “Time to get out of Dodge.”


Just as Hoser's F-4 was coming off target, a UAZ-469 jeep was approaching the supply dump. Besides the driver, the only other occupant was a Cuban Army Captain, and he was suddenly wondering what kind of hell he'd gotten himself into. An Arabic Studies major at the University of Havana with hopes of joining the Foreign Service, he'd been suddenly plucked out of his studies, given an eight-week officer training course, and then sent to Texas. Someone had found his area of study in his dossier, and suddenly, he'd been promoted to Captain and made a liaison officer with the Libyan Expeditionary Force.

Now, as the jeep drove down this road called F.M. 1242, both occupants saw something that chilled them. American aircraft had hit the supply depot, and left fires and destruction in their wake. Just as they got to the depot, the antiaircraft batteries were firing wildly, and an F-4 flew right overhead, then turned to the northwest. Counting themselves lucky, the Cubans got out of the jeep, as the AA guns were still firing and no Imperialist aircraft in sight. Shaking his head, the Captain started looking for a Libyan officer. Time to get some order out of this mess, and he was thinking something else. What do I have to do get a transfer away from these people?


In 512, Goalie heard Hoser's call. “Good. Four in, four out.”

“Not yet,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a game on.” He was following the Brazos, and there were the U.S. 67 and then the U.S. 377 bridges over the river, and there would be flak at both. If he led the flight along the east side of the river, the Nicaraguans on that side wouldn't likely shoot, but the East Germans on the west side more than likely would. “Two, where are you?”

“Got eyeballs on you,” Kara replied as she joined up with the CO. “On your Five.”

Guru glanced to the Five O'clock position, and saw 520 pulling in alongside. “Roger that,” he said. “Warlock, Corvette One-one,” Guru called the AWACS. “Say threat?”

“Corvette One-one, Warlock,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-six-seven for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for sixty-eight. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-niner-eight for eighty. Medium, closing.”

“Warlock, Corvette. Copy,” Guru said. “Say bogey dope?”

“Corvette, Warlock, stand by.”

“Ain't got all day,” Goalie muttered.

“Corvette, Warlock. Threats bearing One-six-seven are four Fishbeds. Threats bearing One-seven-five are two Flankers. Threats bearing One-niner-eight are four Fulcrums.”

“Copy, Warlock,” Guru said. “How long to the fence?” He asked Goalie. The 'fence' meant I-20 and the front lines.

“Two minutes,” she replied.

“Roger that,” said Guru. “Warlock, Corvette. Can you have a reception committee waiting if they get too close?”

“Affirmative, Corvette,” the AWACS replied.


Corvette Flight kept going north, though when they got to the U.S. 67 bridge, they did draw flak from the west side, while the Nicaraguans only fired after they had gone past. And the same thing happened at Granbury and the U.S. 377 bridge. As they got closer to the I-20, the bandits continued to close. “Corvette, Warlock. Threat bearing One-seven-five for thirty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Warlock, Corvette,” Guru replied. “Get the Eagles on the bandits, if you can.”

“Roger that, Corvette.”


Just as Corvette Flight reached the I-20, the F-15s flashed by overhead. They heard over the radio as the F-15s engaged the Su-27s, splashing one, and as the MiG-21s came in to assist, two of the Fishbeds were also downed. Then they reached the tankers, and hooked up for their post-strike refueling. Corvette Flight then came off the tankers just as Mustang Flight arrived, and they waited for their friends to tank up, then all six Phantoms headed for Sheppard.

When they got there, both flights had to wait for outgoing traffic, Marine, AF, and Navy, before things cleared for them to land. As they taxied in, the crews noticed the TV crew filming them. “Ever think that'd change?” Goalie asked Guru

“No, and want to bet they've shot enough that postwar, some of it's going to be stock footage for who knows how many documentaries?”

Hearing that, Goalie laughed. “That's a bet even Kara won't take.”

“No kidding.”

The flight taxied into their revetments, and when Guru got to 512's he noticed their RAF liaison was waiting. Guru taxied into the revetment, then got the “Shut down” signal from Sergeant Crowley. Then he and Goalie went through the post-flight checks, while the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Then Guru and Goalie climbed down, and did a quick post-flight walkaround. After that, they went over to where Sergeant Crowley was waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru said.

“How'd it go, Major?” Crowley asked, as he tossed both the CO and GIB a bottle of water. “And Lieutenant?”

“Made a supply dump go away,” Guru said. Then he downed half the water. “And taught some Libyans a lesson.”

“About staying home,” Goalie added.

“Want to bet they didn't learn, Ma'am?” Crowley asked.

“Their problem.”

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

“She's working like a champ. Whatever you're doing? Don't change it,” Guru said. “There's time for one more, so get her turned around ASAP.”

The Crew Chief nodded. “Yes, sir!” He turned to the ground crew. “You heard him. Let's get the CO's bird ready for one more.”

“Still want to bump him up in the R&R Rotation?” Goalie asked her pilot as they walked to the revetment's entrance, where Jack Lord was waiting.

“If I can,” Guru admitted. “I'd love to, but he still might turn that down. If he does that, then making him a Tech Sergeant instead is something he can't refuse.”

Goalie nodded. Nobody that she had heard of turned down an extra stripe. That meant some more money in the allotment checks one sent home. “Well, here's our RAF visitor,” she said, changing the subject.

“How'd things go, Guru?” Lord asked. “And, Goalie? How'd you get that call sign anyhow?”

“Well, Jack,” Goalie said. “Every instructor at the RTU tried to, uh, score with me, if you know what I mean. I fended all of them off, and somebody said, 'You're like a soccer goalie.' So they stuck me with it.”

“And we made a supply dump go away,” added the CO. “Taught some Libyans a lesson.”

Jack nodded. “I take it the lesson was 'you should have stayed home?'”

“Something like that,” Kara said as she and Brainiac came over. “Nice one, Boss.”

“Good job yourself,” Guru said. Then Sweaty and Preacher, along with Hoser and KT, came over as well. “Nice work, Sweaty. You and Hoser.”

“Thanks, Boss,” replied Sweaty. “Had some big secondaries. Righteous ones, as Preacher likes to say.”

Hearing that, Jack Lord turned to Goalie. “How did he get that call sign?”

“Ex-seminary student,” Goalie told him.

Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs came over next. “Guru, how'd things go with you?”

“Supply dump down in the Libyan AOR. You?” The CO replied.

“Found a supply convoy headed north on one of those Farm-to-Market roads,” Golen said. “We turned it into a junkyard.”

Flossy added, “A burning one.”

“How'd you and Jang work out?” The CO wanted to know.

“I'd fly with her anytime,” Flossy said, and the object of that attention was beaming. “When Digger goes on R&R? I'd like her in the back seat again.”

“Done,” Guru said. “Jang? You keep this up, because sooner or later, you'll be in a permanent crew.”

That was music to Jang's ears. “I've been waiting for that, Major.”

“Your time's coming,” the CO assured her. “Okay, people, we all need to debrief, get some food inside us, and check our desks. We've got time enough for one more, then we can hit the Club.”

“Speaking of which,” Kara said. “Anybody notice how young two of those F-20 drivers look?”

Flossy nodded at that. “Noticed that myself. Two of 'em look like eighth-graders in flight suits.”

“Didn't the Air Force reduce the educational requirement for pilots and navs to two years of college?” Goalie wondered aloud.

The CO nodded. “They did. Chances are, those two did just that. We'll sort that out later, as in 'after the war' later. Come on, let's get the debriefs done, then remember what I told you.”

With that, the crews headed back to the squadron offices, because it wouldn't be long until the last mission of the day.




335th TFS Offices: 1500 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was in his office. After debriefing their mission, he had gone into his office to see if any additional paperwork had made its presence known, and he was pleased to see nothing new. The CO then propped his feet on his desk and closed his eyes. A short nap often made him feel refreshed, and he had just closed his eyes, or thought he did, when a voice sounded in his ear.

“Boss, wake up.”

He opened his eyes and found Kara standing over him. “Kara....don't you know your CO needs his beauty rest? I was having a nice dream: Me, Goalie, and a few Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, all about to do things nasty enough to get us arrested in a dozen states.”

“Sorry to interrupt the dreamland debauchery, but Mark is still out, and so is Don Van Loan. Got a couple things for you,” his wingmate replied. With the other two officers out on missions, that left Kara, who was the senior deputy Ops Officer, next in command.

The CO sighed. One thing about being a CO was that you never stopped being one. “Okay.....what have you got?”

“First, Doc made it official: Digger is grounded for ten days with that ankle injury. Light duty until then,” Kara said, putting a piece of paper in front of the Major.

“All right, then. That makes Digger the new day-shift NDO until Doc clears him. And Jang keeps flying with Flossy.”

Kara nodded. “Speaking of which, our newsies are talking with both of them right now.”

Guru's eyes really opened. “They get ambushed or what?”

“Nope,” replied Kara. “Ms. Wendt just walked up to 'em, without the crew, and asked if they wanted to talk. They said yes, and, well....” She was referring to Jana Wendt of 9 News Australia and her crew.

“Say no more,” the CO said. “Kodak with 'em?” Marine Captain Keith “Kodak” Crandall was a grounded F-4 back-seater who was doing some PAO duty until he was healed up enough to get back in the cockpit. The news crew was staying with the 335th, and lacking a PAO in the squadron, he had been assigned to fill that job from Marine Air Group 11, the Marine unit the 335th was OPCON to.

“He is.”

“Good. What else?”

“Yeager's people are all billeted,” Kara reported. “They're getting settled in.”

The CO nodded. “Okay, just don't fleece them tonight. Let them get settled in, see how the animals in the zoo behave, and then tomorrow night? Weapons-free.”

“Got you,” she said, though none too happily To her, new arrivals were ducks on the pond for the pool table and the poker games.

Major Wiser looked at her. “Just remember: they're TDY here. Just be nice this first night.”

Kara nodded understanding. “Okay. Oh, I ran into two of his guys. Clancy and Pruitt. They've got 'the look'. Not just from the kill scores on their birds. You can tell.” She lowered her voice. “Just between you and me? They really do look like eighth-graders in flight suits.”

“Some people hold their age, “ the CO pointed out. “I've had people tell me when I was home on leave that if they didn't know how old I was, they'd think I had just graduated high school.”

“I know, but still...”

“None of our business,” Major Wiser reminded her. “Anything else?”

“Not now, but we should have a new mission in thirty minutes.”

“Let me know. And Kara?” the CO said as she got ready to leave. “You do good when Mark and Don are out. Wouldn't surprise me if you got a squadron of your own one day.”

“Yeah, twenty years from now. If we all live that long,” Kara replied. “You know me and paperwork.”

Major Wiser knew what she meant. And the peacetime Air Force, when that came around? How would those who flew in wartime fit in? “I do. Let me know when you've got that mission for us.”

“On my way.”

As she left, Goalie came into the office. “Just got word from Doc.”

“Kara told me,” Guru said. “Digger's grounded for ten days.”

“That, and Kicker definitely has the flu. He'll be in Medical for at least three days.”

“At least,” the CO sighed. “Fridge gets some more flight time.”

Goalie nodded. “He's been waiting.”

“All good things come to those who wait. Trouble is, just like Jang, he has to wait for a permanent crew until we lose some people. And that, I don't want. Not now.”

His GIB and lover understood what he meant. “No letters,” Goalie observed.

Guru nodded. “Uh-huh.”


Meanwhile, in the squadron office, Master Sergeant Ross was at his desk when Captain Jeb Pruitt came by. “Captain,” Ross said respectfully. “What can I do for you?”

“They told me you're the go-to guy for some horsetrading,” Pruitt replied.

“Maybe, sir,” Ross said. “What can I do for you?”

“The grapevine's buzzing about your Sparrow trouble. Something about a fight with eight Sparrows fired for zero hits. Maybe we can help you guys do something about that.”

Ross kept a poker face. “How many you talking about, sir?” Even though they were talking about horsetrading, Ross still showed some respect for Pruitt's status as an officer.

“Right now? Eight,” replied Pruitt. “Then another two dozen when our next shipment comes in. AIM-7Ms, and this would be enough to give you two flights a full Sparrow load. We can take sixteen of your oldest Sparrows off your hands right now, and another sixteen when our next load comes in-and we've got some priority for that. Plus some things for the 479th, and the recipe for the pork tri-tip sandwich the Marines make.” He handed Ross a list of things his squadron wanted.

Ross scanned the list. “Some of these could be tough. As for the Sparrows? Normally, I'd go for 'em, but the CO has orders from above to hold off on those.”

“I understand,” Pruitt nodded. “But I know people in officer detailing, supply, and in MAC. I can plug into your network, and you can plug into mine.”

Ross smiled. A new trading partner with some new contacts....and he still hadn't found a new PAO for the 335th. The CO had told him “Don't make promises you can't keep.” And he was still looking. “Sounds good to me, sir. Maybe we can deal.”

“I like the sound of that, Chief.”


After Pruitt had left, Ross had gone back to his own (legitimate) paperwork, when the one officer everyone in the 335th-officer and enlisted-loathed, came to his desk. “Major Carson? What can I do for you, sir?” Ross asked, silently wishing he could give the snobby Major a kick in the ass. He had a couple of write-ups in hand.

“Master Sergeant,” Major Frank Carson said in that Boston blue-blood accent of his. “What do you know about Airman First Class Kellogg?”

“He enlisted right out of a refugee camp. Joined the squadron four months ago, sir. He's pretty good in the maintenance shop, his coworkers like him, and no complaints from any of the NCOs or the maintenance officers. Why do you ask, sir?”

Carson had a grim look on his face. “Kellogg got upset after that CBS report on that mass grave. Seems he's from around here. He got out, but some family, including his parents, didn't. Chances are, they're in that mass grave, but he hasn't been notified yet.”

Ross put a palm to his head. “I'll keep an eye on him, sir.”

“Not just that. He's underage. Two months shy of seventeen.” Carson looked at Ross. “He should be trying to score a girl at a homecoming dance, not working on F-4s. Not now, anyway. I know about the directive from the Secretary of the Air Force and the Chief of Staff, and what the Marines did.”

“Sir, with all due respect, the Marines did a major fuckup with how they handled that,” Ross said. “Have you seen the op-eds?”

“I have, Chief,” Carson said. “Still, I think we should send him to Nellis. General Tanner would do the right thing. I tried taking this to the base JAG office, and they're swamped. Anything I send them is not high priority.”

Ross nodded. For once, Carson was handling something right, which was a rare event. About as rare as Richard Pryor doing a PG-rated standup comedy routine. But with all the frivolous crap he'd done..... and he also knew what the CO had told him. Anything Carson sent to JAG, OSI, or the IG's office was now automatically trashed. “I'll take this to the CO. Anything else, sir?”

“Chief, personally, I might have disobeyed what General Gray pulled, if I was a Marine. I know his intent was good, but the way they went about it.....”

Ross was surprised at Carson's sentiments. “They fucked it up, sir.” He noticed the other write-ups. “Something else, sir?”

“Captain Pruitt. He's been trying to 'acquire' our expired Sparrows. Those are munitions we're talking about Chief. There's likely going to be some kind of JAG, OSI, or IG investigation into how we got those bad missiles, and I do not want that compromised. Whoever gave us bad missiles needs to be hauled in front of a General Court-Martial. Is that clear, Sergeant?” Carson asked, sounding once again like the Frank Burns wannabe everyone was familiar with.

“Yes, sir,” Ross replied. He knew the CO would shred those in a heartbeat. “I can assure you no investigation will be compromised.”

“Thank you, Chief.”

After Carson left, Ross got up. He had to talk to the CO.


In his office, Guru looked at his senior NCO. “How many Sparrows?”

“Eight right away, sir,” Ross replied. “And two dozen more on the next shipment. Captain Pruitt doesn't know we only carry two Sparrows per bird.”

“What else does he want?” the CO asked. When Ross told him, the Major was incredulous. “Awful nice of him, but is he crazy? That suggestion of pork tri-tip is not even edible by anyone's definition.”

Goalie looked at both her CO and the Chief. “He must have a cast-iron stomach.”

“You'd have to ask him, Ma'am,” Ross replied.

“Hold off on the Sparrows until General Olds cuts us loose. He's still trying to work though General Tanner. And Tanner has to cut through the Air Force bureaucracy,” the Major said. “Still, get plugged into his network, and plug him into yours. Maybe we can do some horsetrading.”

Ross nodded. “Yes, sir. There's something else. It's about Airman Kellogg.” Ross then explained what Carson had told him. “Sir? How are you going to handle this?”

'He's what? Over sixteen and a half?” Major Wiser asked. Seeing Ross nod, he took out the directive from the Secretary of the Air Force and the Chief of Staff. “Then I can handle this under CO's discretion.”

“Glad I don't have to make this call,” Goalie said. Then she glanced outside the office window. “Oh, shit. Frank's coming.”

Guru looked out, and sure enough, the 335's most loathed figure was coming to the office. He turned to Ross. “Chief? Stay here. You too, Goalie.”

“In case you need witnesses?” Goalie asked.

“You got it.”

Major Carson went to the CO's office and knocked on the door.

“Come on in, Frank,” the CO said. When Carson came in, he found the CO leaning backwards against the front of his desk. “What do you want this time?”

“Sir,” Carson said, snapping a perfect Academy salute, and seeing the CO sketch a return one. “I see you've been talking with Chief Ross. It's about Airman Kellogg. He's underage.”

“Chief Ross told me,” Major Wiser said. “And so?”

“Sir, I know you all think I'm too by-the-book-”

“You are,” the CO said. “So out with it.”

“Sir, I think sending him to Nellis might be the best option. I know, we're not Marines, and what Gray did was probably illegal as well.”

Guru nodded. “For once, we're on the same page. As in thinking Gray's actions being illegal. But Nellis? Frank, he's past the sixteen and a half mark. That makes it CO's discretion.”

“Sir, the ALMAR, and the directive from the Chief of Staff and the Secretary of the Air Force?” Carson pointed out. “If you send him to Nellis, General Tanner would do the right thing.”

“I may still send him to Nellis,” Major Wiser said. “Then again, maybe not. I want to hear his side of the story first.” He went to his phone and called up the Aircraft Maintenance Officer, Capt. Kevin O'Donnell. “Kev? Yeah, it's me. Listen. I need you and Airman Kellogg over in my office. When? Right now. Good.” He hung up the phone, and said. “Kev's bringing him over. Frank? You actually did something good today.”

“Thank you, sir. It's not all. Captain Pruitt from the F-20 team. He's offering us some Sparrows from the F-20's stash. Along with some other things. Completely violating supply procedures,” said Carson.

“So?” Goalie asked. “A Sparrow's a Sparrow.”

“Not these. They're AIM-7Ms. And our planes aren't wired for them.”

“How'd you know they're Ms?” Asked the CO.

“Saw them on the pylons,” Carson replied. “All of those F-20s have M models loaded.”

Chief Ross shook his head. “Why didn't I think of that when I was talking to Captain Pruitt?”

“Easy, Chief,” Major Wiser said. “You saw a deal and jumped at it. We can still work this out, and General Olds hasn't cut us loose.” He turned to Carson. “Frank? Thanks for bringing both of these to my attention.”

“You're welcome, sir.” Carson replied politely. And everyone noticed the tone of voice. “And Airman Kellogg?”

“I'll handle this. My discretion, remember?”

“Understood, sir.”

I doubt you do, the CO thought to himself. “You still got a long way to go to shape up, so keep that in mind. That'll be all.” He pointed to the office door.

“Sir.” Carson said. He knew not to press his luck. Carson saluted and left the office, and nearly ran into Mark Ellis, who was coming in.

“Boss?” The XO asked. “Frank leaving your office and you didn't throw him out? What's the deal?”

The CO explained, and Ellis was shaking his head. “Frank actually doing a couple of good things?”

“Lightning struck-twice,” Guru said. “But he's got an angle, and I think I know. He knows he's not getting the 335th. But....how about a brand new F-20 squadron? They're forming new squadrons and wings, so.....”

“So, he thinks he can get a squadron of his own that way,” Ellis finished. “Might just work.”

“I doubt it,” Goalie said. “Remember what's in Frank's 201 File. Not to mention his flight record.”

“And when General Yeager sees what's in those, I know what he'll say to Frank in that West Virginia drawl of his. 'Request denied.'” Guru said. “And who knows what Frank's going to do then?”

“Not good,” Ellis nodded.

Then there was a knock on the door. It was O'Donnell with Airman Kellogg. “Come on in,” the CO said. Both saluted, and and said, “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“As you were, both of you,” Major Wiser said. He was rarely this formal, but this occasion.....”Kev, I want you here to witness this. Kellogg? Major Carson told us. You're underage, right?”

Airman Brian Kellogg looked at his CO. “Sir?”

“Major Carson told us,” Major Wiser said. “Told Chief Ross first.”

The young man looked at his squadron commander. “He must've overheard me talking to a couple of friends, sir. About that mass grave. I have a gut feeling my parents are there.”

“Any idea how they got there?” Goalie asked. “Were they involved in politics?”

“Dad was a member of the local GOP,” Kellogg said. “But he also owned a tractor dealership with forty or so employees, Ma'am.”

Heads nodded at that. They all knew that the KGB and their lackeys-whether Stasi, DGI, or PSD, considered anyone with more than twelve employees to be a “Class Enemy” and thus deserving of either “Re-education” or just plain being shot. “Your Mom?” The CO asked.

“She was in the Republican Women's Club, sir.”

“There you go,” Ellis observed. “You been home yet?”

“No, sir,” Kellogg replied. “I helped Dad bury our stuff-valuables, money, stuff from the safe deposit box, in the backyard. Then he gave my brother-Brandon-and I, a thousand dollars, a company truck, and told us to get out, as far away from the Russians as we could. Made it to Laramie, Wyoming, and a FEMA Refugee Camp. Brandon joined the Navy right out of the camp, and I waited until last year. Got tired of waiting, sir.”

“Okay....” Major Wiser said. “Your brother still in the Navy?”

“As far as I know, sir. Got a couple of letters from him. One after he finished boot, another before I joined up. Said he was going into something, and it was censored. He might have gone into SEALS, sir. They'd censor that, wouldn't they?”

The CO nodded. “They might. You have a sister, right?”

“Don't know, sir,” said Kellogg. “She was a sophomore at UT Austin, and she called home the day of the invasion. Dad told her to get as far away as she could. I heard him say 'Little Rock' then 'Memphis or St. Louis.' Sir, that's all I know about Jenna.”

Guru nodded again. He thought for a minute. “All right. Kellogg, you're staying. First things first.” The CO handed him a blank piece of paper and a pen. “Write down your info on your siblings: DOB, social security number, and so on. Give that to Chief Ross.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Chief?” Major Wiser asked. “Tomorrow, take him into town, and see if he still has a home to go back to when this is all over. You may have squatter trouble, so see if Captain Blanchard will loan you a couple of CSPs. If they're busy? Find a few Marines who can help.”

“I know a few who've had similar issues in Amarillo and Lubbock, sir,” Ross said. “Rounding up a few who can help won't be a problem.”

The CO nodded. “Good. Mark?” He asked the XO. “Check with the military government people. See what their attitude towards squatters is-especially if the squatters are living in a servicemember's house.”

'Will do, Major.” Ellis replied.

“Chief, take Kellogg's info and run down his siblings, if you can. Use whatever contacts in the Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army that you've developed via your horse-trading.”

“Sir,” Ross nodded. “No guarantees, though.”

“As for you, Kellogg?” The CO nodded at the Airman. “For the next ten weeks, until you turn seventeen? You work in vehicle maintenance. You're still working with tools, getting grease and oil on you, but it's in a garage, not on the ramp or in a hangar. It's also closer to a bomb shelter if you need to use it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Kellogg's face brightened.

“Good. You'll be back on the ramp in no time. Any questions?”

“No, sir,”

The CO looked at him. He was a good kid, Major Wiser thought. Another life shattered by the war and looking for a way to build a new one. “All right: you need anything-especially if you get definite word about your parents? Let Chief Ross, Captain O'Donnell, the Exec, or me know. We'll do what we can.”

“Thank you,sir. I will do that,” Kellogg said.

“Good. Now, why don't you wait outside? I need to talk to Captain O'Donnell.”

“Sir.” Kellogg replied, saluting.

Guru returned it, and after Kellogg left and closed the door behind him, he turned to his Maintenance Officer and Senior NCO. “Keep an eye on him. Both of you.”

“Will do, Boss.” O'Donnell said.

“Yes, sir.” Ross added.

“Good. That'll be all, both of you.” Major Wiser said. After they left, he turned to his Exec. “Well?”

Ellis nodded. “You handled that better than I could, Boss. Not sure I'd be so...calm.”

“Goalie?”

“Little weird,” she said. “First, Frank doing two good things?” His GIB and lover shook her head. “Then this? Not sure at all how I'd handle it.”

Guru looked at her, then his Exec. “Not something taught in OTS, I'll admit. And probably not at ROTC or the Academy.” He saw both nod. “Which is probably in the PME we're all missing out on because of the war.”

“School of hard knocks, then,” Ellis said. “Class of World War Three.”

Goalie nodded, then she noticed their wingmate coming towards the office, and Kara was practically running. “Kara's in a rush.”

There was a knock on the door, then it opened. Kara was there. “Boss, we've got a mission. The birds have been rearmed, and they want us in the air.”

“When?” Guru asked.

“Now. It's CAS, down in the East German sector. They got a little uppity again, and First Cav and 11th Airborne are hollering for some help.”

“Ordnance?”

“Birds have been rearmed from what they were supposed to have. They want us in the air ASAP,” Kara said. “Not just us, but Dave and Flossy as well.”

The CO nodded. “Okay....pass the word to everybody. Gear up and meet at 512.”

“Got you,” Kara said. “I'm gone.” She headed out the door.

“Mark?” Guru turned to his Exec. “Get your people geared up and ready. Chances are, you'll be right behind us.”

Ellis nodded. “On my way.” He headed on out after Kara.

“Ready?” Guru turned to his GIB.

Goalie nodded. “Let's get going.”

“Then we have somewhere to be.” Both CO and GIB then headed on out of the office.


After gearing up, both Guru and Goalie headed out to the squadron dispersal, and found their flight, plus Dave and Flossy, waiting at 512's revetment. “What's up?” Sweaty asked.

“CAS, down in the East German sector. First Cav and 11th Airborne need some help, and for now? We're it. Usual procedures on the radio, and this is likely a divisional level threat, and you all know what that means.”

“SA-6, SA-9, ZSU-23-4,” Dave Golen observed. “And MANPADS.”

“Not to mention MiGs,” Flossy added.

“That, and their own people doing CAS. East Germans and Russians, likely,” Guru pointed out. “If you run into any of their own CAS people? Take the pressure off our guys and splash 'em.”

Kara grinned. “With pleasure.”

“Just watch out for ground fire-theirs and ours,” the CO reminded them. “Other than that? Best bailout area if you're hit is anywhere north of the battle line. Any other questions?” Heads shook no. “Then let's hit it.”

Crews headed to their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went for their own, 512. They noticed that Mark-20 Rockeye CBUs had just been loaded, and that meant antiarmor. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting. “Major, we're locked and cocked. Ordnance guys just finished, and she's ready to go.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did a quick walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, a quick cockpit check followed, then Guru gave a thumbs-up to Crowley. He got the “Start Engines” signal in reply, and in rapid succession, one, then two, J-79 engines were up and running. As they warmed up, a final check was in order, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower,” replied the controller. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. You are number one in line, and hold prior to the active.”

“Roger that, Tower,” Guru said. He gave another thumbs-up, and the ground crew removed the crew ladder and pulled away the wheel chocks. Then Crowley gave the signal to taxi, and Guru taxied the F-4 out of the revetment. When he cleared the revetment, the Crew Chief snapped a salute. Both pilot and GIB returned it, Then Guru taxied to the runway, and held short of it so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. Then he contacted the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are calm.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He taxied onto the runway, and after he did, Kara taxied 520 in right alongside his bird. As usual, Kara and Brainiac gave a thumbs-up, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. Then, a quick check revealed all set. Ready to go. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The Tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“All set?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready,” she replied.

“Canopy coming down.” Guru pulled his canopy down and locked it, and Goalie did the same. A quick glance at 520 to his right showed 520's crew having done the same thing. “Let's go.” He applied full throttle, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air. At the same time, Kara did the same in 520, and went alongside the CO. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, and after that, Dave and Flossy. The six-ship formed up, then set course south for the tankers.

[Matt Wiser]

Part III (Part IV will follow tomorrow)


Over Central Texas, 1555 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was orbiting just north of the I-20, in a holding pattern at 10,000 feet. They were waiting for either AWACS or the EC-130 Airborne Command Post to clear them onto a FAC, or plain direct them to a target. If there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was this, the waiting.

“They tell us to bust ass getting down here, then they tell us to wait?” Goalie asked from 512's back seat.

Guru grinned. That low, they didn't need their oxygen masks until it was time to go to work. “Same old-same-old: hurry up and wait. You know that.”

“Yeah,” she replied. Out of GIB good habits, she took a look around. Everyone was tucked in, waiting for the go-ahead.

“Boss, Starbuck,” Kara called. “Anything?”

“No joy so far,” Guru replied. He glanced to the west, and saw the sun getting lower. Wouldn't be long, he knew, until it got too dark for them to strike visually. Of course, night flying for them wasn't a problem, but night combat was something rare. The squadron needed Pave Tack pods for that, and having a grand total of three meant nearly all of their tasking was in the daytime. Then he heard an EC-130 controller calling.

“Corvette Lead, Tampa,” the controller said. “Contact Nail Six-nine for tasking.”

“Roger, Tampa,” Guru replied. He then called the FAC. “Nail Six-nine, Corvette Lead.”

“Copy, Corvette,” the FAC replied. “Say aircraft and ordnance, please.”

“Roger, Nail. Corvette Flight is six Foxtrot Four-Echoes, with twelve Mark-20 Rockeyes each bird, and full air-to-air.”

“Roger, Corvette. Got some armor for you. Moving northwest from Star Hollow Lake towards Lipan.” The FAC said.

“Copy that, Nail,” replied Guru. “Say threat?”

“Corvette, threat is regimental and divisional level air defense. Be advised that both helos and fast-movers are in the area as well.”

Bad guys doing CAS, Guru knew. “Roger that. Can give you one run only. South to North.”

“Your call, Corvette. Be advised there are friendly helos in the area.”

“Copy. Can you mark the target, Nail?”

“Roger that, Corvette,” the FAC told him.

Guru watched as an A-7K rolled in and fired several rockets, and WP exploded on the ground below. “That's your target, Corvette.”

“Roger that, Nail. We're rolling in,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Masks on, switches on, and music on. Time to go to work, people!”

As the flight acknowledged, Goalie told him, “Switches set. We're hot.” That meant the armament controls had been set. “Everything in one pass.” That was a squadron rule: one pass in a target area unless there was zero surface-to-air threat.

“Good girl,” Guru replied. He put the F-4 in a shallow dive from 10,000 feet, and flew past the armor before rolling in. As they did, several SAMs-what kind, they didn't know, came up and flew past, but their ECM pods were working. “Looks like a regiment down there.” He said, noticing the armor moving to the northwest.

Goalie was scanning with a pair of mini binoculars. “Looks like it.”

“Time to go. Flight, Lead. Target's in sight. Watch for friendly choppers, people!” With that, Guru rolled in on his bomb run.


Down below, the East German 20th Motor Rifle Division was pushing forward-again. They had been roughly handled on the 4th, and the divisional commander knew it. But Army had ordered a series of spoiling attacks, and the Generalmajor had no choice but to get on with it. His panzer regiment was near full strength, with 95 T-55AM2Bs, which were could give the M-60 a good fight, and deal with the Ami paratroopers who were to the north, but if the First Cavalry Division and Third Armored Cavalry Regiment were about, they had M-1s, and that meant trouble. His lead motor-rifle regiment had pushed into what appeared to be undefended terrain, and so he committed his panzer regiment, as per doctrine.

With that, the 20th Panzer Regiment moved forward. The regimental commander, a Colonel, was pleased. His regiment had passed through the motor-rifle boys, and though there was little sign of the enemy, he knew the Amis were out there. The fate of a reserve motor-rifle regiment on the 4th, and the mauling that the 33rd MRR had received as well, reminded him that the Amis could be waiting. With luck, he'd get the regiment to Lipan, and get there before the Amis could react. Then the 31st MRR with their BMP-2s would arrive to relieve them, and this would force the enemy's III Corps to commit to a major action to push them out, preventing them from an attack to get around the Fort Worth-Dallas area, or so what the Divisional Commander had been told, and then told the regimental commanders. No matter. His regiment was moving forward, out of some hills and into open country. The Colonel was riding in his T-55AM2K command tank when his loader, who was manning the DshK 12.7-mm machine gun, tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the south. The Colonel's heart stopped a beat as he saw what was coming. Smoke trails, which meant only one thing. Ami aircraft. “AIR ATTACK WARNING-SOUTH!” He shouted into his mike.

“Lead's in!” Guru called as he rolled in. A full regiment of armor in the open meant plenty of targets, and the bad guys were still in column. Big mistake, Franz.....He centered the center battalion in his pipper. Some flak started to come up, but it was too little, too late. No way, not now......”Steady, Steady...” Guru muttered. “And HACK!” He hit the pickle button and released his Rockeyes. Then he pulled 512 up and away. “Lead's off target.”

“Verdammt!” The Colonel shouted as the F-4 flew over his command tank and released its bombs. He saw the CBUs fly open and released their bomblets over the tanks of his Second battalion. T-55s took hits to their thin top armor and engine decks and several exploded, while several others were disabled and caught fire. The regimental commander turned into a rage, shouting for his regimental air defense battalion, with their Strela-1 missile vehicles (SA-9) and ZSU-23-4s, to move forward, while the motor-rifle battalion had their men with Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles riding on top of their BMP-2s and fire. Then the Colonel glanced to the south and saw another Fascist F-4 coming in.

“SHACK!” Goalie shouted. “GOOD HITS!”

“Secondaries?” Guru asked. He banked to the right and headed due north, not noticing an SA-9 that flew past his bird.

“Got some.” That meant tanks or APCs had gone up.

“Service with a smile,” the CO grinned beneath his mask as he headed north.


“Two in hot!” Kara called as she rolled in. She picked out the regimental supply columns following behind the regiment, and without those fuel and ammo trucks, that regiment wouldn't be going anywhere. Kara noticed the flak coming, and it was mostly small-arms or heavy machine guns, but there was some ZU-23 fire coming up as well. Not today.....”Steady....and....NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button and a dozen Rockeyes fell onto the regimental supply column. Ignoring the 23-mm and SAMs-both SA-9 and SA-7, she overflew the regiment and headed north, following in the CO's wake. “Two's off safe.”

Kara's F-4 flew by, and the Colonel grimaced as it did, but then the explosions behind him caught his attention. “DAMMT!” He shouted into his mike-for all his commanders to hear-as explosions erupted behind him, and they were both fuel and ammunition fed. That told him his regiment's supply column had been hit, and hit hard. Shaking his head, he ordered all his units to disperse, but then he saw another Ami Phantom coming in.....

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted in 520's rear seat. “We got secondaries!”

“Big ones?” Kara wanted to know.

“Good ones,” her GIB replied.

“Fine by me,” Kara said as she headed north, an eye out for either MiGs or Hinds. To her disappointment, none were visible.


“Three in hot!” Sweaty called as she rolled in. She picked out what looked like artillery pieces deploying. Those were always good targets, Sweaty knew, and as she lined them up in her pipper, she also noticed what looked like ammo trucks following the guns. Oh, well...maybe some of the CBU bomblets might take out some of the trucks. Franz, you're having a bad day, she said to herself. “Steady...steady....and...NOW!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, releasing her CBUs, then she pulled up and away, ignoring the 23-mm and SAMs coming up. “Three off safe,” she called.

The Colonel groaned as Sweaty's F-4 flew by, then he saw the explosions in its wake. His regimental artillery commander had been on the radio to him, then his transmission was suddenly-and permanently-silenced as not only had several of the 2S1 122-mm SP howitzers exploded, but the battalion commander's own command vehicle had gone up as well. He shook his head, then ordered his regimental command element to disperse as well. As his command tank moved into a creek, he didn't see a fourth F-4 coming in.

“SHACK!” Preacher yelled to Sweaty as she pulled away.

“Good hits?” Sweaty asked as an SA-9 flew past. Those things, for some reason, had a hard time guiding. Not that she-or anyone else she knew-was complaining.

“Righteous ones!” Exclaimed the ex-Seminary student.

“Good enough for the man upstairs, good enough for me,” Sweaty said as she headed north, scanning for enemy aircraft or choppers as she did so.

“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in behind his element lead. He saw where Sweaty had laid her CBUs and noticed the trucks that had largely escaped her attention. Well, if she couldn't get them, he would. He centered the trucks in his pipper, ignoring the flak-and even a couple of SA-7s-that came up. “And...and...and...NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button and released his Rockeyes, and a dozen CBUs came down on the East German artillerymen. He pulled wings level and away, calling out, “Four's off target.”

“DAMMT!” Shouted the Colonel as Hoser's F-4 flew by, leaving more explosions in its wake. This time, he knew, the artillery battalion's supply trucks had been hit, for there were several large sympathetic detonations that no one could miss. What had been an easy ride to the objective was now becoming his worst nightmare, and it had been inflicted from the air. Where were the Amis on the ground? The Colonel was checking his map when another F-4 came in....


“SHACK!” KT called. “GREAT HITS!”

“Secondaries?” Hoser asked as he headed north, picking up Sweaty visually as he did so.

“Big ones!”

Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Good enough.” He scanned for enemy aircraft or choppers and was disappointed not to find any.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called. He rolled in, and noticed several vehicles clustered together. That might be the regimental command group, he thought, and decided to take them out. Like the others, he ignored the flak coming up, and saw a tank in the middle. He centered the tank in his pipper. “Steady....and steady....and....NOW!” He hit the pickle button, sending a dozen more CBUs down on the East Germans. He, too, pulled up and away, and called, “Five's off target.”

In his tank, the East German Colonel ducked as Golen's F-4 flew by. He heard the CBUs going off, then nothing as several Rockeye bomblets struck his T-55, hitting the engine deck and the thin top armor of the turret. The Rockeye bomblets burned through the armor-and him, then set off the stored ammunition in the ready rack......no one in the tank had time to scream, much less try and escape the tank, as it fireballed.

“GOOD HITS!” Golen's GIB shouted.

“How good?” Dave asked as he headed north,

“Got a few secondaries.”

“I'll take those,” Dave said as he picked up the others.


“Six is in hot!” Flossy called. She rolled in, and picked out some more vehicles moving up. Those looked like BMPs, and they were a worthy target. She, too, ignored the flak and the missiles, and lined up the middle of the column. You're having a bad day, Franz.....”Steady....and...steady....NOW!” Flossy hit the pickle button, and released her twelve Rockyes, then she pulled up and away. “Six off target,” she called.

Below, the East German deputy regimental commander, a Major, scampered out of a BTR-60PB that had taken a single CBU hit to the top deck. Normally, that might not be a problem, but the bomblet had wrecked both engines, and the vehicle had caught fire, so everyone had gotten out of the vehicle. He saw the burning hulk of the regimental command tank, and no signs of survivors, and that meant he was now in command. As he called for a radioman, not only did he see Flossy's F-4 fly over, but nearly tripped over the body of the regimental political officer. No great loss, he noted, as the radioman came up. Time to get some order out of this mess, and find out where the Amis were, for a counterattack could be coming and he had to get the regiment ready. This air strike was probably just the beginning.

“GOOD HITS!” Jang called to Flossy. “We got some secondaries!”

“How good?” Flossy asked, knowing that Jang was still a relative newcomer to combat.

“Four or five fireballs.”

Flossy grinned underneath her mask. “Good for them.” She, too, headed north, and followed her element lead towards the I-20, keeping an eye out for enemy aircraft as she did so. Like the others, she was disappointed none were present. Oh, well....better luck next time.


In 512's rear cockpit, Goalie was beaming. “Six in, six out,” she said.

“Still got a game on,” Guru reminded her. “Not yet to the fence.” That meant the I-20 line. He glanced to his five, and saw Kara pulling in alongside, and his wingmate gave a thumbs-up. “Two, glad to see you. Sweaty, you and Hoser?”

“Right behind you,” Sweaty replied. “Got you two in sight.”

“Dave?” Guru asked.

“On your six,” Golen replied. “Flossy's with me.”

“Roger that. Nail, how'd we do?” Guru asked the FAC.

“Corvette, Nail,” the FAC replied. “Good work, fella. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

Guru smiled. “Our pleasure, Nail.”

The flight crossed the I-20 line, and saw not just more aircraft above, but Army attack helicopters forming up to head south. And these weren't Cobras. AH-64s were in town, and they were going to make their presence known. All through the night, if necessary. The flight joined up on the tankers for their post-strike refueling, then headed back to Sheppard.

When Corvette Flight returned to Sheppard, they had to wait in the pattern, as several Marine and Navy flights were ahead of them. Then it was their turn. The six F-4s took their turns in the landing pattern, then as they taxied back to the squadron dispersal, they noticed the news crew filming them. “Need to ask her when the interview airs,” Guru said. Both he and Goalie had been interviewed by the crew's correspondent, Jana Wendt.

“Forgot about that,” Golie said. “Been a bit busy,” she deadpanned.

“That we have.”

The crews taxied to their revetments, and when Guru and Goalie got to 512's, they saw the ground crew waiting. This time, the ordnance crews were not there, and that meant that they weren't likely going back out. Good thing, both crew members thought. The sun was very low on the horizon, and unless someone strapped on a Pave Tack pod, they were through for the day. Guru taxied in, and after shutting down, both he and Goalie popped their canopies, then they did a post-flight check. “Glad that's done?” she asked.

“For now,” Guru replied. “We could be back at CAS tomorrow.”

“Maybe. Or the Army cleans up on those bastards.”

The ground crew brought the crew ladder, and both pilot and GIB stood up in the cockpit. Then they climbed down, where Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting. “How'd things go, Major?”

“Made some East German tankers reconsider their choice of vocation,” the CO deadpanned.

“Those who lived, that is,” Goalie added as she picked up a bottle of water.

The Crew Chief was beaming. “Shit hot, sir! And Ma'am.” He looked at his CO. “Anything I need to know, sir?”

“Five-twelve's working like a champ, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Get her ready, because menana, we might just be going back and teach those East Germans something about staying in their own country.”

As both pilot and GIB headed out of the revetment, Goalie asked him, “You still going to bump him up on the R&R Rotation or promote him?”

“I might just do both,” replied Guru.

“Boss,” Kara said as she and Brainiac came to the entrance to the revetment. “Looks like we did good.”

Guru nodded. “We did, and we might be going back there tomorrow.”

“Where were the MiGs?” Kara wanted to know.

“I'd like to know myself,” Sweaty said as her element arrived. “Where were they?”

Dave Golen and his people arrived just as she said that. “I, for one, would like to know that as well.”

“Maybe somebody hit their fields,” Flossy wondered.

“Maybe,” Guru said. “Or they hadn't been called yet.”

“Too bad,” Kara muttered.

“You're not the only one feeling that way,” Guru said. “Okay, people.” He checked his watch. “It's 1635. We're not going out again, so let's debrief. You need to check your desks, then we can hit the Club.”

“Wonder if we'll get some stories from General Yeager,” Sweaty thought. “Wouldn't mind hearing some of those.”

“Ace in a day....” Kara said. “Five Me-109s in one afternoon, I heard.”

“Not to mention his test flying,” Hoser added. “Going supersonic, then the X-1A and nearly getting killed.”

“Then the NF-104,” Flossy told them. “Remember the movie The Right Stuff?” Heads nodded, as most of them had seen the movie.

Guru nodded, “All of that, and one other thing. He's got one kill General Olds doesn't.”

“And that is?” Kara asked.

“Yeager got an Me-262,” Guru said. “Come on. Get the debrief done, clear your desks, then we can get a little crazy.”


Sheppard AFB Officer's Club, 1710 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and Goalie went into the Officer's Club tent, and the place was already buzzing, as usual. There hadn't been much paperwork after the debrief, but both waited until they were off the clock before going to the Club. The last of the 335th's sorties had come in, and there were no losses, the CO was glad to see. And that was always a reason to celebrate.

Guru and Goalie went to the bar, and found Colonel Brady already there. “Colonel,” Guru said.

“Major,” Brady nodded. “And Lieutenant. Have a look at that table.” He pointed to a table where the F-20 jocks were arguing with a mix of aircrew-AF, Marine, and Navy. By the looks of the hand gestures and raised voices, no one was in the mood for polite disagreement. “Looks like the arguments are in full swing.”

“Nobody's going to be convinced of anything tonight,” Goalie observed. “Uh, sir.”

“No,” Brady agreed. “And you're absolutely right, Lieutenant. We won't see any minds changed, either way, until they start flying. And that starts tomorrow.”

Guru nodded, then scanned the crowd. “General Olds and General Yeager aren't here yet.”

“They'll be here,” Brady said, just as the bartender came over.

“Smitty?” Guru asked the bartender. “Bud for my GIB, and Sam Adams for me.”

“You got it, Major,” Smitty replied. He put the bottles on the bar, and Guru paid him.

“So, how'd things go on that last round?” Brady asked.

Guru took a drink from his beer, then said, “Not bad, Colonel. Just hope the Army cleans up those East Germans tonight, then we can get back to BAI. Don't mind CAS, but we'd rather leave it to the folks who live and breathe it, like the A-10 people.”

“Or Marines,” Brady grinned.

“Or Marines,” Guru admitted. Then Generals Olds and Yeager came in, and they were in an animated conversation, with much hand-waving. Clearly, combat of some sort was the object of discussion. “What's that about?”

The two generals bellied up to the bar, and after they got their drinks, continued the conversation. “Generals, if you don't mind my asking, what's this all about?” Colonel Brady asked.

“Well, Colonel,” Olds said. “Just having a friendly discussion over how Chuck here got an Me-262, and I didn't.”

“Wasn't your 262 a probable, sir?” Goalie asked. She had heard the story at the AF Academy.

“It was,” Olds admitted. “Wish I had been able to check the Luftwaffe records held in the National Archives, but.....”

Heads nodded at that. “Well, sir, maybe after this war's over, you can check,” Guru said. “Then AFHC can give you credit if it did crash.”

“Jet kills in two wars,” Olds said. “Only Israelis have that distinction,” he nodded in Dave Golen's direction. There, their IDF “Observer” was with Flossy and their GIBs, talking with one of the F-20 jocks.

“Dave's got kills in three wars now, General,” Guru reminded him. “He scored in '73, '82, and with us. He's good, General,” Guru added, nodding in General Yeager's direction. “Dave's shot MiGs off our ass at least twice, and he's saved the bacon of quite a few people in my squadron.”

Both generals nodded. “When his tour's up, Major,” Olds said. “You might want to recommend him for a decoration.”

“I'll do that, sir,” Guru said. “Oh, before I forget. I suggest, sir, that you may want to pay attention to one Major Frank Carson. He's up to something, and I think it's no good.”

“What do you mean, Major?” Olds asked.

“This that snotty Major that General Tanner warned us about?” Yeager added. “From what I was told, he's been a pain in your ass, and that of your predecessor, for some time.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “General, I think he's angling to try and get a squadron of his own. As in volunteering for the F-20, and hoping that a new squadron that's forming up comes his way.” Fat chance of that happening, Guru thought, but he wanted to hear what General Yeager felt. He already knew General Olds' view on the subject.

“Check his flight record, Chuck,” Olds said. “From what's in it? No way he'd make the cut.”

“I'll start taking requests tomorrow,” Yeager said. “And for certain, I do want to see what's in his file.”

“Sir, it's not just his flight record, but his 201 File as well,” said Guru. “A look at that only reinforces the loathing everyone in this squadron has for him.”

General Yeager nodded. “I usually have a look at both of those, Major. Just so I know who I'm getting.” He thought for a minute, then continued. “Tomorrow, Major. Find some time when we're both not busy, and I want to see what's in his 201 File, along with his flight record.”

“Yes, sir.” Guru nodded. Though he was slightly dreading Frank's reaction when and if any request for the F-20 was denied.

“All right: you two have a good evening. Tomorrow night? You'll hear some stories.”

“Combat and test flying, sir?”

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” Yeager grinned.

“Be worth the wait, sir.” Guru said.


Guru and Goalie then went and found the rest of their flight at a table, and Kara was curious. “Saw you guys with Olds and Yeager,” she said. “What was that all about?”

“They were having a disagreement at first,” Guru said. “About why Yeager got himself an Me-262 back in the day, and Olds didn't. Then the conversation shifted to Frank.”

“What?”

“Frank's putting on his good face,” Guru explained. “He's got an angle, and I think I know what it is.”

Heads looked at their CO. “What do you mean, Boss?” Hoser asked.

“Simple: Frank knows he's never getting the 335th,” said Guru. “But...he applies for the F-20 program...”

“And that's his route to a squadron of his own,” Sweaty finished for the CO. “You know, it might work.”

“No,” Goalie said firmly. “Yeager told us: he reviews every applicant's 201 File and flight record. Just so he knows what he may be getting.”

Preacher knew what the next would be. “And General Yeager tells Frank 'Request Denied.' And Lord knows what's going to happen next.”

“Don't want to think about that,” Kara said. “Then again....what could he do?”

“Think about it: he'd probably try something, anything, to get someone to notice him. That attention gets him a transfer, on his terms and not mine,” said Guru. “But, if Sundown Cunningham swings by on a visit?”

“Then Frank goes, period,” KT nodded. “Be a good sight to see.”

“He goes, period, after New Year's, if he hasn't shaped up,” Guru reminded them.


A few minutes later, Cosmo and Revlon, along with Flossy and Jang, came in, along with Ms. Wendt and the news crew. They found a table and sat down, with Mr. Scott, the Cameraman, filming them, and Ms. Wendt talking. Clearly, an improvised interview was underway. “Guess who's going to be on the news in a few days,” Goalie noted.

“Two 'unmanned' F-4s in the same squadron?” Kara asked. “That's going to spread like wildfire.”

The CO nodded. “And watch as more reporters show up, wanting to talk to the four of 'em,” Guru said. “And that makes Kodak Griffith busier than a one-armed paperhanger.”

“Any word on an Air Force PAO?” Brainiac asked. “You've been looking.”

“And Chief Ross,” said Guru, none too happily. “Both of us have struck out so far. So, if you all know anyone who went down the PAO route after the Academy, OTS, or ROTC? I'd like someone with PAO experience, who's now a rated pilot or nav.”

“So that can be their ground job when not flying,” Sweaty observed.

“Right.”

Then the mess people came in with dinner. “Folks, we've got pork chops, or Salisbury Steaks, with all the fixings. Come and get it.”

After getting their food, people dug in, and conversation not only dealt with the day's missions, but also the new guests.

“Boss,” Kara said, how long these guys going to be here?”

“Three days, maybe four,” Guru said after taking a bite of steak, or was it really “Mystery Meat?” He looked at her. “And you want to fleece these folks as long as you can.”

She let out an evil-looking grin. “You read my mind.”

“Just remember,” Goalie added. “General Yeager's been doing this about as long as General Olds has. If you think he's an easy mark? Forget it.”

“And that hangout for test pilots near Edwards? Panchos?” Guru said. “Want to bet that he won his share of pool at that place.”

“That place real?” Preacher wanted to know. “Or was that something cooked up for the movie?”

“It was real,” nodded the CO. “I read the book The Right Stuff back in college.”

Goalie added,”And he got his steak dinner. That became a rule at Pancho's. Set a new record, get a steak dinner on the house.”

Then the CBS Evening News came on. Walter Cronkite was on the air again from L.A., but today? Not much happened in the war, though a new GI Bill had passed the Senate, and was awaiting action in the House. Then there was another On the Road segment, with Charles Kuralt, and this time, it was from Lake Placid, New York, the site of the 1980 Winter Olympics. There, life was going on as it had been after the Olympics and before the war, though some enterprising locals had just up a sign outside the Olympic Ice Hockey arena, where the U.S. Hockey Team had beaten the Soviets in the “Miracle on Ice.” The sign read: “Squaw Valley 1960, Lake Placid 1980, Wichita, Pueblo, El Paso, 1987.” When Mr. Kuralt asked the Mayor about the sign, the response was, “Why not?” After Cronkite signed off, Smitty, the barkeep, switched the TV to ESPN, which was showing a rerun of a 1982 Raiders-Chiefs football game.

“Any newspapers today?” Mark Ellis wondered out loud.

“Probably tomorrow,” Sweaty said. “We didn't get much on the C-141 today.”

“No kidding,” Flossy said from her table.

“Tomorrow,” the CO said. “We may be getting two new birds from Japan. If not, the next day.”

“New crews?” Hoser asked.

“Don't know yet.”


After dinner, people headed for either the pool table or the poker games that always sprung up, and General Yeager noticed that what he had heard about Kara was quite true. For he saw several Marines and Navy challenge her at the pool table, and all had come out with their wallets lightened. When Guru went back to the bar to get another round for his flight, Yeager tapped him on the shoulder. “Major.”

“General?” Guru asked.

“I see some of what they told me about your Captain Thrace is dead on,” Yeager said in his West Virginia drawl. “She really that good?”

“She's that good, sir. Good enough that nobody in the squadron takes her on unless it's a friendly game,” said Guru. “Sir, I'd pass the word to your people to stay away from her unless they have the cash. She doesn't take checks, and doesn't do IOUs. And if you can't pay? Well, uh, she has an....alternative payment plan.”

“Which General Tanner told me about. Word's gotten around about her.....antics. I'll let my people know. Thanks for the warning, Major.”

“You're welcome, sir,” Guru nodded. He got the second round, then went back to the table. “I just warned General Yeager about Kara.”

“What'd he say?” Brainiac asked.

“He thanked me for the warning.”

Dave Golen came over, and asked, “Are we going to hear some of his stories?”

“Tomorrow night,” Guru noted. “He and his people want to get settled in. The General didn't say, but I'll bet any amount of money they do some flying tomorrow.” He glanced over at the table occupied by the F-20 pilots., which still had quite a few AF, Marine, and Navy pilots talking with them. “They're still arguing.”

Sweaty nodded. “Talked to them a few minutes ago,” she said. “They think the F-20's the greatest thing since the P-51.”

“I imagine folks who fly the F-15 or F-16 are going to have something to say about that,” Hoser nodded. “Then there's us, and everyone else who flies the Rhino.”

“No arguing that,” Guru said. “I asked General Yeager where in the cockpit was the slot for the quarter, and he laughed.”

Heads nodded at that, and Sweaty added, “Said the same thing to one of those young pups. Clancy, I think. He just shrugged and said, 'You get used to it.'”

“With us, it's the F-15E, when it gets here,” KT pointed out. “WSOs aren't going out of style anytime soon when those puppies show.”

“Here's to that,” Goalie said, raising her beer bottle.

“Hear, hear,” the others chimed in.


About twenty minutes until twelve-hour kicked in, Guru and the others noticed one of the F-20 drivers had left that conversation and found a table for herself. They also noticed she already had had two beers and was working on a third, and Guru recognized her as Quinn, the one he and General Yeager had talked about. Collaring Goalie, Sweaty, and Preacher, he went over to talk to her. “Captain,” he said. “You look kind of moody. Care to talk about it?”

She nodded, just as General Yeager came over. “Might as well,” she said. “Misery loves company. Especially today.”

“What's so special about today?” Sweaty asked.

Quinn took her wallet out of a flight suit pocket and showed the 335th crews and the General a photo of her and another woman. “My older sister, Daria,” she said. “She was in the Air Force already when this all started.”

“Nice looking girl,” Preacher said, and both General Yeager and Guru nodded.

“What happened?” Yeager asked.

“Sir, she was a T-37 IP at Vance AFB in Oklahoma when the war started. She and the rest of them got out, some east of the Mississippi, others west of the Rockies. She was one who went west. When combat was opened to women, she volunteered for F-111s.”

The General and the 335th people exchanged glances. That was nasty flying, going in on the deck in the deep-strike mission. “Where'd she go?” Goalie asked.

“After F-111 training? Florida. When one of the two wings in England came back, they sent a detachment down to Florida to fly strikes into Cuba. Quinn said. “She had four months of F-111 training at Mountain Home, then they sent her there.”

“She's MIA?” Yeager asked. “Or....”

“The former, sir,” Quinn said. “She and her navigator were shot down someplace near Havana. Place called Bejucal. They said it was a Soviet HQ complex.”

Guru nodded sympathetically. He'd flown his share of hairy missions. “The escape capsule fire?” He meant the F-111's escape capsule instead of ejection seats.

“It did,” Quinn nodded back, in between slugs of beer. She had nearly finished the bottle, and with ten minutes to twelve-hour, she wanted another, and waved to Smitty.

“That's enough, Captain,” Yeager said. In his voice, everyone recognized the firmness of command. “You're flying tomorrow, and you've had enough.”

“Yes, sir.” she replied. Though right now, Quinn felt she wasn't drunk enough.

Goalie looked at Quinn. “So that's it? Just the capsule firing?”

“The beeper, too,” replied Quinn. “But....that's all. No voice contact, nothing. They went in as a two-ship, and apart from a couple of F-105 Weasel Thuds, and an F-4 flight as MIGCAP, that's it.” She finished her beer, then went on. “They told Mom and Dad a few months later that a POW identified herself as Daria read a 'confession' over Havana Radio, and someone who said she was Jane did the same thing. Other than that? Nothing. They're not on the POW list.”

Sin Licon, the intel officer for the 335th, came over. “Sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear.” He introduced himself. “They don't just rely on radio broadcasts. Intel usually needs photos or video before they'll transfer somebody to the POW list.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Yeager said, just as Doc Waters announced that the Twelve-hour Rule was now in effect. “Quinn? When aircrew curfew sounds, go find your bunk, get a good night's shut-eye, and be ready to fly in the morning. We'll be giving some of these Phantom Phanatics a taste of what we can do.”

“Yes, sir!” Quinn's face brightened. Flying was the best therapy, it seemed.


With two more hours to kill before aircrew curfew, people tried their luck at the pool table or poker games, and Kara held court at the former this night. And to her surprise, General Olds came over. Both laid down their money, then people stopped what they were doing to watch. It didn't take long for experience to show its worth, for the General took Kara for $50.00. She came over to Guru's table in a rage. “Well?” The CO asked.

“I want my money back,” Kara grumbled. “And with twelve-hour, I can't get sloppy drunk.”

Guru nodded sympathetically. “Make up for it tomorrow, and make those F-20 guys pay. They're fair game, remember?”

She let out an evil-looking grin. “My pleasure. And I'll get my money back from General Olds while I'm at it.”

“Be careful,” Goalie said. “Remember, he's been doing this since your parents were kids.”

“Don't remind me.” Kara said.


Time flew by, then Doc Waters announced, “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!” It was 2100. Those on the flight schedule headed off to their billets, for soon, it would be 0430, and that meant another day on the firing line.

[jemhouston]

Yeager and Olds are the exceptions to the No Old Bold Pilot rule.

[Matt Wiser]

Part IV: General Yeager determines Frank's future, while the 335th and MAG-11 find a new and dangerous threat:


10 November, 1987: 335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX. 1130 Hours Central War Time:


In his office, Guru was going over some papers. Nothing that was really important, but even for a CO, there were small things that required his attention. One thing, he knew, was that the PME that he was supposed to be getting would have prepared him for this, but now.... He shook his head, and noticed that these could really be handled by the XO. Since the Exec had gone out just after he did, that stuff just got put into his IN box. Oh, well....Guru got up, picked up the papers, and left his office. He found the XO's desk, and Capt. Mark Ellis, the Exec. “Mark.”

“Boss?” The XO replied. “What's this?”

“Just some stuff that the XO could handle. You and I were both out, when it came in. So, here you go.” Guru put the papers on the Exec's desk. “If you have to, just sign 'For the Commanding Officer', and go from there.”

Ellis nodded. “Thanks a heap, Boss.” He took the papers.

“Well, Mark, when you're a CO, you can torment your Exec the same way.”

“Something to look forward to,” said Ellis. Then Kara came over.

“What's up?” The CO asked his Assistant Ops Officer.

“Don's out, and they gave this to me,” she said. “We're on CAS until sunset. Those East Germans got reinforced, with some of their own, and some Russians. So it's shaping up to be a nice little brawl.”

“Lovely,” both CO and XO said almost at once. “What else?” Guru asked.

She handed Guru a sheet. “Updated weather. Cold front moving in through Colorado and Kansas, and we're going to feel some of it. No rain, but mid- and upper-level clouds. Highs in the fifties, beginning tomorrow, lows in the upper thirties to low forties.”

“Anything else?”

Two new F-4s from Japan left McClellan an hour ago. Should be here sometime this afternoon.”

“Good,” replied the CO. New birds were always welcome. “Anything about the crews?”

Kara shook her head. “We don't get to keep them, if that's what you want to know. They'll get here, then RON and have to leave tomorrow.”

Major Wiser considered that little bit of news. New birds, but no new crews. Well, he had enough unassigned pilots and WSOs to put together new crews, and get people out of temp assignments. And he could express his displeasure in another way..... “All right. If we can't keep them, then you can fleece them tonight. Send them back on tomorrow's C-141 with their wallets considerably lightened.”

Hearing that, Kara let out a grin. “With pleasure.”

“All right. Mark?” Guru turned to his Exec. “Let me know when those two birds get here.”

“Will do,” Ellis replied. “Oh, there's this: some of our people have gotten some F-20 time.”

The CO nodded. “Okay....What's the feedback?”

“Mostly it's, the, well....'Give it to the Aggressors or Guard and Reserve after the war.' No WSOs have taken a ride yet, either.”

Kara nodded. “Because if the Air Force keeps the F-20, they're out of a job.” She had already heard from Brainiac about that, and she actually agreed with him. Having a second pair of eyes in the cockpit had been a life-saver more than once, and enabled her to concentrate on flying the aircraft.

“Goalie said the same thing,” Guru noted. “F-15E, when it comes, is our future. Not this little....toy.”

Just then, Goalie came by. “Got our lunch, Boss.” She had a plastic bag with two food containers and a carrier for two paper cups.

“Okay. Be right there,” Guru said. “Mark? You and Kara get something to eat yourselves. Won't be that long before time to head back out.”

Both nodded. “Understood, Major,” the Exec said. And when anyone used rank, it meant the issue was taken very seriously.

Guru then turned to his WSO. “Let's eat.” They went into his office, and she took out the food. “Well?”

“Two cheeseburgers with fries and Cole slaw,” she said. “Lemonade to drink.”

“Bison burgers or beef?”

“They didn't say,” Goalie nodded. “The Marines didn't fix these. And those F-20 jocks seem to like those Tri-tip sandwiches.”

Guru shook his head. “Their death wish is their command,” he said. “Let's eat.”

They ate, and as they did, they talked about the morning's missions. “More East Germans and Russians this afternoon?” Goalie asked.

Guru nodded. “Yep. Same drill as this morning.”

“Where are the Hogs?” She wanted to know. Hogs meant A-10s. Whose pilots lived, breathed, and did everything CAS.

“Some are around, but the rest are busy further west.”


They had just finished eating when the CO's Secretary, Staff Sergeant Tricia Lord, knocked on his door. “Yeah?”

“Major, General Yeager's coming to see you,” She said.

“Guess I'd better be going,” Goalie said. “Is this about Frank?”

“Let's hope so.”


The door opened again, and General Yeager came into the CO's office. He saw the CO and his GIB stand up, and he said, “As you were.”

“General,” Major Wiser said. “What can we do for you?”

“I'd like to talk privately, Major,” Yeager said in his West Virginia drawl. “It's about a certain officer you mentioned last night.”

“Guess I'd be going, then,” Goalie said. “Sir?”

“Lieutenant,” Yeager said.

“One moment. Check on the rest of our flight-and that includes Dave Golen and Flossy. They've been with us all morning, and chances are, they're still going to be with us. If everyone's eaten, get them to the briefing room, and have Kara find out when we're going again.”

“Will do, Major,” Goalie said. “General?”

“Have a back seat ride in the D model, Lieutenant. I know you WSOs aren't that keen on the -20, for good reason. Think of it as a sneak preview of the F-15E,” Yeager told Goalie. “If you don't mind some advice.”

She smiled. “I'll pass it to the other WSOs, General,” Goalie said. Then she left the office, closing the door behind her.

“General,” Major Wiser said. “I take it you want to see Major Frank Carson's file?”

“You read my mind, Major,” Yeager replied. “Got a formal request to join the F-20 program right here.” The General threw a piece of paper on the CO's desk.

“Well, sir,” the CO nodded as he went to get Carson's 201 File and flight record. He opened the file cabinet and found what he was looking for. “You're not going to like it.”

Yeager looked at him, then sat down at the CO's desk. “Hope you don't mind my borrowing your desk, Major.” He took the files from the Major.

“Not at all, sir.”

General Yeager opened the 201 File and read it. And Major Wiser noticed a scowl on Yeager's face as he read the material. “Major? If this had been West Virginia, that Wing Commander at Elmendorf would have been justified in getting a shotgun and giving this guy an ass load of buckshot. Or marching him and his daughter down to the Chaplain for a twelve-gauge nuptial.”

“General, they still do that?” Major Wiser asked.

“Once in a while,” Yeager replied. “Now I know why this Flossy Jenkins has this stare at Carson in the Officer's Club.”

“Yes,sir. She's got the 'Don't fuck with me look'. Uh, sir...”

“And if that stare happened to be daggers, he'd be bleeding out,” Yeager observed. “Have you.....?”

Guru nodded. “Sir, he has taken his last airman to bed, and he's on notice. Shape up by New Year's Eve, or he's sent packing. My only problem with that is that I'd be inflicting him on a fellow officer who'd be wondering what he's done to deserve Carson arriving.”

Yeager nodded. “Unfortunately, that's the case with these things. Had my share of these clowns back in WW II. Either West Pointers or Ivy Leaguers who thought they knew everything. And they wouldn't listen when they were told about other ways of getting things done.”

“General, he's the same thing. General Tanner and Colonel Rivers both have put letters in his file expressing their....exasperation with the Major.”

“So I see,” Yeager said, shaking his head. “He does look good on paper, but his attitude, and peacetime mentality two years into a war. I'll ask now: why haven't you transferred him?”

Major Wiser shook his head. “Sir, two reasons. First, Colonel Rivers said in a note he left for me just in case I got the squadron, to give Carson a chance to turn over a new leaf and shape up. He may be doing that now, but I'll wait and see if it holds. Second? The two of us have a history, and if I did send him packing, he could go to JAG and claim retaliation.”

“Not surprised, Major,” said Yeager sympathetically. “Let's see his flight record.”

Major Wiser handed the General Carson's flight record. “You won't like it, sir.”

Yeager nodded as he read the file. “Flight lead, then he lost it?” The General asked as he read further. '”Six crews in his flight shot out from under him?”

Nodding, the CO said, “Yes, sir. After the sixth, Colonel Rivers busted him down to element lead and he's been there ever since. Three of those crews lost were his wingmen, by the way.”

General Yeager read through the rest of the file. “Well, he does look good on paper, which is probably why he was sent to this squadron.” He shook his head. “If it wasn't for the need for warm bodies in cockpits, he'd be behind a desk somewhere.”

“Sir, you're not the only one to say that,” Major Wiser said.

Yeager nodded, then closed the file. “Major, I'll let him know the night before we leave, and that's in three days. But I can tell you now: any orientation flight will be his first-and last-ride in one of my airplanes. He's not going into the program.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the Major. “Well, then. That's that.”

“It is,” Yeager agreed. “Now...” He was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come on in!”

The office door opened and it was Kara. “Guru-oops, sorry, General,” she said. “Major, we've got a mission. They want us wheels up in fifteen minutes.”

“Back to work,” Major Wiser said. “General?” He saw Yeager nod. “Okay, Kara? Get everyone geared up. We going as a four-ship or six?”

“Six,” came the reply.

Guru nodded. “All right. Tell everybody to meet at 512. Get going.”

“I'm gone,” she said. “General,” Kara nodded, then she went to notify the rest of the flight.

Major Wiser turned to Yeager. “General, if you'll excuse me, I've got somewhere to be and business to take care of.”

“Get going, Major. We'll talk later. Just try and bring everyone back.” Yeager told him.

“Do my best, sir,” Major Wiser said. “No guarantees in this business.”

“As I'm well aware,” nodded the General. “Get going.”

Major Wiser snapped a salute, then went to gear up. When he came out of the Men's Locker Room, he found Goalie waiting outside, all set to go. “You ready?” He asked.

“We're back in the saddle,” his GIB replied. “Time to go to work.”

Both went out and headed to 512's revetment. They found the rest of the flight, not just the other three usual crews, but Dave Golen and Flossy's crews as well. “Guru,” Golen said. “Time to get back in the game?”

“It is,” Guru said. “Okay, same drill as this morning. We check in with AWACS, then they hand us off to Tampa.” Tampa was the EC-130 ABCCC command plane that controlled CAS missions. “After that, they give us a FAC.”

“And if we don't get a FAC?” Sweaty asked.

“There's a few targets we can go to instead,” Guru reminded them. “Weather's still the same, as are bailout areas. Assume the MiGs are still active. If they're running? Let them run. Mark's flight after their second run had a pair of MiG-23s try and lure them within range of an SA-8 battery. So be careful.”

“Got you, Boss,” Hoser replied. “Usual on the radio?”

The CO nodded. “Call signs between us, mission code to AWACS and other parties. Now, we'll be at this rest of the afternoon. Any other questions?”

Kara nodded, as did Flossy, who said, “This is shaping up to be a brawl.”

“She took my question,” Kara laughed. “But she's right.”

“It is,” Guru nodded. “Russians moved in a division to help the East Germans, and First Cav, 11th Airborne, and 3rd ACR are giving these chumps a good 'Welcome to Texas.' So that's what's up. Any other questions?” Heads shook no. “All right, time to go,” the CO said, clapping his hands. “Let's hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie found Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, waiting. He snapped a salute. “Major,” Crowley said. “And Lieutenant. Five-Twelve's ready for you.”

“Thanks,Sergeant,” Major Wiser replied. He and Goalie did a quick walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, they did a quick preflight in the cockpit. “If I had my way, I'd leave this to the Hog drivers.”

“You're not the only one, thinking that way,” Goalie said as she went through the checklist. “They busy?”

“Some are around, but most of 'em are further west,” Guru said. “And that's all they told me.. Ejection seat armed top and bottom.”

“Same here. Preflight checklist complete.”

“Time for engine start,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to his CC, and Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start engines” signal. One, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running, Once the run-up was finished, it was time to taxi. “Tower, Corvette Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Charlie. You are number two in line. Hold prior to the active.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Lead is rolling.” Guru said. He gave another thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley motioned to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the wheels, then he gave the “Taxi” signal to the pilot.

Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, then he taxied towards the runway. The flight was right behind a Marine F-4 flight, and after they taxied for takeoff, it was Corvette Flight's turn. The flight taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties, and after the Marines took off, it was their turn. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Flight, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff,” the tower controller said. “Winds are two-six-eight for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed right behind in 520. He glanced over at their Five O'clock, and saw Kara's bird tucked in position. Both crews gave the thumbs-up, then it was time. “Canopy coming down.” He pulled his canopy down and locked, it. Goalie did the same, and so did Kara and Brainiac. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

Guru didn't reply to the tower, but he told Goalie. “Time to go.”

“Ready,” Goalie said.

“Let's go.” He ran his throttles to full power, released his brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air. Kara was right with him in 520, right in with her flight leader. Then it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, and right behind them were Dave Golen and Flossy. The six-ship formed up, then headed south for their tanker rendezvous.





Over Central Texas, 1235 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight had topped off from the tankers, and as they orbited, both at the tanker track and in the holding pattern after checking in with AWACS, the crews noticed the area was busy. Air Force, Marines, and Navy aircraft were stacked up, waiting their turn. Whatever this was, it was a major effort, and and everyone could see it.

They were now at 11,000 feet, with traffic stacked up in thousand-foot intervals all the way up to 25,000 feet, and when the flight had checked in with AWACS, they had been handed off to Tampa, the EC-130E Airborne Command Post, with the command, “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.” So they had waited, descending in altitude as strike flights ahead of them were passed on to FACS or ETACs (Enlisted Tactical Air Controllers), to go in. “All this proves one thing,” Guru said to Goalie over the IC.

“What's that?” She replied.

“Simple: the Air Force is like everyone else in the military. Hurry up and wait.”

Goalie laughed. “And we're the ones who expect a five-star hotel when we go to war.”

“And we got one,” Guru reminded her, recalling the squadron's stay at the Mesa Sheraton while based at Williams. “For a while, anyway.”

“Guru, Starbuck,” Kara called. “Anything from Tampa? Those clowns know we can't orbit forever.”

“Nothing yet,” Guru said. “When they call us, we'll know it.”

“Guru, Sweaty,” another call came. “Just checked the strike frequency. Some of it's pretty hairy.”

“Define 'hairy'.” Hoser asked.

“A four-ship of A-10s went in. Two of 'em came out,” Sweaty came back. “That fit the definition?”

“I'd say it does,” Guru said.

Then one of the controllers on the EC-130 came on the line. “Corvette Lead, Tampa. We have tasking for you. Contact Nail Five-six.”

“Roger, Tampa. Contact Nail Five-six.” Guru replied. He got on the frequency to talk to the FAC. “Nail Five-six, Corvette Lead.”

“Corvette, Nail,” the FAC said. “Got some tasking for you. Say type of aircraft and ordnance.”

“Nail, Corvette Flight is six Foxtrot-Four Echoes. We have four birds with one-two Rockeyes each bird, two with one-two Mark-82 Snakeyes. All have full air-to-air and gun.”

“Roger, Corvette. Be advised the bad guys are Ivan, and that divisional level air defense is the threat. We have Zulu-Sierra-Uniform Three-Zero in the area, along with Gadflies.” That meant the new ZSU-30-2 SPAAG and the SA-11 Gadfly SAM. The 335th had never encountered the former, and the latter was considered to be very bad news.

Beneath his oxygen mask, Guru gulped. The gun they had been briefed on, but had never encountered. The SA-11 was familiar, and nasty. This was the first time they had run into both at once. “Uh, Roger that, Nail. Are there Weasels in the area?”

“Good question,” Goalie muttered over the IC.

The FAC came back. “That's affirmative, Corvette, and we have a Spark Vark and a Prowler doing standoff jamming.”

“Copy,” replied Guru. “Can you have friendlies take out any ground based air defense?”

“Can do, Corvette,” the FAC said. “Stand by one.” Down below, fireballs erupted as Army gunners found their targets. “That's your target area, Corvette.”

Guru took a deep breath. “Roger that, Nail. Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and let's go in.”

In the back seat, Goalie worked the armament switches. “Good to go here. Switches set.”

“Good girl. Ready?” He asked as he turned on his ECM pod

“All set.”

“Let's go,” Guru said as he rolled in on his attack run.


Down below, the commander of the 188th Guards Motor-Rifle Regiment, 144th Guards Motor-Rifle Division, was anxious, but confident. The division had arrived in Texas back in September, and after disembarking from the ships in Corpus Christi, had spent a month shaking down and training. They had been deployed around a town called Cuero, and though there had been no serious activity from the Counterrevolutionary bandits who called themselves the Resistance, the attitude of the local population had been such that had the terrain been favorable, there would have been. Even so, anti-Soviet graffiti, cut phone lines, slashed tires, and the surly attitude of the locals were enough to show the soldiers-most of whom were reservists from Estonia, that they were not welcome.

Now, the division had moved forward to the front, but a last-minute change in plans had come about. Instead of going to the Dallas area, the division had been alerted while transiting north that a situation had developed in the East German sector, and their baptism of fire would come sooner than expected.

When the division had arrived, the divisional commander had gone to the East German headquarters, then returned to brief the regimental commanders. The East Germans were pushing a spoiling attack north, and had been mauled a couple of times, but Front Headquarters had insisted on the attack, to prevent the Americans' III Corps from pushing south and cutting Interstate 35, one of the two major supply routes to the Dallas area. The objective was a town called Lipan, and though it showed on aerial reconnaissance photos as more a collection of ruins than a town, it controlled several local roads, and was thus important from that perspective.

Now, the regiment was moving on the division's right flank, moving past what the map said was Star Hollow Lake, and headed to the northwest. The briefing said that the Americans had the First Cavalry Division to the north and northwest, with the 11th Airborne Division to the northeast, with an Armored Cavalry Regiment, which one was unclear, nearby as well, exact location unknown. No matter, his regiment, and the rest of the division, would push north and take the objective, teaching these Americans a lesson, and showing these East German reservists how things ought to be done in the process. A pity none of those useless Libyans were around, for they could absorb enemy defensive fire, thus sparing the lives of some of his own men, and then his regiment would run them over.

The Colonel was in his command vehicle, a modified BTR-70, and he stuck his head out a hatch for a better look. Suddenly, tank fire came from the north, and two of his 2S6 antiaircraft vehicles exploded, along with a Strela-10 SAM (SA-13 Gopher) vehicle, then another. He glanced around, searching for the enemy, then he took a look to the south. Smoke trails in the air, and getting close. He knew what that meant, and shouted into his throat mike “AIR ATTACK WARNING-SOUTH!”

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he went down on the Russians down below. Fireballs erupting as vehicles were hit and died showed the Army was taking care of the air-defense threat, or so he hoped. What looked like a full regiment was on the move, moving in battalion columns, and taking fire from their right flank. Just as long as there wasn't friendly artillery shooting, as it was bad news if a 155 shell and his F-4 shared the same airspace at the same time......and apart from tracers from heavy machine guns, there was no serious fire coming. Yet. No matter. Guru picked out a battalion as was deploying into formation and decided it was their turn. He lined up some APCs in his pipper and muttered, “Steady....steady......and HACK!” The CO hit his pickle button, and a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off the racks. He pulled wings level and went to full military power, calling out on the radio, “Lead's off target.”

The Colonel watched as Guru's F-4 came overhead. He was relieved to see that his regimental command group was not a target, but watched as the Phantom released its load, and it happened to be CBUs. Second Battalion was hit, and several APCs and tanks were hit by the bomblets and either began to burn or just plain exploded. He watched as a 2S6 fired on the F-4, but there was no fireball in the air, and the Colonel shouted into the throat mike, “DISPERSE!”

In 512, Goalie shouted, “SHACK! We got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as he jinked to avoid ground fire, and those 30-mm tracers looked like basketballs as they went by above the canopy.

“Got a few.”

“Copy that,” replied Guru as he turned north and headed for the I-20.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she followed the CO in. She saw the fireballs erupt as Guru made his run, and she picked out what looked like tanks, just behind the APCs. That would be the regimental tank battalion, she knew. Kara lined up what looked like the battalion's command vehicles in her pipper, and ignored the tracers coming her way. Even what looked like an SA-7 or -14 didn't faze her, as it flew harmlessly by. “Steady.....and....and....NOW!” Kara hit the pickle button, releasing her Rockeyes. She copied the CO, pulling wings level, jinking, and increasing her throttle. “Two's off safe,” she called.


“DAMN!” The Colonel shouted as 520 flew over, and released its bombs on the Regimental tank battalion. He watched as several APCs and support vehicles took hits and either burned or, in the case of fuel trucks, fireballed, then a T-72B tank fireballed as well. That meant the battalion commander was now dead. The Colonel tried to contact the battalion's chief of staff, but there was no reply. He turned around and radioed his own deputy to rally the battalion, and, if need be, take over the tank battalion. Before he got an acknowledgment, the Colonel saw another F-4 coming in.


“SHACK!” Brainiac called from the back seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as she, too, avoided 30-mm fire. “Somebody needs to take that guy out.”

“Got a few, and I'm not arguing the last.”

Kara nodded in her cockpit as she picked up the CO's bird and followed him north.


Sweaty rolled in on her run. “Three's hot!” she called as she came down onto the target area. She noticed the battalion on the right flank, and decided they needed some attention. Ignoring tracer fire from machine guns, as well as MANPADS, Sweaty lined up several APCs in her pipper. Your turn, Ivan...she thought as she called, “HACK!” A dozen more Rockeyes came off racks when she hit the pickle button. She,, too, pulled wings level and added power as she headed to the north, jinking as she did so. “Three off target.”

“Of all the...” the Colonel said as Sweaty's F-4 flew by to his right. He watched as the bombs came off and the despised CBUs exploded on his Third Battalion. Several more APCs and tanks fireballed as a result, and the Colonel was now in a rage. He was on the radio, demanding to know where the air defenders were, as two Strela-3 shoulder-fired missiles (SA-14s) were fired at the departing aircraft. One of the regiment's surviving Strela-10 vehicles fired on the F-4, but, suddenly, it was engulfed in a fireball as it took fire from the regiment's right. Where.....

“GOOD HITS!” Preacher yelled.

“How good?” Sweaty wanted to know. She was jinking to avoid some 30-mm tracers coming up. Those things were glowing basketballs as they went by....

“Righteous!” The ex-seminary student turned GIB replied.

Sweaty grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Good enough!” She, too, headed north for the I-20.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he went in. He picked up some unattacked vehicles on the left flank of the regiment and selected those as his target. Hoser ignored the flak coming his way, some of it from the regiment down below, while some came from a unit on the left. No matter, he thought, as a group of APCs and a few tanks grew larger and larger....”Steady, steady....and.....NOW!” He hit the pickle button, releasing his Rockeyes. Then he pulled wings level and accelerated away, dodging flak and even a couple of missiles, SA-19s, as it turned out later. “Four's off target.”

“NYET!” Shouted the Colonel as Hoser's F-4 flew past to his left. He watched helplessly as CBUs rained down on First Battalion, his best, and watched through binoculars as several BTR-70 APCs took hits from the bomblets and either caught fire or simply became fireballs. Groaning, the Colonel contacted the Major commanding First Battalion, and ordered him to continue forward. He did the same with the other two battalions. That was the only way out of this. Forward.

“We got secondaries!” KT shouted from the back seat of Hoser's bird.

“Good ones?” Hoser asked as a missile flew over the canopy, and some 30-mm tracers followed in its wake. He dodged the flak, and headed north as he did so.

KT glanced back. “Good ones!”

“I'll take that,” said Hoser as he picked up his element leader.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen said as he rolled in. As he did, he noticed a cluster of vehicles behind the regimental-sized force, and that had to be regimental artillery. He came down on them, and sure enough, what looked like trucks and towed artillery pieces were in their field positions, ready to fire. Dave, too, ignored the flak that came up, both 30-mm from the 2S6s, but also 23-mm from the artillery battalion's position No matter. Ivan....”Ready, ready....and.....NOW!” He hit his pickle button, and released his CBUs. Dave pulled level and went full throttle as he headed out, not noticing the 23-mm and 30-mm flak flying past his aircraft, though his GIB did, and involuntarily ducked in the back seat. “Five off safe,” Dave called.

“DAMN!” The Colonel shouted as Dave's F-4 flew overhead. He looked back, and saw numerous explosions where his Regimental Artillery battalion had deployed. His guns were all towed D-30 122-mm pieces, and where one battery had been, there was just explosions as the guns and their ammunition trucks blew up. Not now.....

“SHACK!” Golen's GIB shouted. “We hit the ammo trucks!”

“You sure about that?” Golen asked as he saw a missile fly across their path.

The reply came back at once. “Really sure! Those secondaries were really big.”

“Righteous, as our friend Preacher would say.” Golen jinked again to avoid flak, then turned north for I-20.


“Six is in!” Flossy called She rolled in, and picked out some vehicles in the center of the Regiment. The command group, maybe? Well, Ivan, you're having a bad day, and it's going to be worse. Ignoring the flak, and a few IR missiles that weren't guiding, Flossy selected her target, and the APCs grew bigger as she lined them up. “Steady, Steady....and...HACK!” More Rockeye CBUs rained down on the Soviets. After she released her bombs, Flossy pulled out and away, following her element lead north. “Six off target.”

The Colonel had pulled up in his command BTR-60 and was talking over the radio with his remaining commanders. Though the tank battalion commander had been killed, along with the command element, the senior company commander had been swiftly appointed to take over, while the other motor-rifle battalion commanders were still going. The Colonel ordered the regiment to keep moving forward, and as he was giving orders and checking his map, he never heard Flossy's F-4 come in. He only saw the plane as it flew overhead, and CBUs rained down. Several of the regimental command group's vehicles took hits and either caught fire or exploded, but he never saw the bomblets that hit his own vehicle. No one in the BTR-60 was able to scream as the APC became a fireball......

“GOOD HITS!” Jang called from 1569's back seat.

“How good?” Asked Flossy as she avoided some 30-mm fire. Those tracers were like basketballs....and she dreaded the thought of bailing out in the middle of some angry Russians. But she avoided the flak, and headed north, jinking as she did so.

“Good enough!”

“I'll take that,” Flossy replied as a missile, what kind she didn't know, flew over the canopy. She picked up Dave Golen's bird and followed him out. Just as she had a visual on Dave's bird, she heard a yell on the IC.

“BREAK RIGHT, NOW!” Jang yelled.

Without thinking, Flossy broke right and as she pulled hard to the right, two missile trails flew by 1569. She did a full 360, and as she got back on course, Flossy had a look around. “Where'd they come from?”

“Don't know,”

“Lead, Six, we're coming out, but somebody took a shot at us.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. 'Nail, Corvette Lead. How'd we do?”

“Corvette, Nail. I give you a four-decimal-zero. Good bombs on target-” then there was a burst of static.

“Lead, Sweaty. Got a fireball in the air. Ten O'clock high, maybe two miles.” Sweaty called.

Guru took a look, as did Goalie. They saw what looked like an A-7 tumbling out of the sky in flames, and there were no chutes. “Got it. Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Nail Five-six is down. No chutes I can see.”

“Copy that, Corvette Lead,” the AWACS controller replied. “ Can you verify negative chutes?”

Goalie kept looking as the A-7 slammed into the ground and a large fireball came up. “Don't see any.”

“Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Confirmed. Negative chutes.”

“Roger, Corvette Lead.”

There was silence as Corvette Flight egressed to the I-20. Between Flossy and Jang's close call and seeing the FAC go down, these Russians were not only on the ball, but had something that the 335th had never faced before. Only when they hit the tankers for the post-strike refueling did the adrenalin stop flowing. After clearing the tankers and heading for Sheppard did the usual post-strike banter kick in, but it was still subdued.

Corvette Flight then got back to Sheppard, and found they were second in the pattern after a four-ship of Marine Hornets. When it was their turn, they came in and landed, and as they taxied back to their squadron's dispersal area, the crews noticed the F-20 guys watching them, while the TV crew filmed the planes as they taxied in. “Want to bet those guys were wishing they went down south?” Guru asked his GIB.

“No bet, and that's one Kara won't take,” Goalie replied. “Aren't they supposed to stay away from combat unless they have no choice?”

“That's my impression,” Guru said. “But given the chance, they'll bend that restriction if they think they can get away with it.”

“Including General Yeager?”

“Maybe.” Guru then taxied 512 into its revetment, and got the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief. While the ground crew went to work, and the crew popped their canopies, pilot and GIB did a post-flight check, then the ground crew brought the crew ladder. “Four and done for today.”

“How many more? Seven's the record during PRAIRIE FIRE, and we set that three days in a row.”

“Don't remind me,” the CO said as he stood up in the cockpit. Then he and Goalie got down from the aircraft. “Right now, what was shooting at us?”

“That's what I'd like to know,” Goalie said as she took a bottle of water offered her by a ground crew member, and promptly began downing half of it.

Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, came up. “How'd it go, Major?” he asked, giving the CO a bottle of water as he did so.

“Gave some Russians a Rockeye welcome to Texas,” Guru said. He and Goalie did a post-flight walk-around. “No damage, Sergeant, and Five-Twelve's still truckin'. Get her turned around, because we'll be back at it before too long.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. He turned to the ground crew. '”You heard the Major. Let's get this bird ready for another one.”

Guru and Goalie went to the entrance to the revetment, and found Kara and Brainiac waiting. “How'd it go, Kara?”

“Who were those guys, and what were they shooting?” Kara asked. “Those tracers were big.”

“ZSU-30-2 is what the FAC said,” Guru replied as Sweaty, Hoser, and their GIBs arrived. “Don't think we've run into those before.”

“What are those?” KT asked.

“I'd like to know myself,” Dave Golen said as he and Flossy, with their GIBs, came up. “Those were some very large tracers.”

“Come on, let's debrief, get something to eat, and get ready to go,” Guru said. “Still got a ways to go.”

When they got to the squadron office, Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon, their intelligence officer, was waiting. “Major, glad to see you. Intel just sent word Ivan's using the ZSU-30-2 down there.”

“Just now?” Guru asked. “What are those things? We've never run into any before.”

“All they tell me is it's on a tank chassis, turret with two 30-mm guns, eight SA-19 SAMs, and a good radar. Captured a few at Wichita, and they're still being evaluated at either Aberdeen or China Lake.”

“Find out what you can from MAG-11's intel people,” Guru told the Intel. “Especially on the radar and the missiles. If we're going to be facing those in the future....”

“Hope not every day,” Flossy said.

“You never know,” Dave Golen reminded everyone.

“Major Golen's right, sir,” the Intel said.

Guru nodded. “Okay, let's talk inside. Get debriefed, something inside you, and get ready to go back out.” He turned to the Intel. “When we're done...”

“I'll be talking to MAG-11's Intel folks,” Licon said.

“Good man,” said Guru. “Let's get inside and take care of business.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part VI: the F-20s get into the fight, much to Guru's surprise (and everybody else's):


335th TFS Offices, 1335 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was in his office, having just come out of the mission debrief. The news that they were facing a new threat had sobered the crews, and hearing that not only had a FAC gone down, but also two A-10s, with a third Hog damaged, along with a Navy A-7 and a Marine A-4, all in the same area, was not good. He had told his Intelligence Officer to talk to MAG-11 Intelligence, and, if necessary, Tenth Air Force, to get any additional information and recommended counters. That done, he checked his IN box. Seeing nothing that required his attention, he went to the break room and found the rest of his flight, along with the Ops Officer's, getting something to eat. “What's available?”

“Boss,” the Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, replied. “Tuna, chicken, turkey, pastrami, and something brown that just sits there.”

“That'll be the pork tri-tip,” Kara quipped. “Or the suggestion thereof.”

“Avoid like the plague,” Hoser said.

“Tell that to the F-20 guys,” Van Loan's wingman, 1st Lt. Cory Tyler, said. “Those guys love these for some reason.”

Sweaty laughed. “Their death wish is their command,” she said, and the others joined in. “That Pruitt guy, for some reason, loves these.”

“His problem,” KT said. “Boss, any word on those guns?”

“Just that they're radar-guided, have SAMs along with the guns, and they're like the Gepard,” Guru said, picking up a tuna sandwich. He began to attack it. “Sin's got a query in to MAG-11 Intelligence and Tenth AF,” the CO said for the benefit of the Ops Officer and his flight.

Heads nodded at that. “Just hope he delivers,” Brainiac said.

“You, me, and everyone else in the squadron,” Van Loan nodded.

Everyone then heard the SDO's phone ring, then Hacksaw came in. “Boss? Colonel Brady on the phone for you. Says it's important.”

“Tell him I'll take it in my office,” Guru said. Then CO went into his office, still working on the sandwich. He swallowed, then picked up the phone. “Yes, sir?” He listened to Brady. “What? Those guns? Sir, is there anything from the intel folks? Not much. Yes, sir. I'll let my people know. Sir, it's too bad about Bill Poore. Yes, sir. Do our best, sir.” Guru hung up, then took a deep breath. Hoo-boy....he thought. Then he went back into the squadron's office and found the Ops Officer coming out of the break room. “Don?” He asked, and those who heard him heard the firmness of command in the CO's voice. “Who hasn't gone back out yet, besides your flight and mine?”

“Mark's people are gearing up now,” Van Loan replied. “What's up?”

“Get Mark's people as soon as they're geared up, along with yours and mine. Main Briefing Room, ASAP.”

“Got you,” Van Loan nodded. Whatever it was, he'd find out pretty soon, and he headed to round up the Exec's flight.

“Kara?” Guru asked his wingmate. “Find Darren.” Capt. Darren Licon was the Intel Officer. “Tell him to come to the briefing room with everything he has on those guns. Right now.”

She looked at him, then nodded. “On my way.” Kara went off to find the Intel.

“What's going on?” Sweaty asked.

“Dave,” Guru said to Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer.” You were in the Yom Kippur War. Wasn't fun going up against SA-6 and ZSU-23-4 for the first time, right?”

“It wasn't,” Golen replied. Then he saw the serious look on the CO's face. “Wait? Those guns?”

Guru nodded. “We may have the same thing here.”

For a minute, memories of 1973 came back to the Israeli. Facing the SA-6 and ZSU-23-4 in the first few days had cost the Israelis dear, and he had lost friends to those missiles and guns in the first few days. “I hope you're wrong, but it does look that way.”

“So do I, Dave,” the CO replied. “Let's get to the Briefing Room, people.”

When they got to the Briefing Room, not only was Mark's flight there, in full flight gear, but General Olds was there as well. “Major,” Olds said. “What's going on?” He had heard about the sudden brief.

“General,” Major Wiser said. “We may have a problem. Think Day One of the Yom Kippur War.”

Olds nodded. He knew full well what that meant. “I don't like the sound of that.”

“Neither do I, sir.”

Once everyone was in the room, the CO, with the Intel, went to address the crews. Prewar, this had been a lecture room when Sheppard had been an ATC base. Now, it was used for all-officer meetings, or mass briefs like this one. “People, you're probably wondering what this is all about. Before I turn it over to the Intel, you need to know this. I had a phone talk with Colonel Brady about ten minutes ago. In case you're wondering, it's about those guns we encountered earlier today. The Marines sent in a four-ship of F-4s from VMFA-134 about twenty minutes ago, to the same area we've been hitting. One-thirty-four's CO was leading the flight. Four went in. One came back.”

“What the...” Mark Ellis, the Exec, said. “How....?”

“Let me finish, people,” Guru said. “One crew bailed out south of I-20, and they're okay. One chute from the second aircraft, and no word yet. The flight lead went in with no chutes. Tail-end Charlie made it back only because he aborted after seeing Number Three go in.” He let that piece of news sink in.

Scorpion, from Ellis' flight, asked, “What are these guns?”

“Getting to that,” the CO nodded. “Intel?” He gestured to Sin Licon. “Your turn.”

“Folks, this system was first encountered at Wichita.” He turned on an overhead projector and laid on a transparency with a line drawing. “It's a twin mount 30-mm AA gun, with a radar that we and the Brits have code-named Hot Shot. It also has eight SAMs designated SA-19 by DOD.”

“How are the missiles guided?” Cosmo asked. She flew as Scorpion's wingmate.

“Good question,” General Olds said.

“They're not sure, but it appears to be radio command guidance,” Licon said.

Flossy and Jang looked at each other. Now they knew what had shot at, and nearly gotten, them. “Any idea of missile range?” Flossy wanted to know.

“About five miles,” Licon said. “Folks, this is all still tentative as several captured vehicles are still being evaluated at either Aberdeen or China Lake. That does include tests of the missiles.”

The crews all exchanged worried glances. “Any good news?” Sweaty asked.

“Your ECM pods do work. MAG-11's intel shop tells me that those who went down had no ECM pods. And it looks like the standoff jamming works as well. The problem with the Marines' losses? They had no pods.”

General Olds nodded. “As soon as this is done, I'm getting on the phone to General Tanner. I'll light a fire on getting you all some more ALQ-119 pods to replace your -101s, and see about the Sparrow missile situation.” He was referring to an ongoing problem with the 335th's stock of AIM-7 Sparrow AAMs.

“General, that's good to know, and thank you, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Sin?” He asked the Intel. “Any word on when the RWRs will get tweaked?”

The Intel nodded. “Best guess, Major? It's about a week. They're working on this as fast as they can.”

“Noted, Captain,” said General Olds. “Recommended counters?”

“General, everyone, best I can give is this,” Licon replied. “Go in low, go fast, and once you've delivered your ordnance, jink on your way out. That should throw off any fire-control solution if they're using visual backup if the radar is jammed.”

The crews nodded, but they also remembered the intel community's unofficial motto, “We're betting your life.” Then the CO added, “One other counter I can think of: Mark, Don? Have your FACs see if the Army can take out any air-defense assets. Don't be choosy about how they do it, just have them do it. If they take those guns out, it makes our job a lot easier.”

“Got it, Major,” Ellis replied, and Van Loan simply nodded.

“All right, then. One last thing: if you get ground fire that is too accurate, abort. Unless the friendlies we're supporting are about to be overrun, nothing down there is worth dying for,” Major Wiser said. He looked at General Olds, who nodded approval. “Get the Army to knock those guys out, hit the tanker, and come around for another one. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Major,” Elils said. Whenever someone used the CO's rank, it was serious, and everyone knew it.

“General, anything to add?” the CO asked.

Olds shook his head. “Nothing can see. You're right on the abort advice, Major,”

“Thank you, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Mark? Don? Good luck. Bring everybody back, and remember what's been said. That goes for everybody here. Any other questions?”

“Major?” Cosmo asked. “How long are we on CAS?”

“At least until the end of the day,” the CO replied. “Hopefully, the Army gets on the ball and pushes these bastards back south, and we can get back to the ATO.” He paused, then added, “To be wished for, anyway.”

“You've got that right, Major,” Kara said.

“Yeah,” Major Wiser replied. “Mark? Don? And your flights? Good luck and be careful. Because I am in no mood to write any letters today. Got it?”

Both flight leads nodded. “Got it, Major.”

“Okay, then. Let's get back in the game, people!”

With that, the meeting broke up. Ellis' flight headed on out to mount their birds, while it was time for Van Loan's to gear up. “Major, good brief,” Olds said. “I imagine it was like this for our Israeli friends back in '73,” he nodded in Dave Golen's direction.

“It was, General,” Golen said. “Not on Day One, but Day two and thereafter. Until your resupply kicked in.”

“I imagine.”

“Darren?” The CO asked the Intel Officer. “Pass this stuff on to the guys coming back. And talk to Yeager's people. They may have encountered these guns at Wichita. Any advice they can give? We'll take it.”

Licon nodded. “On my way, Major.”

“Good,” Major Wiser said. “Kara?” He asked his wingmate and Assistant Ops Officer. “Call up MAG-11 Ops and ask, on my authority, if they've heard anything from Tenth AF whether or not we're getting an ATO or are on CAS for tomorrow. Hurry, because we gear up in fifteen minutes. We're still on CAS until sunset. Unless they release us.”

“I'm gone,” Kara said. She then went to the Ops Office.

The CO surveyed the rest of his flight. “Rest of you? If you haven't gotten something to eat or drink? Do it. And take care of any latrine business, because we gear up in fifteen.”

Heads nodded, and people headed on out. “Major,” Olds said. “I need to use your office. I should let General Tanner know what's going on ASAP.”

“General, be my guest,” Major Wiser said.

“Thanks, and take your own advice when you go back out,” Olds told him.

“Will do, sir.”

“And one other thing: bring everybody back,” said the General.

“I'll do my best,sir,” Major Wiser replied. “No guarantees in this business.”

“As I know all too well,” Olds said. “Good luck, Major.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Major Wiser took his own advice and finished off his sandwich and a bottle of water. Then it was time to gear up. He went to the Men's Locker Room and got into his flight gear. When he came out, Goalie was waiting, all ready to go. “Ready?”

“Ready. Let's get it over with.”

“Nervous?” Guru asked his GIB and lover. “Day one happened so fast we didn't have time to be nervous.”

“Now that you mention it? I'm a little nervous,” she replied. “Anything special?”

“I want your head on a swivel when you're not looking at the radar or the armament panel. Keep your eyes peeled for those tracers.”

She looked back at him with a determined look. “Will do. Not ready to eat Kasha and Borscht just yet.”

“Neither am I.”

Both pilot and GIB went out of the office, and saw Van Loan's flight taking off. They went to their squadron's dispersal, and found the rest of the flight waiting at 512's revetment. “Boss,” Sweaty nodded.

“Everybody,” Guru said. He turned to Kara. “What'd you find out?”

“Two things. First,” she said. “The ATO is due in, MAG-11 said. We should be back on normal ops tomorrow.”

Preacher nodded. “Thank God.”

“And the second? Our two birds from Japan are due anytime,” Kara said.

“Good,” the CO said. “Now, usual procedures on the radio, and the same goes for bailout areas.”

Sweaty then asked, “And bad guys in the air?”

“Keep an eye out. If you can take a shot at a Hind or MiG on a ground-attack run? Do it.” Guru told them. “And remember what was said in the brief.”

Heads nodded. “Time enough for this one and one more?” Flossy asked.

“You got it.” Guru replied. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right. Let's hit it.” He clapped his hands.

The crews headed to their aircraft, and when Guru and Goalie got to 512, they found Mark-82 Snakeye bombs loaded, along with the usual air-to-air load of four Sidewinders and two Sparrows, with an ALQ-119 ECM pod in the left inboard Sparrow well. Both noted that of the bombs, those on the inboard wing stations had Daisy Cutter fuze extenders. No surprise, because on CAS, one took what was available. “Major,” Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief said. “Five-twelve's ready to go.”

“Good work, Sergeant,” the CO replied. He and Goalie did their usual walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. As they went through the preflight, Guru asked his GIB, “In the mood for Shakespeare?”

“I'll take the 'Cry Havoc' part this time,” she replied.

“One of the Henrys?” Guru asked as he wrapped up the checklist.

“Not sure,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Yours?”

“Ditto that. Preflight complete, and time to start engines.”

Guru nodded, then gave his CC a thumbs-up. Sergeant Crowley gave the signal to start engines, then first one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the run-up was finished, Guru called the Tower. “Sheppard Tower, Corvette Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower,” said Guru. “Corvette Lead is rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to Crowley, who signaled the ground crew to pull the chocks away from the tires. Once they were clear, Guru saw the CC signal him to taxi.

Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and after clearing it, Crowley snapped a salute. Both he and Goalie returned it, then Guru taxied 512 to the holding area short of the runway. There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, while the crew watched a Marine F/A-18 flight go ahead of them. Then it was their turn. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower,” the controller replied at once. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-three for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied onto the runway, then held his brakes as Kara taxied 520 into his Five O'clock. Both crews exchanged thumbs-ups, then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Goalie said. She closed and locked her canopy as Guru did the same. She glanced at 520 and saw theirs down and locked. “All set.”

“Then let's go,” Guru said. He pushed the throttles to full power, released the brakes, and, with 520 right with him, rolled 512 down the runway and into the air. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty's element, and thirty seconds after that, Dave Golen's. After meeting up at 10,000 feet, the flight set course south for the tanker track at Mineral Wells.



Sheppard AFB, TX: 1400 Hours Central War Time:


Captain Darren “Sin” Licon was at a run. Major Wiser had told him to touch base with the F-20 people, to see if they had run into the ZSU-30-2s at Wichita and since. His gut told him that chances were, they had, but he had to know for sure. But then again, the battle area had been so big, the guns may have only been in one sector. He came into the tiny office space the F-20 people had, and found two of the drivers eating a late lunch. “Fellas,”

“What's up, Sin?” Captain Matt Clancy asked. Sin was the call sign the rest of the 335th had given Licon after his promotion, a rare thing for a nonflying officer.

“We have a problem. Ivan's using some kind of new ZSU type gun,” Licon replied. He gave a brief explanation, including the loss of VMFA-134's CO and two others nearly an hour earlier.

Clancy looked at his wingmate, Captain Jeb Pruitt, who nodded grimly. “We've run into those. Day three at Wichita cost us our Ops Officer, and got me into the job. Those things are fucking deadly.”

“Any ideas for counters?” Licon asked. '”My CO needs answers. And fast.”

Pruitt nodded. “Best way to kill 'em is to get the Army to do it on the ground. Those things don't stand up to tank fire or TOWs, for starters.”

“And the second?”

“Standoff with Maverick. You do outrange them, so just loiter out of 30-mm range and take your Maverick shots. Last but not least? It's the most dangerous. Go in low and fast, and use either unguided rockets or CBUs. But you're risking a Golden BB from every grunt Ivan with an AK or machine gun. Not to mention the guns you're going for.”

The Intel nodded. “Okay guys, thanks. “I'll get this to my people ASAP.” And Licon headed back to his own office. What he'd just been told had to be put to paper, and a briefing sheet prepared.

Both F-20 drivers looked at each other. “Those F-4 guys need some help. And I say we give them a hand,” Clancy told his wingman.

Pruitt nodded. “Gotcha. Let's touch base with General Yeager.”



Both drivers found General Yeager, who was talking with Captain Quinn “Prada” Morgendorffer. “What can I do for you guys?”

“The 335th needs a hand, we think,” Clancy said. He gave a quick explanation.

“Those guns that bad?” Yeager asked.

“General,” Prada said. “My old A-7 squadron lost nine birds of twenty between Wichita and PRAIRIE FIRE days one and two. Six of them were to those damned guns, and only one pilot came back. They're fucking deadly.”

“So,” Yeager nodded. “You guys think we should give our F-4 brethren a hand?”

“Yes, sir,” Clancy said, and Pruitt nodded agreement.

Yeager turned to his F-20D driver. “Prada?”

“I'm in, but General, the D needs a hundred-hour check, and there's one other thing,” she said.

The General nodded. “And that is?”

“The no-combat order,” Prada replied, and everyone heard the firmness in her voice. “These two pups may not remind you of it, but I will.”

General Yeager knew it, and this time, chose not to contest the matter. “All right, Prada? You take my bird. Clancy? You have the flight in the air. Touch base with the 335th's people and get our birds fueled and armed ASAP. I'll handle things with Colonel Brady. Wouldn't do to get any of our hosts in trouble-not today.”

“Yes, sir,” Clancy said.

'I'll touch base with Chief Ross,” Pruitt nodded. “Most of the 335th people have nothing to do but wait until their birds come back. Get them something to do. And I may have a lead on a PAO for them.”

“Good idea,” Yeager replied. He looked at the trio. “Make it happen. Fast.”



Captain Pruitt was talking with Chief Ross. “A new PAO?” Ross asked.

“She's not trained as a PAO, but has journalism in her background,” Pruitt said. “Was going to Fordham when the war began, and after getting away from the NYC blast zone, she joined the Air Force. Graduated third in her OTS class, fifth in her UPT class, and top ten in her F-4 class.”

“Okay, sir, who do I talk to so I can get her here?”

Pruitt gave him a slip of paper with a phone number and a name. “Here.”

Ross scanned it. “Okay, I know the guy, even if it's been a while. Haven't seen him since Hill from 75-77,” the Master Sergeant said. “I'll give him a call. Sir, you just made my CO's day.” Giving the Major this kind of news was always good. A new pilot and one who could handle PAO duty when not flying? Just what the CO had been asking for. “And you need some help getting your F-20s armed and fueled?”

“Righto, Chief.”

Ross nodded, then picked up the phone. He called both senior NCOs in Ordnance and in Maintenance. “They'll be there in five.”

“Thanks, Chief,” said Pruitt. Both shook hands on the deal, then they headed out the door.


The 335th's dispersal area was a beehive of activity as the three F-20Cs were being armed and fueled. Chief Ross had talked with Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, the Maintenance Officer, and after O'Donnell had confirmed what Ross wanted with General Yeager himself, the maintenance crews and ordnance guys-the Ordnance Officer, Capt. Kerry Collins, was out on a mission with the Ops Officer's flight, had set to work with a will. All three F-20s had two AIM-9L Sidewinders and a full load of 20-mm already loaded, while the ordnance people began arming the aircraft with two AGM-65D Mavericks, a single AGM-45C Shrike, and an AIM-7M, plus a centerline fuel tank.

Airman First Class Kellogg was watching with Chief Ross. Though he'd been reassigned to vehicle maintenance, he had driven some of the guys over in a 5/4 ton truck-one of a few the squadron had, and he was curious. He noticed not just the regular ordnance people, but civilians in company coveralls-Northrop, Hughes, and Texas Instruments, working to arm the birds. A missile that looked like a small version of a Sparrow caught his eye. “Chief, what's that?”

A tech-rep from TI overheard him. “Those are Shrikes. AGM-45C. We were building seeker heads faster than HARM missiles, so we put some of the electronics from HARM into the Shrike. They work,” the TI fellow said. “Well, most of the time.”

“Close enough for government work,” Ross noted.

Nearby, General Yeager was talking with Colonel Brady. “We're cleared?”

“If you were flying, General, I'd be very reluctant,” Brady replied. “Since you're not, sir. You are.”

“I'll tell my people.”


A couple minutes later, the three Captains came over. “We're cleared? Clancy asked.

“You are,” Yeager said. “Mount up and get going.”

“On our way, sir,” replied Clancy. This wouldn't be the first time he'd led a combat flight.

“All of you? Good luck.”

“Thank you, General.”


The three F-20 drivers did a quick preflight, then mounted their aircraft. After engine start, Clancy called the tower. “Sheppard Tower, Showroom Flight with three, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Showroom Lead, Tower,” the reply came. “Clear for taxi to Runway Three-Five-Charlie. Hold prior to the active, and you are number four in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Showroom Lead is rolling.”

The three F-20s taxied out, and they saw ahead of them a Marine flight of F/A-18s, then six F-4s in SEA camouflage, giving them away as 335th birds, then a flight of Marine F-4s. When they got to the holding area, the armorers removed the weapon safeties. After the Marine Phantoms launched, it was their turn.

“Tower, Showroom Flight requesting taxi for takeoff,” Clancy asked the controller.

“Showroom Lead, clear to taxi for takeoff,” the controller told him. “Winds are Two-seven-one for five.”

“Roger, Tower.”

The first two F-20s taxied onto the Runway. Clancy did a final cockpit check, then glanced at his wingman. Pruitt gave a thumbs-up to his leader, then it was time.

“Tower, Showroom Flight requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

Clancy ran his engine up to full power, released his brakes, then rolled down the runway and into the air, with his wingman right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Prada's turn, and after she lifted off, all three set course for the tanker track.


Over Central Texas: 1415 Hours Central War Time


Corvette Flight was orbiting in the holding pattern, as usual for CAS. There were aircraft stacked up ahead of, and behind, them, and as usual when Major Wiser checked in with Tampa, the EC-130E Airborne Command Post, the reply from the controller had been the same. “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.”

Now, they were at 14,000 feet, and the crews could not only see aircraft holding below them, but off at a distance, the smoke from the battlefield. And, on their EW systems, the occasional spike as a missile or gun radar came up. One thing occurred to the CO as he orbited. “Where are the Weasels?” He asked Goalie.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she replied as she scanned the sky. “Haven't heard any 'Magnum' calls.”

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Anything?”

“Negative,” Guru replied. “Still 'wait your turn.''

“Lead, Five,” Dave Golen came up. “Just saw a couple of fireballs in the air. Not sure whose they were.”

Sweaty asked, “Theirs or ours?”

“No way to tell at this distance.”

Let's find out what's going on, Guru said to himself. He called Tampa. “Tampa, Corvette Lead. Any business for us?”

“Your turn's coming,” replied the controller in a harassed tone of voice. It had already been a busy day, so why couldn't these fighter jocks understand what 'wait your turn' meant?”

“Copy. Say surface-to-air threat? Those guns still a factor?”

“Affirmative.”

“Roger that and thank you,” Guru said. He got back to the flight. “More of the same.”

In her cockpit, Flossy shook her head. “Swell, Lead.”

Two minutes later, they were down to 10,000 feet and that meant they were getting close, as FACs usually took a flight at 7,000, when a call that surprised everyone came over the tac frequency. “Tampa, Showroom Flight with three, checking in.”

“What the...?” Goalie shouted.

“Lead....” Sweaty added.

“I heard it. Knock it off!” Guru said. “I want to listen.”

“Showroom, Tampa. Authenticate Alpha Seven Tango.” This could be some ALA scum playing radio games, the ABCCC controller knew.

In his F-20, Clancy scanned the authenticator card, then replied, “Victor Four Charlie.”

“Confirmed,” the controller replied. “Say aircraft and type of ordnance, please.”

“Tampa, Showroom is three Foxtrot-Twenty Charlies with full heat, one radar, one Magnum, two Rifle, and full guns each airplane,” Clancy replied.

Aboard the EC-130, the controller turned to the Senior Controller and the Tac Coordinator, who had had overheard everything. F-20s? With one anti-radar shot each and two Mavericks? With the Weasels gone to rearm.... “Clear them in. They go to the front of the line,” the TacCo said.

“Showroom, Tampa,” the controller called. “Clear to go in. Contact Nail Five-three.”

“Copy,” Clancy replied.

“Showroom, Corvette,” Guru called. “What are you all doing here?”

“Explain later,” Clancy told him. “Thought you guys needed a hand.”

“Rocket man with you?” That meant Yeager, and for Guru, visions of Loring or Goose Bay this time of year flashed through his eyes.

“Negative, Corvette. Time for us to go to work,” Clancy said. “See you at Home Plate.”


In 512, Guru took a deep breath. “Well, that answers one question.”

“Whether those Tigershark kids would get into combat,” Goalie replied. By her tone of voice, it wasn't a question. “At least Yeager's not with them.”

“For which we all should be thankful.”


Clancy called the FAC. “Nail Five-three, Showroom Flight checking in.”

“Roger that, Showroom,” the FAC replied. He was in an A-7K orbiting over the battlefield. Ivan and Franz had nearly taken the town of Lipan, but he could see First Cav just north of the town, waiting....then he could also see 3rd ACR to the east, waiting to pounce like a bobcat onto a mountain goat. “Say aircraft and ordnance, please.”

“Nail, Showroom is three Foxtrot-Twenty-Charlies with one antiradar and two Maverick shots per bird. Full heat, one radar, and full guns for air-to-air.”

“Roger, Showroom. Be advised the threat is both regimental and divisional level. We have Zulu-Sierra-Uniform-Two-threes and Three-zero in the area. Missile threat is MANPADS, Gaskin, Gopher, and Gadfly,” the FAC told him. That meant shoulder-fired missiles and the SA-9, -13, and-11 vehicle mounted SAMs, with SA-11 being the most deadly.

In his F-20, Clancy thought for a moment, then radioed his flight. “Time to go in. Take your Shrike shots, then pick out targets for Rifle.” That meant Mavericks. “Then we boogie out of here.”

“Copy,” Pruitt replied.

“Roger that,” Prada said.

“Copy Nail, Showroom Flight in hot,” Clancy said to the FAC.


“Well, you wanted to see how they'd go in combat,” Goalie reminded Guru as 512 orbited. They were now third in line.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Be careful of what you wish for.....”

The F-20s went in, and “Magnum” calls came over the radio. One of their Shrikes “went dumb” and never found a target, but two of them did. However, it was the same SA-11 vehicle, but the two Shrikes were enough to explode it. That alone was enough to force the SA-11 crews to shut down their radars, for they didn't know if there were more antiradar missile carriers around. They had been told about Shrike, HARM, and a new English missile called ALARM, but lectures and book learning had been one thing. Real combat, now.....something else.

“Missiles are down,” Pruitt called.

“Roger that, Two,” Clancy said. “Take your Rifle shots.” He picked out a ZSU-30-2 and fired, calling “Rifle!” over the radio as he did so. The Maverick tracked down the target and exploded it. He banked away, then turned in again and picked out another. “Rifle again.” Clancy fired his second Maverick, killing the second ZSU, then he turned north for I-20. “Lead off target.”


In his ZSU-30-2, Senior Sergeant Lupenko was exultant. A 2S6 commander, he had scored highly on the range back in Estonia as the 188th Guards Regiment's best AA gunner, and now, finally in combat, he was showing these Yankees what he could do. His vehicle had shot down an A-7 and an F-4 with gunfire, and had also damaged an A-10, while he had also killed an AH-1 helicopter with a missile. With his battery commander dead earlier in the day from what might have been Imperialist tank fire, he was now in command. He was scanning his radar screen when a shout came over the radio, from another gun in the battery. What the....Suddenly, he and his crew were engulfed in flames as they were hit. None of the crew had a chance to scream.

“Two's in!' Pruitt called. He came in, and picked out another ZSU-30, killing it, then he spotted an SA-13 vehicle. He targeted it, fired his second Maverick, then he pulled away, leaving flares in his wake as the SA-13 launcher fired. The Maverick exploded the launcher, and as he turned, Pruitt saw the SA-13 track down one of his flares. Not your day, Ivan....then he followed his flight lead for the I-20. “Two's off.”

“Three's in hot!” Prada radioed. She rolled in, and to her, it was just like at Wichita, with what looked like a whole Motor-rifle Division on the move and in the open. Unlike Kansas, there were rolling hills, but that made no difference. She scanned for air-defense vehicles, and spotted a couple. One was a ZSU-23-4, and she locked it up and fired. “Rifle!” Prada turned away, surprised she wasn't taking fire, but then again, they were out of range of the gun threats, and Weasel call signs were coming back on the radio, and those guys would keep the Gadflies away. She found another ZSU-30, and knew these were what they came for. This one looked like it had a recovery vehicle next to it. Stuck, maybe? No matter. Prada locked it up and fired, calling “Rifle!” After she took the shot, killing both with one, she, too, turned north for the I-20. “Three's off target,” Prada called as she egressed.

Three out and in, Clancy thought as he headed north. “Nail, Showroom, how'd we do?”

“Showroom, Nail,” the FAC replied. “I give you guys a Four-decimal-zero. Nice work, fella. Maybe we can see you guys again.”

“See what we can do,” Clancy said. “We are outbound at this time.”


“Looks like those guys are mighty useful,” Guru observed.

“I'll second that,” Goalie said. They were now waiting their turn to go in. A Marine Hornet flight and a four-ship of A-10s had gone in after the F-20s, and Corvette Flight was next.

“Guess we'll be buying for them tonight,” Kara added. “We're next up?”

“Looks that way,” Guru replied. Then Tampa came on the line.

“Corvette Lead, Tampa. Contact Nail Five-three for tasking.”

“Roger that, Tampa,” He contacted the FAC. “Nail Five-three, Corvette Lead.”

The FAC replied at once. Man, those F-20s were good, he thought as his pilot orbited. “Corvette, Nail. Say aircraft and ordnance loadout, please.”

“Nail, Corvette Flight is six Foxtrot-Four Echoes with full air-to-air. and twelve Mark-eight-two Snakeyes each airplane.”

“Roger, Corvette,” Nail came back. “Your target is mixed tanks and APCs, estimated regimental strength, near the intersection of F.M. 4 and F.M. 112.”

Guru checked his map, a JOG graphic much more detailed than a TPC chart. “Copy, Nail. Can you have friendlies take out any air defense assets down there?”

“That's affirmative, Corvette,” Nail replied. “Be advised those Tigersharks did good on that as well.”

“Not taking chances, Nail,” Guru told the FAC. “One run, south to north.”

“Your call, Corvette,” Nail said. “Marking the target area.” The A-7K rolled in and fired several rockets, which erupted in WP on impact. 'There's your target.”

Guru saw the WP smoke. 'Roger that. Flight, Lead. Music on, switches on, and time to go to work.”
He turned on his ECM pod, then asked Goalie “Switches set?”

“All set back here. We're good to go.” She picked up her visual scanning, searching for any SAMs, AAA, bandit fast-movers or helos.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Guru told his GIB. He began his run-in.


Below, the 188th Guards Motor-rifle Regiment, 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division, had taken a beating. Not just from the Yankees on the ground, but from the air as well. The Regimental Commander had been killed an hour earlier by an F-4, and the rest of the Regimental command element was either dead or wounded as a result, for the attacking aircraft had showered the command vehicles with cluster bombs. Now, the former commander of the First Battalion was now in command, and after a quick conversation by radio with the divisional commander, he knew his mission. Get to the F.M. 112-F.M. 4 intersection, then dig in and hold it until further orders. Despite his regiment's losses, the Lieutenant Colonel was confident in his soldiers and the mission. Though he had heard about the dreadful events at Wichita and after, the man was confident that the effects of the new training program the division had prior to deploying would be felt here. Sitting in the commander's seat of his BTR-60 command vehicle, he picked up his canteen and had just sipped some water when his chief of staff called on the radio.

“Air Alarm!”

The Lieutenant Colonel stuck his head out of the hatch, and saw the man standing in his own APC, pointing south. Smoke trails approaching. How they had come in was no matter. He grabbed his radio mike. “AIR ATTACK! DISPERSE!”


Just to the east, the 2nd Squadron, 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment, was watching the Soviets. They were waiting for the order to counterattack into Ivan's right flank, and had given the East Germans a drubbing a few days earlier. Major Monica Vansen stood up in her M-1 tank, took off her CVC helmet, and put on her Stetson. Her squadron had taught the East Germans a lesson, and was ready to do the same to this Soviet division-newly arrived if the Regimental S-2 shop was on the ball. She noticed an Air Force ground FAC coming over. “What's up, Captain?” She asked the man.

“Ma'am,” the FAC replied. “Nail asks that your people take out any ground based air defense you see. The fast-movers got hit pretty hard last couple of hours.”

Major Vansen nodded. She had seen that for herself. And every Ivan or Franz the tac air took out was one less her boys and girls would have to fight. “Will do, Captain. You tell your friends in the air we'll get 'em for you.” She then relayed the order to her troop commanders. Right away, M-1 tanks began searching out and engaging targets.



In 512, Guru called, “Lead's in hot!” as he rolled in. He went down from 5,000 feet, pulling up and wings level at 700 feet AGL, perfect for a Snakeye drop. Guru saw fireballs erupting on the ground, and he hoped the FAC had gotten through to the Army. It looked like it, for no gun or missile radars were up on his EW display. But there were tracers coming up, probably machine guns and small-arms fire, and the proverbial “Golden BB” was always a concern. Someone even shot what looked to be an SA-7 type missile at him, but it was head on, and the missile didn't guide. He picked out a cluster of APCs with a few tanks and selected them as his target. “Steady.....steady.....” More tracers came up as the defenders realized what was coming. Not today.....”And...HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing a dozen Mark-82 five-hundred pound bombs onto the Russians below. He then put his throttles to full military power, knowing that heat-seeking missiles loved afterburner plumes, and headed north. '”Lead's off safe.”


“DAMN!” Shouted the Lieutenant Colonel as Guru's F-4 flew past his improvised regimental command group, and released its bombs onto the Third Battalion. He saw a T-72B tank flipped onto its side, while BTR-70 APCs were tossed around like toys. Some of the bombs, it appeared, exploded a meter or so above ground, showering fragments in all directions, and one of those exploded in the midst of the battalion's mortar battery, blowing the mortarmen apart. The Colonel looked around, and saw a soldier from Second Battalion launch a shoulder-fired missile, but the Strela-3 (SA-14) missed its target. He glanced around to the south, looking for more aircraft, for American aircraft didn't come in alone. Sure enough, another smoke trail was coming in.

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

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as he jinked to avoid any possible flak or missiles. He wasn't taking any chances with those guns-and he assumed there were some still around.

She had eyeballs to their rear, and grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Got a couple.”

“That'll be enough,” replied Guru as he got clear of the FEBA and headed for I-20.


“Two's in!” Kara called out as she went down on her bomb run. She, too, noted the absence of threats on her EW display, and hoped either the F-20s, or the Army, had gotten rid of those guns. Kara saw where the CO had planted his bombs, and decided to lay hers down to the left. She spotted the crossroads, and noticed tanks and APCs there. Fair enough. As she approached bomb release, tracers from machine guns as well as small-arms fire increased, but she ignored it, concentrating on the bomb run. “Steady...And....And.....HACK!” Kara released her bombs and right away, began jinking to avoid any flak. She picked up her flight leader's smoke trail and followed it. “Two's off safe.”


In his APC, the Colonel scowled again as Kara's F-4 flew right overhead. He ducked back inside, expecting a rain of bombs to follow, but the bombs didn't land around his BTR. Instead, the explosions were to his front, and he saw through a periscope the bombs going off in the midst of Second Battalion's position, seeing a BTR-70 being tossed into the air, and bodies flying like rags in the wind. The Colonel poked his head out of the hatch to get a better view, and saw several APCs and tanks burning. He was about to order his driver to proceed to Second Battalion when another call came in over his earpiece. More enemy aircraft coming in. He ordered his driver to drive at random, hoping none of the American aircraft would choose his vehicle as a target.

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

“How many?” Kara wanted to know. She was still jinking to avoid possible flak and missiles.

“Several.”

“I'll take 'em.” she said as she picked up a visual on the CO's bird and followed him out.


“Three's in hot!” That was Sweaty's call as she followed Kara in. As she came down, she noticed a clutch of trucks and what looked like towed guns. Were those regimental artillery? You'll do, she thought as she lined them up in her pipper. Sweaty took a quick look around, and saw none of the large tracers encountered earlier coming up, and hoped the ZSU threat had been taken care of, for those 30-mm guns were dammed deadly. Though none of those were coming up, there were plenty of machine gun tracers and small-arms fire coming up, and even a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, aimed head-on. The missiles flashed by, and Sweaty lined up the guns-a battery's worth, she thought-in her pipper. “And...And...And....NOW!” She hit the pickle button, releasing her bombs, and a dozen Snakeyes fell onto the artillery battery. Sweaty then went to full military and headed north, jinking as she did so to avoid any flak or missiles coming her way. As she cleared the area, she called, “Three off target.”


The Colonel heard Sweaty's plane fly over, and the sound of bombs going off to his rear. Just then, he heard his artillery commander go off the air, and knew right away what had happened. The Colonel managed to contact the sole surviving battery, finding out the artillery battalion commander had been with Second Battery, and it had been hit by an air strike. He ordered the battery commander to rally the survivors, and ordered all units to continue their missions. Then his air-defense commander came on the line. More aircraft coming in.....


“We got secondaries!” Shouted Preacher.

“Good ones?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid possible flak. None of those big tracers were coming, she was glad to see. She jinked right, then banked left, and saw a shoulder-fired missile fly a hundred feet above her cockpit. Then she turned north for I-20.

“Big and righteous! I think you hit some ammo trucks.”

“Hallelujah!'


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he saw Sweaty pulling away. He saw his element lead's bombs going off, and the secondaries, and decided those chumps had gotten their just desserts. Hoser came on in, and saw some trucks moving north on a local road, and those had to be a supply convoy coming in. Well, then....Hoser lined them up in his pipper and counted down, ignoring the machine-gun fire coming up and even a MANPADS. “Steady....And....HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82s came off the racks. He, too, went to full military, and headed north, jinking as he did so. “Four's off target.”

“What the...” the Colonel asked as he saw Hoser's F-4 fly by, and bombs going off in his wake. Who was there for an Imperialist aircraft to hit? Then he remembered. That local road was his regiment's main supply route, and to the east of that were some East Germans who had been shot up earlier, and tasked with flank security. Suddenly concerned with his fuel and ammunition supply, the Colonel contacted his rear command post, and ordered his Regiment's Rear-Services commander to sort that out and get back to him urgently. For he knew the Yankees would be reacting to his regiment's presence, and soon.


“SHACK!” KT yelled over the IC.

“Good hits?” Hoser asked as he jinked. Good thing, too, for he saw a shoulder-fired missile come up and fly beneath the aircraft. He and KT had been shot down once already, and landing in the middle of angry Russians would not be a good thing, he knew.

“Big ones! You got some fuel or ammo trucks!”

Hearing that, Hoser smiled beneath his oxygen mask. “Their lucky day.” He picked up his element lead and followed her out to the I-20.



Dave Golen was next. “Five's in!” He called as he went down on his bomb run. As he did, he noticed some more tanks and APCs west of the intersection. All right, Ivan....he thought as he came in. Just as the others did, he encountered machine gun and small-arms fire, but, thank God, none of those large tracers. Had those young pups in the F-20s gotten those guns? No matter. Dave lined up the APCs in his pipper and counted down. “Steady...and...NOW!” He hit his pickle button, sending a dozen more Mark-82s onto the Russians below. He, too, jinked after bomb release, avoiding any possible flak, and headed north. “Five off target.”


The Colonel had gotten out of his APC and was talking with his acting Chief of Staff, who had been the Deputy Chief of Staff until the Regiment's command group had been hit. While the Regiment had finally reached its objective, the American aircraft were still coming in. A shout from a junior officer alerted them to another aircraft coming in, and the two officers jumped into a small ditch. The F-4 flew by, and released its bombs to their front. The Colonel stuck his head above the ditch and saw the clouds of smoke and dust, and the smoke from burning vehicles. That had been First Battalion's position, his old command. He ran for his APC, intending to get in contact with First Battalion's acting commander when the Chief grabbed him and pulled him back into the ditch. A quick glance upwards and to the south told him why. Another Yankee F-4 was coming in.

“GOOD HITS” Golen's backseater shouted.

“How good?” Dave wanted to know. He was jinking still, the better to avoid any flak. No missiles came up, he was glad to see, but neither he or his backseater saw a SA-14 fly past their tail.

“Real good,” the backseater replied.

“They'll do.” Dave then headed north.


“Six is in hot!” Flossy called. She saw Dave Golen's bombs going off, and started scanning for someplace to deposit her bombs. Then she saw where the CO had laid his, and decided they would do. Several APCs and tanks were still moving around, and she thought, Who wants to die next?' Ignoring the machine gun and small-arms fire coming up, she picked out the APCs and lined them up in her pipper. “Steady...Steady....And....And... HACK!” Flossy hit the pickle button, releasing her bombs. She, too, began jinking to avoid flak and any MANPADS as she headed north. “Six off target,” Flossy called.


In the ditch, the Colonel saw Flossy's F-4 fly right overhead. Again, he expected a rain of bombs to follow, but to his surprise, there wasn't. But the F-4 put its bombs up forward, and after the last bomb went off, he got up out of the ditch to take a look. Third Battalion's position was covered in smoke and flame again, and he saw a BTR-70 on its side, while a T-72B tank had taken a near hit and was burning fiercely. Then the onboard ammunition exploded, sending the tank turret flying into the air. The Colonel told the Chief of Staff to get things sorted out here, while he went forward to the battalions. For he expected that after these air strikes were over, the Yankees would come on the ground, and he wanted his regiment ready to fight.

“SHACK!” Jang called. “You got secondaries!”

“How good?” Flossy asked. She was still jinking, and was glad to see none of those big tracers anywhere. She saw what looked like an SA-7 come up, only to detonate harmlessly behind their aircraft.

“Really good,” Jang replied.

“Their lucky day,” Flossy grinned as she headed north.


To the East, Major Vansen and her Squadron had watched the Air Force do its job. Now, they noticed the East German flank guard slacking off, trying to play catch-up. Those guys had been battered earlier, and now they were showing it. But now wasn't the time. Regiment was waiting on the Soviets to bring up their divisional reserve, which meant their BMP-equipped regiment and the divisional tank regiment, before taking them in the flank. And up north, past Lipan, a brigade from First Cav was coming down, and going to smash into the two BTR regiments. With luck, and Corps' AH-64s helping them out, these Russians would get a warm welcome to the USA, and wish they were someplace else. If, of course, they didn't feel that way already.....In the meantime, the squadron would continue to harass the enemy, and take opportunity shots as they presented themselves.


In 520, Guru called the FAC. “Nail, Corvette Lead. You have a Bomb Damage Assessment?”

“Corvette, Nail. I give you guys a four-decimal-zero. All ordnance on target. Nice work, fella.”

“Roger that, Nail, and thank you. Corvette Flight is outbound.”

“Six in and out,” Goalie said. “Everybody's off target.”

Guru nodded, then glanced to his right. Kara was right there in Combat Spread, with 520 in position. “Starbuck, how'd it go?”

“Good hits, Lead,” Kara replied. “And no sign of those guns.”

“Same here,” Sweaty called as she and Hoser came up.

Then Dave Golen chimed in. “Better than I expected, Lead.”

“I'll take that any day,” Guru said. “Let's get to the tankers.”

Corvette Flight joined up on the tankers, and after drinking enough fuel, headed back to Sheppard. When they got into the pattern, there were two flights ahead of them, one being the Ops Officer's, the other Marines. After they landed, the crews noticed activity around the F-20s. And what appeared to be both General Olds and General Yeager congratulating the pilots, with the TV crew also in attendance. “Well, at least General Yeager didn't fly this time,” Guru said. “Notice I said, this time.”

“Yeah,” Goalie replied. “Still think he's going to find a way around that 'No Combat' order?”

“Do I?” Guru shot back. “I'd bet money on it.”

“You and me both. Don't tell Kara, though. She'd probably start a pool.”

Guru taxied 512 into its revetment. After getting the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief, he shut down the engines and then he and Goalie went through the post-flight. They then popped their canopies and stood up in the cockpit. “Five and done,” Guru said, wiping his forehead.

“One more?” Goalie asked as the ground crew brought the crew ladder.

“You just answered your own question,” the CO said as he climbed down. He gestured to the front of the revetment, where ordnance people were waiting. They had bomb carts with TER and MER racks already preloaded with Rockeye CBUs.

After she got down, Goalie shrugged. “Had to ask.”

“Major, how's my bird?” Sergeant Crowley asked. He did a quick scan for any obvious damage.

“No damage, Sergeant, and she's still truckin'. Get Five-Twelve ready, because we've got time for one more,” Major Wiser said. “The sooner we get ready, the sooner we get it over with.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “All right, people! Let's get the CO's bird ready for one more.”

As the two crewmates headed to the front of the revetment, they not only found the ordnance people waiting, but Kara and Brainiac as well. “Looks like the next one's antiarmor,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” Sweaty said as the rest of the crews came up. “More tank-busting.”

“That it is,” Dave Golen said. “Now, who sent those F-20s?”

Major Wiser nodded. “That, Dave, is a very good question.”

“Boss,” Flossy said. “One thing to keep in mind if you're in the mood to chew their asses.”

The CO turned to her. “And that is?” He asked politely, though privately, he was fuming at the F-20s showing up. The last thing he wanted was a nasty call from Sundown Cunningham, followed by packing cold-weather gear for Goose Bay or Loring.

“They probably saved our asses. Think about it, Major. F-20s plus Maverick equal no guns.”

“She's right,” Sweaty pointed out, and several others nodded.

Major Wiser nodded. “Well, I'm not arguing with success, but I don't want to explain to Sundown Cunningham or the Chief of Staff why the F-20s were on a combat mission when they're supposed to be on a demo tour. Not to mention what may happen if General Yeager goes into combat.”

“Which is in violation of a directive from the Chief of Staff,” Mark Ellis said as he came up. “I heard the F-20s on the radio, Boss. What got into their minds?”

“I was about to ask you the same question.” The CO looked at his Exec, and the Exec could tell that his squadron commander wasn't too pleased. “What happened?”

“I talked to Sin Licon as we were being debriefed. He went and had a talk with Clancy and Pruitt, as you told him. They gave him some ideas for counters, and he's off, typing them up. Next thing he knows is that the F-20s are being armed and fueled, and the crews are gearing up.”

Guru nodded. “Who authorized the mission?”

“Colonel Brady. And we're likely going to buy drinks for them tonight. They're claiming six of those gun vehicles and at least one SA-11 track destroyed,” the Exec said.

“Looks like we're buying for those guys tonight,” Kara observed. “Even if they look a little young.”

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “Okay, who told Yeager not to fly? Colonel Brady?”

Ellis shook his head. “No, it was Prada. Her F-20D is in for a hundred-hour check, and she reminded General Yeager of the no-combat order. He told her to borrow his bird, while he cleared the mission with Colonel Brady.”

There was a sigh of relief from the CO. “Okay, then. I'll talk with General Olds and the two of us will have to talk to General Cunningham and explain things if necessary. Now, you going back out?”

“In twenty. Don's going back in forty-five, and you in an hour.”

Guru nodded. “All right. Good luck, and I'll see you when I get back.”

The XO nodded back, then went to brief with his flight.

“Well, now,” Goalie asked. “Satisfied?”

Guru thought for a moment, then smiled. “For now, but I'm still dreading what may happen if he does go into combat.”

“Not much choice if he's up and MiGs come calling or they come across a recon flight,” Hoser pointed out.

Sweaty nodded. “He's right about that,” she reminded the CO.

“No arguing that,” Guru said. “Okay, the directive doesn't say anything about self-defense, so if they are jumped, they have no choice, and if the MiGs escorting a recon flight turn on them....they can't decline combat.”

“One way of putting it,” Dave Golen said. “Even if the escorts do not engage, they can say that there was no choice in going after the reconnaissance plane.”

“Just as we would do,” Flossy added.

“Just as we would,” Guru confirmed. “Okay, I'm not arguing with success, and that goes for the rest of us, right?” He saw his flight nod approval. “Let's just hope their appetite has been satisfied for one day, and they're not hungry for any more for a day or so.”

“Be careful,” Preacher said. “They may be hungry for more.”

“We'll cross that bridge when and if it comes,” Guru said. “All right, we're back up in an hour, so mission brief in forty-five. We need to debrief. Then you all check your desks and clear any paperwork, get something to eat and drink, because we're back at it.”

Kara nodded. “You heard him.”

With that, the flight went to the squadron office to get the debrief out of the way, and the CO definitely wanted to find out just who-and what-the F-20s had killed that afternoon.

[Wolfman]

They killed some of those most accursed ZSU-30-2s…

[Matt Wiser]

Part VII: The 335th finds out what they're facing, and the F-20s go for another round:


335th TFS HQ, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1515 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser went into the squadron office after getting out of his flight gear. He was looking for the the SIO, and found Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon coming out of his own office. “Sin,” the CO said. “I need to talk before the debrief.” He saw the expression on the Intel Officer's face. “And no, it's not to chew your ass. My office. Right now.”

“Yes, sir.” Licon said. He knew what was likely on the CO's mind. Namely, how had the F-20s shown up when they really weren't supposed to be in combat.

The CO nodded, then led him to his office. His Staff Sergeant Secretary nodded at the CO, and he said, “No calls, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Major Wiser led his intel into the office and had him close the door. “All right, Darren. You talked to the F-20 guys? Mark tells me you did.”

“I did, Major, and asked them their advice. They have run into these guns before at Wichita and during PRAIRIE FIRE. They gave me three options.” Licon handed his CO a sheet. “Here's their advice on counters.”

Major Wiser took the sheet and scanned it. As he did, he let out a sigh. “Options one and two-letting the Army take them out, or do Maverick shots, those are good. But the third one-going in low with CBUs or unguided rockets? That sounds like a short road to suicide.”

“That was my thought, Boss,” Sin replied. “But they did suggest it.”

“Okay. Now....” the CO pointed a finger at his Intel. “Who suggested the mission?”

“Boss, I have no idea. I sure as hell didn't ask them to go. I left Clancy and Pruitt in that little office, and next thing I know, they're turning the F-20s over for combat.”

Major Wiser paused for a minute. “So....it was their idea, looks like.” It wasn't a question.

“It was, Boss. I talked to General Yeager after they left. General Olds, too. And it was Prada who reminded General Yeager of the no-combat order.” Licon told his CO.

“Colonel Brady authorized the mission?” Asked the Major. “That's what Mark said.”

“He did. And he was glad that General Yeager wasn't going.”

“Good. Because I do NOT want to hear from Sundown Cunningham, the Chief of Staff, General Dugan, or both, about me letting General Yeager fly an unauthorized mission.” Major Wiser said. And by the tone of voice, the Intel knew his CO was not a happy camper at that.

“Understood, Major. It's Frank we went packing for colder climes, not you.” Licon nodded.

“Smart boy,” Major Wiser nodded. “One other thing. It never occurred to anybody to go over to me-and I was preflighting Five-Twelve, mind-and let me know the F-20s were going out?”

“Sorry, sir. We, uh, were kind of excited, and well, with the chance General Yeager would go out..”

Major Wiser nodded again. “Say no more, and if I was a junior officer again, I'd probably be just as excited.” How long had it been since he'd been a brand-new First Lieutenant? Two years or two lifetimes, it seemed. “I'm not arguing with their success. Just don't like the fact I wasn't told before I left they were getting ready to go out.”

“Understood, sir.” Licon replied. He was glad that the CO was understanding, though he did know the CO had not been in a good mood a few minutes earlier.

“Good,” the Major said. “Have you debriefed the F-20 guys yet?”

“Not formally.”

“All right, then.” Major Wiser nodded. “You can talk to them, but after you get my flight out of the way.”

Licon smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let's get it over with.”


In the classroom the CO's flight used as a briefing room, the rest of the flight was waiting, along with a guest: General Olds was there, talking with the crews, and he was getting an account of the day's happenings. When he called General Tanner, Olds fully intended to let him know about those guns, and see if the EW boys had an idea when the RWRs could be tweaked. Because right now, the only warning the F-4 crews had about those guns was the tracers coming up, and it might be too late.

The door opened, and the CO came in, followed by the Intel. “People,” Guru said. “Oops, sorry, General. Didn't expect to see you here.”

“Wanted to hear from you people firsthand,” Olds said. “I'll be talking to General Tanner, and he'll know about those guns. Supposedly, some are being tested at Nellis, but nothing's been passed down yet.”

“Well, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Hope you don't mind pulling up a chair. Before we get started, I'll say this, right now: Chances are pretty good probably half of us are alive because of those F-20 guys. Sin hasn't talked to them yet officially, but they're claiming six guns or SAM vehicles, and a pair of SA-11 tracks.” He paused, and saw the reaction of the crews. They were still surprised, even though the XO had told them after they landed. “So, we're buying for them tonight. Then Kara can fleece them,” and everyone laughed. “Let's get with it.”

They ran through the debrief, and Sin was taking notes. The fact that no one reported the basketball-sized tracers coming up was more proof that the F-20 guys had done what they said they did. “No missiles?”

“Other than shoulder-fired ones?” Sweaty asked. “No.” And heads nodded in the affirmative.

“Any fast-movers or choppers?”

“Didn't see any where we were,” Hoser said.

Dave Golen nodded. “I'll go along with that. Where are they?”

“Good question, Major,” General Olds said. “Intel?”

Sin shook his head. “Nothing definite, sir. They're out there, that we do know. Just be advised you can run into them anytime.”

Heads nodded at that. “Okay, Darren. Anything else?” Guru asked.

“Just be on the alert, sir, for those guns. Not much you can do until your EW systems get tweaked to pick up those radars. And I do have recommended counters.”

“And those are?” General Olds wanted to know.

“General, everyone,” Licon said. “First, get the FAC to have the Army go after them with tank or TOW fire. Their armor doesn't stand up to that kind of firepower. It may be on a tank chassis, but doesn't have tank armor.”

The CO nodded. “Noted, Darren. What's the next one?” He knew already, but for the flight's and the General's benefit, he asked again.

“The next suggestion is to do standoff shots with Maverick. The Maverick C and D-which we have, by the way, do outrange the 30-mm cannon, and probably the missiles, too, but that last bit of info is not definite. Still no word from China Lake on the missile tests, and I do have a query in to MAG-11's Intel people about that. After today, everybody's going to want more on those.”

“No kidding,” Kara replied. “Not every day we see a squadron CO go down, and two others in his flight with him.” She was referring to the loss of VMFA-134's CO and two other F-4s in his flight.

“I'll second that,” Sweaty said. “Any other advice?”

“Their third recommended counter is going in low, with either unguided rockets or CBUs, and taking them by surprise. The downside is, you guys are going in too low, and you're vulnerable to small-arms fire as well as machine guns and shoulder-fired missiles. And the guns you're going after,” Licon replied. “I may not be a pilot, but that's one piece of advice I wouldn't follow.”

Major Wiser looked at his intel, then shot a glance at General Olds. Both made eye contact, and nodded. “Then we'll ignore that one, as of now,” Guru said. “Anything else, Darren?”

“No, sir,” the Intel replied. “I'll talk to the F-20 guys.”

“Do that, and one more thing.”

“Boss,” the Intel asked.

“Let me know if they're going back out, or if they're planning to,” Guru told his Intel Officer. “Finding out they were in the air with us was a surprise.”

“General?” Major Wiser asked General Olds. “Anything to add?”

“No, Major, other than I agree with getting rid of the third option. That's a recipe for increasing your loss rate,” Olds replied.

“I agree, sir.” The CO looked at his flight. “All right, check your desks, get some food, because we're going back out in forty-five,” he told his crews.


After the debrief broke up, Major Wiser ran into his Ops Officer. “Don,” he nodded.

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “Got some good news. The two birds from Japan are in the pattern.”

That was good news, the CO knew. That would bring the squadron up to twenty-two aircraft. “Let's go see,” he told Van Loan. “Any change in us not keeping the crews?”

“No, and they would have told us,” the Ops Officer reminded him.

Guru sighed. Well, he had enough extra pilots and WSOs to form two new crews. “Then Kara gets to fleece them tonight.”

“They may be old friends,” Van Loan told his boss. “If they are, they know her tricks.”

“We'll see.”


A few minutes later, Guru, Goalie, Van Loan, and Sweaty were at the squadron's dispersal area, watching as the two new F-4s taxied in. One thing caught their eye at once: the paint job. “Euro One?” Guru asked. “When did that come down?”

“No idea,” Van Loan admitted. “Well have to ask.” One other thing occurred to the Ops Officer. “You going to see if any of 'em want to transfer?”

“It has occurred to me.”


When the CO and the others got to the two new aircraft, they found the crews talking with Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, the Squadron Maintenance Officer. “Kev,” Guru said. “These our new birds?”

“They are,” O'Donnell replied. “Here's the forms.” He added, handing the CO a clipboard with the forms that he would have to sign.

Guru scanned the forms, remembering a saying he'd learned as a History Major. “Be careful of what you sign. Just ask Neville Chamberlain.” He nodded, then signed for the aircraft. “Looks good to me. TIESO, AGM-65, ARN-101, updated EW systems?”

“That they have, sir,” the senior pilot, a captain, said. “Paul Brown, Major.”

“Captain,” Guru said. “You guys know why these two are in Euro One? Thought those birds went to the Pacific Northwest.”

“Major, two SEA birds went up there yesterday,” a female Captain with pilot's wings said. “They were ready before these two, and so...”

Guru nodded. “So they got sent up there, and we got birds originally meant for somebody else,” he said. He regarded the two pilots and their GIBs, who were male. “How long you all on the Ferry Run?”

“Got two months left,” the female pilot, whose nametag read Corinne Cassidy. “Then we go to the replacement pool.”

Goalie had been looking over one of the new birds when she heard that voice. It was familiar. “Corinne? Long time, no see!” She went over and hugged the newcomer. “Long time since Graduation Day.”

“Guess you two know each other,” Guru said. “Academy?”

Cassidy smiled. “Class of '82, Major. She went to Nav and C-130s, and I got flight and an IP slot at Laughlin.”

Goalie returned the smile. “Not just a classmate, but roomie,” Goalie said. “How'd you get out of Laughlin on Invasion Day?”

“That'd be worth hearing,” said Sweaty. “Another Day One perspective.”

“It would,” said Guru, ever the history major. “Okay, two things: first, you guys know you're going to have to RON?”

All four newcomers nodded. “We did pack, Major,” Brown said.

“And second, at the Club tonight? You'll see two Air Force legends, because both Robin Olds and Chuck Yeager are on base. And I take it since you are on the Ferry Run, you are familiar with one Kara Thrace? She's in my squadron, so be warned.”

All four nodded, then Captain Brown said, “We're well aware of her. Lost some money to her at one time or another.”

“And the beach party,” Cassidy added.

“You were there?” Goalie asked her old roommate.

“Fourteen-fifteen of us. All pissed off we weren't flying combat, so we had to blow off steam somehow.”

Guru winced. He had heard from Kara, slightly, mind, just how crazy that three-day weekend was. “How crazy was it, or do I want to know?”

“Major, do the words 'Multiple partner crazy' ring any bells?” Captain Cassidy asked.

“Say no more,” Guru said. “Don? Show our guests where they can flake out overnight, and then to the Club. You guys have one advantage over us in that regard.”

“What's that, Major?” Brown asked.

“Twelve-hour doesn't apply to you.”


As the CO and the other two went back to the squadron office, Goalie asked, “You want to recruit them for the squadron?”

“Might be a good idea,” Sweaty added. “We can use new talent.”

“I'll talk with Tenth Air Force,” Guru said. “And Chief Ross. He knows people in Officer Detailing.”

“Corinne's a good girl,” Goalie said. “I'd like to know how she got away from Laughlin on Day One.”

Guru nodded. “You're not the only one. Let's ask her tonight.”


When they got back to the office, General Olds was coming out. “Major, got some news for you, from General Tanner. Thought you'd like to hear it.”

“General, that may just make my day,” Major Wiser said. “What does he have for us?”

“Well, first of all, you people are definitely getting new Sparrows. First shipment of Fs arrives in a week. Earliest they can get here,” Olds said, and he could see grins on the faces of the Major and his people. “Best he can do.”

“Sir, that's great. Finally we'll have a BVR weapon that works,” Major Wiser smiled. “Well, most of the time.”

Goalie smiled as well. “Good to know, sir,”

“It is that,” Olds replied. “Second, you're getting some more -119 ECM pods. Enough to equip the rest of your squadron. Keep the old ones, though.”

“We'll do that, sir.” Major Wiser nodded. “Does General Tanner have any other news?”

“Just that your EW systems will be tweaked, and tech-reps will be coming to do that, but it's still two weeks away, minimum,” Olds said. He nodded at Goalie and Sweaty. “I need to talk to your CO for a moment.” Both nodded, sketched salutes, then went back into the building. “Major. I informed General Tanner of your mission proposal.”

Guru nodded. He and Goalie had been doing some planning for a mission that they hoped would give Ivan's Su-24 force a rude surprise. “Sir, what was General Tanner's response?”

General Olds grinned. “He'd like to hear from you and your GIB, Major,” Olds said. “Once those RAF guys get here and settled in, don't be surprised if you get a call to head to Nellis and brief him personally. Both of you.”

'Yes, sir,” Guru said. A trip to Nellis and a likely roomful of brass? If that's what it takes to get mission approval....

“All right,” Olds nodded. “You've got a mission coming, so you'd best get going. Good luck, and bring everyone back, Major.”

“Yes, sir, and thank you. Do my best on that last part.”

“All you can do, Major.”


Major Wiser went back into the office, and found both Goalie and Sweaty waiting. “Well?” Goalie asked.

“The two of us may be going to Nellis in a few weeks. Tanner wants a brief on that mission we've been planning,” Guru told his GIB.

“When?”

“After the RAF comes and gets settled in.” Guru said. He then checked the wall clock. 1545. Then the Exec came by, and in full flight gear. “Mark, getting set to go?”

“Yeah, and in case you're wondering? The F-20 guys are as well. They're turning their birds around right now.”

Lovely, the CO thought. “Colonel Brady authorize the mission?”

“I did, Major,” a voice came from behind him. It was the MAG-11 Commander. “Don't worry, Major. General Yeager's not going this time. If he was, I wouldn't authorize the mission.”

“Colonel, if you don't mind my saying this, but thank you,” Guru said. “Last thing any of us need is General Yeager going into combat.”

Colonel Brady nodded. “You're not the only one thinking that. NAF Argentia in Newfoundland is not good this time of year. Anyway, I'm getting ready to go back out myself. Today's been an 'all-hands' effort.”

“It sure has, Colonel.”

Brady looked at him. “You be careful, Major. Already lost one CO today. Don't want to lose another.”

“Will do, sir,” Guru replied.

Brady left the building, and Ellis turned to his CO. “Got to get going myself.”

“Okay, Mark. What are the F-20 guys going out with?”

“Two Sidewinders, one Sparrow-M, and full guns air-to-air, then two Mavericks and one Shrike air-to-ground, plus a centerline bag,” Ellis replied. That meant a centerline fuel tank.

Guru nodded. “All right. Whatever they drink in the Club? We're buying tonight because they saved a bunch of our asses today.” He paused. “Mark? Good luck, and be careful. Don't want to break in Don as Exec.”

“You too, Boss. Not ready to be CO just yet.”

Both shook hands. “Remember those counters for those guns,” Guru reminded his Exec.

“Will do,” Ellis said. Then he headed out.

Guru and Goalie then headed to the Ops Office, and found Don Van Loan wrapping up his paperwork. “Boss,” Van Loan said. “Getting ready to go.”

“You're out when?”

“In fifteen,” the Ops Officer replied. “Your birds will be ready in twenty.”

“All right. You be careful out there. Darren tell you about the counters for those guns?” The CO asked.

“He did.”

“Okay,” Guru nodded. He looked around, and saw Kara wasn't in the office. “You be careful, now. Still don't want to break in Kara as Ops Officer. Yet.”

The Ops Officer laughed. “And I'm not ready to be Exec. Will do, Boss.”

“Have a good one, and good luck.”

“You too, Boss.” Van Loan shook hands with the CO, then wen to inform his flight it was time to get ready.

Guru turned to his GIB. “Find Kara and everyone else. Tell everybody to get whatever they want inside their stomach and something to drink.”

“When are we going?” Goalie asked.

Guru said, “When our birds are ready. As soon as they're finished eating? We gear up.”

“Got you.” She headed off to round everyone up.

“Sweaty?” Guru nodded at his second element lead. “Find Sin and see if MAG-11's intel people gave him anything new.”

Sweaty nodded. “On my way.”


A few minutes later, Guru went to the locker room to gear up. When he came out, he found Goalie there, waiting, ready to go. “All set?”

“Last one of the day, and maybe we can show those young pups a thing or two,” she replied.

“Now you're talking.”

Pilot and GIB went outside, and found Sweaty coming over from the F-20 people at a run. She was geared up and ready, but had gone to find the Intel Officer. “Anything?” The CO asked.

“Boss, found Sin. He was with the F-20 guys. Nothing new on the guns, he said.”

“Had to ask, though,” Guru nodded. “Nothing we can do about that.”

They went to the dispersal area, and 512's revetment. They found the rest of the flight there, all geared up and ready. “People, last one of the day.”

“Anything new on those guns?” Kara asked.

“Nada. So....either the Army takes them out, or...”

“Or what?” Hoser asked.

The CO looked at Hoser. “Or Yeager's people do. They're getting ready to go out again.”

“What?” KT spat. “Those guys again?”

“Yep, and remember,” the CO told his people. “They saved our asses out there today, so keep that in mind. And by the looks of it, they know what they're doing.”

“Can't argue with that,” Dave Golen said.

“No. Okay, usual procedures on the radio, and remember, this may be the last one today, but treat it like it's the first. DO NOT get sloppy, people! I do not want to write any letters today. VMFA-134's new CO is probably busy doing just that, and I don't want to give him company. Comprende?”

Heads nodded. “Loud and clear, Major,” Kara replied.

“Good. Anything else?” Guru asked. He saw heads shake no. “All right: let's go get 'em. Time to hit it.” He clapped his hands.

The crews headed to their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie went to 512. They found it loaded with Rockeye CBUs for another antiarmor run, as expected. “Sergeant,” Guru asked his Crew Chief. “She's ready?”

Sergeant Crowley nodded. “Five-twelve's ready for you, Major. She's locked and cocked,” the crew chief replied. “Sir, if you don't mind my saying? Go out there and kick some Commie ass.”

“Do our best, Sergeant,” the CO replied as he and Goalie did their walk-around, then they mounted the aircraft. As they went through the cockpit preflight, Guru asked his GIB. “We had some F-20 air-to-ground action today. May get some air-to-air.”

“Haven't seen any MiGs or helos all day,” Goalie reminded him. “They may not show. Ejection Seats?”

“You never know,” he replied as he finished up the preflight. “Ejection seat armed top and bottom. Yours?”

“Same here. And you're right about that,” Goalie said. “Preflight checklist complete. We're ready for engine start.”

Guru gave the thumbs-up to his CC, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were spun up, and as they warmed up, he noticed the Ops Officer's flight taking off. “There go Don's people.”

“Hope they have a free ride.”

“Same here,” replied the CO. “Tower, Corvette Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru called. He gave the thumbs-up again to Sergeant Crowley, who signaled the ground crew to pull back the landing gear chocks. Then Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal, and Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment. After he cleared it, Crowley gave the CO salute, which both pilot and GIB returned.

Guru taxied to Runway 33W, and ahead of him were a Marine F-4 flight, from VMFA-333, then a flight of Marine Hornets, then it would be their turn. As they waited a C-130 came in to land on 33C, and a Navy A-7 flight went down 33R. Just another busy afternoon, though it was the last flight of the day, it sure didn't look it. Both flights ahead of him went, then it was their turn. He taxied to the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Flight, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-zero for eight,” the Controller replied.

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. He taxied 512 into position, and Kara taxied 520 in right with him. He glanced over, and both Kara and Brainiac gave a thumbs-up. He and Goalie returned it, then ran through a final check. Time. “Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Ready to rock,” Goalie said. “Canopy coming down.”

Both pilot and GIB pulled down and locked their canopies, and Guru saw that Kara and Brainiac had done the same in 520. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower responded by flashing a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Let's go,” Guru said. He ran the engines up to full power, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser, and behind them, Dave Golen and Flossy. The flight met up at FL 100, then they headed for the Mineral Wells tanker track.



Sheppard AFB, TX: 1540 Hours Central War Time:


Captain Darren “Sin” Licon went over from the 335th's offices to the dispersal area and found the F-20 pilots talking not only with the company tech-reps, but also General Yeager. “General,” he said, sketching a salute. “Just talked with the CO. Your guys probably saved his flight's asses this afternoon.”

“Well, now, Captain,” Yeager replied in his West Virginia drawl. “He glad my guys went out?”

“Sir, you could say that. I know what you guys claimed, but I need a debrief.”

“You want to debrief us?” Captain Matt Clancy asked.

“Might as well,” Licon said as General Olds came over. “General?”

“Major Wiser's people are getting ready to go,” Olds replied. He noticed the F-20s being turned around. “And so are your people, looks like.”

“If they're needed, my people will go,” Yeager said. “All right, Captain, what'd you all get?” He asked Clancy.

“We all took shots with Shrike,” Clancy said, and he saw the other two, Pruitt and Quinn, nod. “One went dumb, but the other two must've hit, because the SA-11s all dropped off the EW scope.”

Licon was taking notes. “Then what? You first, Captain,” he asked Clancy.

“Took two Maverick shots after the Shrike,” Clancy answered. “Both of 'em were ZSU-30s.”

“Hits?”

“Got one, then took another shot.”

“That one hit,” Pruitt said. “Got one myself, then had a dance with a Gopher.”

“You claiming the Gopher?” Licon asked.

Prada nodded. “He better,” she said. “He got it, but it shot a missile at him. Took one of his flares.”

“And you?”

She nodded, sipped from a bottle of water, then added, “My first shot was a -23. Then found a -30 with a recovery vehicle next to it. Shot the ZSU, and when it blew? May have gotten the recovery vehicle in the fireball.”

Clancy nodded. “That was a hit. Nail gave us a four-decimal-zero, then we got out of there.”

“Okay,” Licon said, checking his notes. “You're claiming four ZSU-30s, a ZSU-23, and an SA-13 launcher, then?”

“That's about it.”

“I'll pass this on to my CO,” Licon said. “You guys saved a bunch of our asses today.” He got up to leave, then headed off to the intel shop.

After the intel left, Clancy nodded. “Only wish we'd gone out sooner.” He looked at Generals Olds and Yeager. “Maybe those Marine crews would still be alive.”

“Can't change that, son, and you know it,” Olds reminded him. He thought for a moment. “You guys going back out again?”

Yeager nodded. “I need to talk with Colonel Brady,” he said. “He's in charge of the flying here.” He regarded Prada. “If he says yes, you're taking my bird again. Yours isn't finished with the hundred-hour check, and won't be ready until after sunset.” He looked over the F-20s. The Cs were being turned around, while the ground crew was busy with the -D.

“Yes, sir,” Quinn replied. “General Olds, when it's ready, would you like to have a ride in the -D?”

“Mind if I tag along on a mission?” Olds replied. A chance at sneaking a combat mission....even if he did it once, he wanted to see for himself how the new generation was handling combat.

“Her bird, her call,” Yeager said.

“Sir, do you have a no-combat order?” Prada asked General Olds.

“I do,” said Olds.

“Then, sir, no tagging along. But...if you want a check ride in the -D, be my guest.”

“Deal,” Olds said, shaking her hand. He regarded both Clancy and Pruitt. “You guys have done this before.” It wasn't a question.

“After Day three of Wichita and through PRAIRIE FIRE,” Clancy said. “We flew against Third Shock Army. CAS and strike aren't our best options, but in that fracas.....no choice. Did a lot of hunting of those guns and missile tracks.”

“Didn't get to do much else that but that, and just take the odd shot at a ComBloc fast mover or helo,” Pruitt added.

“There was the first day,” Clancy reminded his friend. Not to mention Altus.”

Pruitt nodded. “There was that. That F-16 guy coming over?”

“You mean Masters? No. He's staying with Vipers. Just like a lot of these guys,” Clancy said. “Almost every pilot's a Phantom Phanatic, and forget about the WSOs. Every last one of them's waiting for the F-15E.”

“So are most of the drivers,” General Olds said. “And you guys went where help was needed.” How many pilots had been sacrificed by rushing the 479th-and others like it-into combat when they weren't ready? He wondered about that. Definitely, he'd have a talk with General Tanner, and if necessary, General Dugan, the Chief of Staff, about that. Somebody felt they were combat-ready, and the 479th got fed into a meat grinder. For sure, his old subordinate Sundown Cunningham would probably crunch some balls over that.

“That we did, General,” Clancy said.

“Going back out?”

Just then, Colonel Brady came over, and noticed the F-20s being refueled and rearmed. “Getting ready to head back out?”

“If you'll okay the mission,” General Yeager said.

Brady nodded. “Just wish you'd come to me three hours ago. Maybe Bill Poore and two of his guys would still be alive.” He was referring to the VMFA-134 CO, who had been killed by ZSU-30 earlier that afternoon. “If you're not flying, General, I'll okay the mission.”

“Done.”

“I'll notify MAG-11 Ops and the Tower. Good luck,” Brady said. He then went to the 335th, then he'd mount his own aircraft.

“General?” One of the Northrop tech-reps said. “Birds are ready except for centerline. How do you want it?”

“Clancy?” Yeager asked. “Your call.”

“If I were you,” a voice said. “I'd take the tank.” Heads turned, and Major Frank Carson was there. “Hope you don't mind my overhearing.”

General Yeager looked at the snobby major. “Just get back?”

“Yes, sir,” Carson replied. “Saw an A-10 get shot up, and a Cobra got splashed as well. West of Lipan? It's still hairy.”

“Well?” Yeager asked Clancy.

The flight lead thought for a moment. “We'll take the tanks. Go.”

“Ready in ten,” the tech-rep said, then he went off to see to the centerline tanks being loaded.

“Well, Major?” Yeager asked.

“Looking forward to my ride,” Carson said.

“Tomorrow, sometime.”

Carson nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He then headed off to the 335th's office.

Prada looked at him as the Major left. “What a snotty asshole,” she remarked. “Glad we don't have anyone like him.”

“What's his deal?” Pruitt asked. He saw the centerline tanks being loaded.

“If you saw what's in his 201 File and Flight Record?” Yeager asked. “You'd know why everyone on this base-and not just the 335th, pretty much hates his guts.”

“Join the club,” Olds said. “General Tanner warned me about him before I got here. Ask around in the Club, and they'll tell you why. The CO and this guy have a history, and they pretty much loathe each other. That's just the start. He's made an ass of himself to just about everyone.”

The three junior officers nodded. “ROTC vs. Academy?” Prada asked. She was AFROTC, University of Maryland.

“Close. Carson's Academy. And the 335th's CO is an OTS grad from prewar days. And speaking of which, I need to sit in on his brief.” Olds said. He shook hands with the three, then said, “Good luck.” Then he headed to the 335th's office.

“When do we go, General?” Clancy asked Yeager.

“When the CO's flight leaves,” Yeager said. “Just like last time. Get something to eat and drink, hit the latrine, then get ready to fly.”

About fifteen minutes later, the F-20 people were ready to go, when they saw the 335th's people heading to their own aircraft. And they recognized the CO and several others. “General,” Pruitt said. “They're heading out to their birds.”

Yeager nodded. “Mount up. Clancy? Bring everybody back, and I do NOT want any holes in my birds. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Clancy replied.

General Yeager shook hands with the trio, and said, “Good luck.” They then mounted their own aircraft.

Once the preflight was done, and engines started, Clancy called the tower. “Tower, Showroom Flight with three, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Showroom Lead, clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Charlie. Hold prior to the active, and you are number three in line,” the controller replied.

“Roger, tower,” Clancy replied. The three F-20s taxied out, and saw six SEA-painted F-4Es turn, one pair at a time, to Runway 33L, then rumble down the runway and into the air. A Marine Hornet flight was immediately ahead of them, then they taxied to the holding area prior to 33C. There, armorers removed the weapon safeties.

“Tower, Showroom Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.” Clancy called.

The tower replied at once. “Showroom Lead, clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-six for five.”

“Roger, Tower.” The three F-20s taxied, with Clancy and Prada leading Pruitt, then the lead pair was on the runway. “Tower, Showroom Flight requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff. The first pair rumbled down the runway and into the air, and thirty seconds later, Pruitt's bird followed, bringing up the rear. All three meet up at FL 100, then headed for the tanker track over Mineral Wells.

[Matt Wiser]

Part VIII: Last one of the day, and the F-20s make their presence felt again:

Over Central Texas: 1625 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was orbiting in the holding pattern at 12,000 feet, and, as usual, were waiting to be passed off to a FAC. They had been handed off to Tampa, the EC-130E, by AWACS, and, as they orbited, had a bird's-eye view of the battle below. As the crews orbited, they watched as fireballs erupted on the ground and, on occasion, in the air. And as was usual, there was no way to tell whose they were. Just that everyone hoped it was Ivan taking the brunt of the casualties, both in the air and on the ground.

Major Wiser glanced around, and saw FACs orbiting, and occasionally marking targets, while off to the west, Weasels were orbiting, waiting for SAMs to come up, and the occasional “Magnum” call signaling a anti-radar missile launch came over the radio. The CO glanced to the west, and saw the sun getting lower and lower. “They'd better hurry up,” he said over the IC.

“You sound just like Kara,” Goalie replied. Then she, too, glanced to the west. “And they'd better.” Though they were trained for night strikes, the 335th's crews could count the number of night missions they had flown on one hand.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “Anything?”

“Not yet,” Guru replied. “Stand by one.” He switched over and called Tampa. “Tampa, Corvette Lead. Any tasking for us?”

“Negative,” the controller replied. “Descend to Flight Level One-One-zero and continue to hold.”

“Roger, Tampa,” Guru called back. He got back on the squadron frequency. “Follow me down to Eleven Grand.” He led the flight down to FL 110, and they kept orbiting. “Can't stay here all day, fella,” he muttered.

“Hurry up and wait,” Goalie added.

Just then, the F-20s came in. “Tampa, Showroom Flight with three checking in,” Clancy called.

“Oh, shit,” Guru said. “I knew it.”

“Hear that, Lead?” Kara said.

“I heard, Two.”




Aboard the EC-130, the TacCo and the senior controller looked at each other. The F-20s again? They had been notified that the F-20s might be coming back. The TacCo nodded at the Controller. “Showroom, Tampa. You guys have Magnum loaded?”

“Showroom Lead, Tampa. That's affirmative,” Clancy replied. “One shot, and two Rifle shots each bird. One radar, two heat, and full guns each.”

“Roger, Showroom. You go to the front of the line, fella. Contact Nail Five-one for tasking.”

“Copy, Tampa.”

“Showroom, Corvette,” Guru called the F-20s. “Rocket Man with you?” He knew it wasn't likely, but he had to check anyway. Visions of Goose Bay or Loring suddenly came to mind.

“Corvette, Showroom,” Clancy replied. 'That's a negative. Time for us to go to work. See you back at Home Plate.”

“Still afraid Yeager's going to go into combat?” Goalie asked.

“I am,” said Guru.


Below, the 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division was in a fight. In his command post, the Divisional Commander, Major General Sergei Lopatin, knew it, and realized he was in for it. He turned to the senior officer next to him, who had come over from 4th Guards Tank Army to have a look. “Comrade General....”

“I don't like this,” Colonel General Pioytr Suryakin replied. “You're in for it,” the commanding general of 4th Guards Tank Army replied. “Be prepared to pull back on my order.”

“Comrade General, my orders put me under the East Germans' command,”Lopatin reminded the general.

“I'll clear it with Front Headquarters,” Suryakin told him, and he shot an icy glare at the East German liaison officer in the divisional command post, who seemed to wilt under that glare.

“Comrade Generals,” the division's air-defense commander said as he came over. “More aircraft coming in.”


“Nail Five-one, Showroom,” Clancy called the FAC.

“Showroom, Nail,” the FAC replied. He was orbiting in an A-7K, and had taken the place of one of his best friends, who had been killed by one of those ZSU-30s earlier that afternoon. “Say aircraft and type of ordnance, please.”

“Nail, Showroom Flight is three Foxtrot-Twenty Charlies. We have one Magnum and two Rifle shots each, and one radar, two heat, and full guns each airplane.”

If he could, the FAC would exchange glances with his pilot. F-20s? Those guys had shown up earlier and had probably kept who knew how many from buying a farm in the sky? Too bad they hadn't been around when those Marines flew into a buzz saw. “Copy Showroom. Your target is mixed tanks and APCs with air-defense assets. Threat is divisional level, and be advised fast-movers and helos are in the area. Both friendly and enemy.”

“Roget, Nail,” Clancy replied.

“You're cleared in, Showroom,” Nail called. He silently added, Get some.


“Flight, Lead,” Clancy called. “Let's go in. Take your Magnum shot, then Rifle. Then we bust ass out of here.” He called up his Shrike, and picked up not only SA-11, but also SA-4 signals. Those meant Army, and that would be East Germans. The SA-4s were out of range, but not the -11s. Clancy fired. “Magnum!” he called. Right after that, his two wingmates did the same. Once again, a Shrike went dumb-whose, they didn't know, because right after launching, the F-20s turned away. Only one found a target this time, an SA-11 track, but it was enough, for the others all shut down. Then they rolled in for their Maverick shots.

“Looks like they're doing good,” Goalie said from 512's back seat.

In the front seat, Guru nodded. He took a look at the EW repeater, and saw that all the missile and gun warnings had dropped off. “Remember, we're buying for them tonight.” Then Tampa called. Drop to 9,000. That meant two more were ahead of them before it would be Corvette Flight's turn.

“Showroom Lead in hot!” Clancy rolled in for his Maverick shots. He noticed a full motor-rifle regiment on the move, coming up towards Lipan. Clancy called up Maverick, then scanned the area with the seeker, looking for any air-defense assets. He found an SA-13 vehicle, then fired. “Rifle!” He called. Then he called up his second missile, and found one of the guns. “Rifle again!” He took the second shot, seeing the first missile find its mark, shortly followed by the second. “Lead off target,” Clancy radioed as he turned north.

“Two's in!” Prada called as she went in on her run. She, too, scanned for targets for her Mavericks, and found two of what they were looking for. “Rife!” She called, sending her first Maverick after a ZSU-30, then Prada repeated the call after locking up the second vehicle and launched. As she turned away, Prada followed both missile trails visually, and saw both targets fireball as the missiles scored. “Two is off target.”

“Three's in hot!” Pruitt called as he came down. He, too, was looking for any gun or missile launchers he could find. He, too, used his Maverick to scan for targets, and it wasn't long before he found what he was looking for. Pruitt locked up a ZSU-30 and launched. “Rifle!” he called, then he banked around and called up his second Maverick. This time, he didn't see a gun or SAM vehicle, but did pick out a BTR-type APC with some funny antennas. That might be a regimental command vehicle or a FAC's vehicle, he knew from past experience, and those were definitely worth killing. Pruitt locked it up and fired. “Rifle!” Then he turned away, and saw a pair of fireballs on the ground as the missiles scored. “Three's off target,” was his call as he turned for the I-20.

“Showroom, Nail,” the FAC called. “I give you a four-decimal-zero. Nice work, fella.”

“Thanks, Nail. Showroom Flight is outbound at this time.” Clancy said.


“Well, now..” Guru said as he led the flight down to 8,000 feet. One more flight was now ahead of Corvette, then it would be their turn.

“Those things have their uses,” Goalie added.

“They do,” the CO admitted.

“Corvette Lead, Tampa. Contact Nail Five-one for tasking,” the EC-130 controller called.

“Roger, Tampa,” replied Guru. “Nail Five-one, Corvette Lead.”

“Corvette, Nail Five-one. Say aircraft type and ordnance load, please,” the FAC asked him.

“Nail, Corvette Flight is six Foxtrot-Four Echoes with twelve Rockeyes each bird, plus two radar, four heat, and full gun each airplane,” Guru told the FAC.

“Copy that, Corvette,” Nail replied. “We have a regimental-sized force moving north, towards the F.M. 4-F.M. 112 junction. The Army wants you to help make some of 'em go away.”

“Roger, Nail. Can you have the ground-pounders take out any air defense assets they see?”

“Can do, Corvette. Will mark the target.” The A-7K rolled in, ignoring some flak coming up, and fired several WP rockets, then it pulled up. “That's your target.”

“Nail, Corvette Lead copies. Can give you one run, south to north,” Guru told the FAC.

“Your call, Corvette,” Nail replied.

Guru clipped on his oxygen mask, then he called the flight. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and time to go get 'em.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and the rest of the flight followed suit.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Switches set,” Goalie said. “Everything in one go.”

The CO grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Good girl.” Then he looked down below. The tanks and BMPs were there, and the occasional fireball meant they were taking fire from the Army. Good. Maybe the treadheads took out the ZSUs the F-20s missed. Then it was time. “Flight, Lead. Follow me in.”


Below, the commander of the 482nd Motor-Rifle Regiment was not a happy man. Instead of moving ahead to exploit, along with the 228th Tank Regiment, the divisional commander had ordered him to move in and assist the 188th MRR. No matter, his BMP-2s and T-72Bs would be superior to any M-113s and M-60s his men encountered, and if they met the American paratroopers reportedly in the area? His regiment would run over them. Though many of the rank and file were Estonians, reservists from Tallinn, most of his officers were not. The regiment's junior officers-nearly all the Platoon Commanders and many of the company commanders, were fresh from their officer training, but his battalion commanders had experience, though that was in Afghanistan, and certainly not in America. Still, his regiment had done well in its predeployment training, but he knew the big unknown was how his regiment would perform under fire. Now he was seeing the results of their training. So far, so good, but the Americans to the east were taking pot shots at his regiment, and they were accurate, for two of his 2S6 air-defense vehicles had been hit and knocked out, and two more disabled, along with several tanks and BMPs, but no matter. The 482nd would accomplish the mission it had been given. Suddenly, the regimental air-defense battalion commander came on over the command net. “Air attack warning-South!”

The Colonel opened the hatch of his command BTR and looked in that direction. Sure enough, smoke trails were coming down on his regiment. Where had the Yankee aircraft come from? And where was the Air Force? “AIR ATTACK! DISPERSE!” The Colonel shouted into his throat mike.

“Lead in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in. The gun and missile warnings were off on his EW display, but optically guided flak or heat-seeking missiles were still a threat. At least there were no basketball-sized tracers coming up, and that meant ZSU-30s.....Guru picked up a regimental-sized force heading north, and that was the target. Tanks and BMPs, and artillery right behind them. Dealer's choice, so he picked out some armor in the middle, and selected them. Ignoring the flak coming up, along with a couple of missiles-which looked like SA-7 type MANPADS, he lined them up in his pipper. “Steady....Steady...and....HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing his twelve CBUs down onto the armor below. He pulled wings level and pulled away, jinking as he did so. “Lead's off safe,” the CO called.


Below, the Colonel watched as Guru's F-4 flew over his regiment, and cursed-and cursed loudly-when the F-4 released its bombs, and CBU bomblets fell onto his First Battalion's BMPs. Several of the vehicles took CBU hits and exploded, while several others fell out of line and were damaged. The Colonel was on the radio to his air-defense commander demanding to know where the 2S6s and Strela-3 launchers were, when one of the former took fire-from where, he didn't know-and exploded. Someone was shooting at them, and he had no idea where. The Colonel ordered his regimental reconnaissance company to his flank, to find the enemy to the regiment's flank. He was still giving orders when a second F-4 came in.


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

Guru nodded as he jinked to avoid flak. Off to his left, there were some of those basketball-sized tracers, but they were wide of the mark. “How many?”

“Some,” she replied.

“Good enough,” Guru replied as he maintained his jinking and headed for the I-20.


Kara rolled in on her run. “Two's in!” she called. She, too, had some flak coming up, but it, too, was unguided as her EW repeater was blank. Good, those F-20s are good for something, she thought. As she came in, she saw the CO's bird pulling away, and where his CBUs had gone off. Kara saw some APCs and tanks behind that, and decided they had to go away. As she came in, more tracers came up, and so did a missile-a small one-but she ignored it and concentrated on the run. “Steady....and...HACK!” Kara hit the pickle button, sending a dozen Mark-20 Rockeyes down on the Russians. She pulled up and away, jinking as she did so, called out, “Two's off safe.”

“Of all the...” the Colonel muttered as Kara's F-4 flew overhead. It, too, released its ordnance, and CBUs showered down on the trailing elements of First Battalion. Several BMPs and even a couple of T-72Bs took CBU hits and fireballed, Several soldiers from the battalion's air-defense platoon got out of their BMPs and fired their Strela-3 (SA-14) missiles, but they failed to score as the F-4 flew away. Cursing again, he got on the radio, demanding to know where the fire from the right was coming from, but suddenly his radio was filled with static, and he knew why. Jamming.

“SHACK!” Brainiac yelled in 520's rear seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara wanted to know. She, too, saw some large tracers, but easily avoided them on this occasion. Then a missile, what kind she didn't know, flew past the right side, and another flew past them beneath the aircraft.

“Got some.”

“I'll take that,” she replied as she picked up the CO's smoke trail and headed north, jinking as she did so.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty made the call as she came in on her bomb run. Once again, tracers came up, but she ignored them as she chose her targets. There were some tanks down there, alone, with no APCs, and those needed killing. Sweaty came down, lining some tanks up in her pipper, and as she did, more tracers came up. No matter. “Steady....and...and....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, and Rockeye CBUs rained down on the armor. Sweaty pulled wings level, and headed north. “Three's off target.”

“NYET!” Shouted the Colonel as Sweaty's Phantom flew past his position, and released its bombs. This time, the attackers had picked out his tank battalion, and though it was in full battle formation, enough CBUs rained down to catch a company's worth of tanks, and several of them took hits to their thin top armor, which exploded their fuel or their ammunition. Others were disabled, and fell out of formation. Where were the air-defense people?” He got onto the radio again and managed to find his air-defense commander. No response. What the....

“GOOD HITS!” Preacher shouted as Sweaty pulled away.

“How good?” She asked, jinking as she headed north, not noticing a missile that flew beneath the aircraft, but she did see the tracers coming up and falling short.

The ex-Seminary student grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Righteous ones!”

“Good enough for me,” Sweaty replied. She was still jinking as she beat a path to the I-20.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he rolled in. He saw where his element leader had unloaded, and as he came down, saw what looked like SP howitzers, the ones called SAU-122s. One battery looked like it was setting up to fire, and he decided to give them a Rockeye wake-up. Hoser, too, ignored the flak coming up, and even what looked like an SA-13 came at him, but it didn't track. More of those basketball-sized tracers came up as well, but they were falling short, as his EW repeater was dark. Nice try, Ivan....Hoser lined up the battery in his pipper. “Steady....Steady...and...and...NOW!” He hit the pickle button, and sent his dozen Rockeyes down on the artillerymen below. He pulled wings level and began jinking as he cleared the area. “Four off target,” Hoser called.

Explosions behind him caught the Colonel's attention, as did Hoser's F-4, as it flew by. He called his artillery battalion commander, and the news was obvious. Second Battery had been hit, damage unknown, but several guns and command vehicles knocked out. Two secondary explosions followed as it looked like ammunition trucks had also gone up-literally. The Colonel shook his head. He knew what the divisional commander and intelligence officer had told him about American air power, but the Colonel had faith not just in his own air-defense people, but also their Air Force comrades, who, he was sure, would control the skies. Where was the Air Force?. The Colonel was on the radio again, trying to get in touch with the Divisional Commander, not noticing more American aircraft coming in.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called out as he rolled in. He saw where those ahead of him had laid down their ordnance, and noticed some armor ahead and to the right. To him, it looked like a battalion that had not yet been attacked, and thus was worthy of attention. Golen, too, saw the flak coming up and ignored it, though the SA-13 that came his way and didn't track certainly caught his attention, for it flew by his left side by about fifty feet. He lined up the APCs in his pipper. “Steady....and....NOW!” Golen hit his pickle button, sending his Rockeyes down onto the armor. He pulled level and applied power, jinking as he headed north. “Five off target.”

“NYET!” The Colonel shouted as Dave's F-4 made its run. This time, the attacking aircraft hit the Third Battalion, and once again, CBU bomblets rained down on his men. Several BMP-2s took hits and immediately became fireballs, while several others were damaged. Again, several soldiers from the air-defense platoon did fire their Strela-3 shoulder-fired missiles, but their efforts were for naught, as none of the missiles tracked the target. He glanced around, and when he looked to the south, he saw another American aircraft coming in. Not again....


“SHACK!” Golen's backseater called. “We got some!”

“How many secondaries?” Golen asked as he jinked to avoid the unguided flak coming up.

'Got a few,” the backseater replied.

“I'll take that.” With that remark, Golen headed north, hoping to pick up the rest of the flight.


“Six is in hot!” Flossy called as she went down on her run. As she came down, Flossy ignored the flak coming her way. At least it wasn't guided, she thought, taking a quick look at her EW repeater. She picked out some more tanks and APCs, and as she got closer, decided they were hers. More tracers came up, even a few of the big ones, but she paid them no heed. Centering some APCs in the pipper, she lined them up. “And...Steady....And....And....HACK!” Flossy hit the pickle button, and sent her Rockeyes down onto the Russians. She pulled up and away, jinking as she did, and after a missile passed about fifty feet overhead, she called, “Six is off safe.”


“Sookin sin!” The Colonel yelled. Son of a bitch. Of all the....he saw Flossy's F-4 fly right overhead and lay its cluster bombs onto Second Battalion. More BMPs and tanks were caught in the hail of bomblets, and several of them died, going up in fireballs as CBU bomblets found their mark. What else could go wrong today? That thought was at the Colonel's mind as he came up to Second Battalion's position to rally the survivors. He sent his Zampolit over towards First Battalion to do the same, though they hadn't been hit as hard, and grimaced as the Party hack's BMP suddenly exploded, apparently after running over a CBU bomblet.....oh, well. No great loss. Then his reconnaissance company got on the line. M-1s and APCs to their right, and the tanks were engaging the reconnaissance vehicles, then his company commander's voice stopped in a burst of static....and the divisional commander was now on the line, his Chief of Staff said.....

“GOOD HITS!” Jang called from 1569's back seat. “Got some secondaries!”

“How good?” Flossy asked as she jinked to avoid the flak and any missiles. What looked like an SA-7 flew past her port wing, and another flew right overhead, only twenty feet above her canopy. Way too close for comfort....

“Several good fireballs,” Jang told her frontseater.

“I'll take those,” Flossy said as she headed for the I-20 and the FLOT.


“Nail, Corvette Lead. How'd we do?” Guru asked.

“Corvette Lead, Nail. Good job, fella. I give you a four-decimal-zero. All ordnance on target,” the FAC replied.

“Roger that and thanks.”

“Anytime, Corvette,” Nail called back.

In the back seat, Goalie grinned beneath her mask. “Six in and out.”

“Don't celebrate yet,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a game going.” Looking around, he saw Kara in 520 already with him in Combat Spread. “Two, good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Kara replied.

“Three, where are you?”

“Got you in sight, in your six,” said Sweaty. “Hoser's with me.”

“Roger that,” the CO said. “Five, you and Six there?”

Dave Golen's voice responded immediately. “We've got visual on you, and Six is with me.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He then called the EC-130. “Tampa, Corvette Lead. Six in and out. All ordnance expended, and we are out of here.”

The EC-130 controller replied, “Roger, Corvette. Good work, and maybe we can do this again.”

“Roger that, Tampa,” Guru said. Though hopefully not anytime soon, he said to himself. He'd had enough CAS for a while. And, no doubt, so had the rest of the squadron.


Corvette Flight joined up north of the I-20 and headed for the tankers. After they drank in their post-strike refueling, they headed back to Sheppard. This time, they had to wait as several Marine and Air Force flights were ahead of them, and as it turned out, Corvette Flight was the last one in. After landing, the flight taxied in towards its dispersal, and as usual, the news crew was filming them. “You'd think they've shot enough footage,” Goalie noted.

“Their job,” Guru reminded her. “Speaking of which, our interview should air in a few days.” He then popped his canopy and raised it.

His backseater did the same. “Thought it would be on by now,” Goalie said. “What's taking them so long?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the CO said as he taxied 512 into the squadron's dispersal area, then into its revetment. After getting the “Shut down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, he and Goalie did their usual post-flight check, then Guru stood up in the cockpit. “Over and done for the day.”

“Another day, another round of flight pay,” muttered Goalie.

“They pay us for this?” Guru deadpanned as he climbed down from the aircraft.

“Not enough,” Goalie said as she got down from 512 and began a walk-around with her pilot.

After the walk-around, Sergeant Crowley came over. “Major, Lieutenant? How's my bird?” The Crew Chief “owned” the plane, and the crew merely borrowed it, and crew chiefs never forgot to remind crews of that.

“Five-twelve's working like a champ,Sergeant,” Guru said. “No damage, and do what you need to so that she's ready for the morning.”

Crowley nodded. “No bad weather?”

“Sorry,” Guru replied as he took a swig from a bottle of water a ground crew member had handed him. “Nothing due for a few days.”

“Too bad, sir,” said Crowley. “Don't you worry, Major. She'll be ready in the morning.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said.

“All right, people!” Crowley told the ground crew as the CO and GIB headed out of the revetment. “Let's get the Major's bird ready for the morning.”

As Guru and Goalie walked out, she turned to her pilot. “Still want to bump him up in the R&R rotation?”

“Thinking about it,” Guru admitted. “It's the least I can do to thank him. If I have to, I'll make it an order.”

“'Go on R&R, have fun, and oh, by the way, that's an order?'” Goalie asked. “That's new.”

Guru nodded. “Always a first time for everything.”

They got to the revetment's entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac waiting. “Glad that's over?” Kara asked.

“You're not the only one,” Goalie said. “Six runs today, and one thing to be said about Fall.”

“And that is?” Sweaty asked as the rest of the crews arrived.

“Not enough daylight for seven or more.”

Preacher nodded. “For which everyone should be thankful. Now what, Boss?”

“Debrief, check your desks, then head on over to the Club,” the CO said.

Heads nodded at that. Even though they were flying several times a day, everyone still had a secondary ground job. “Too bad the elves don't take care of that while we're out,” Flossy joked.

“You, me, and everybody else wish the same thing,” Guru said. “Kara? The Ferry Crews and the F-20 guys are fair game tonight. The ferry pilots know you, but the GIBs may not.”

Everybody saw the grin on Kara's face. “It'll be a pleasure.”

“Come on. Let's get debriefed.” Guru said. They headed to the squadron office, and all wanted to get the debriefing-and any paperwork-done so they could head over to the Officer's Club and eat. It had been a busy day.



335th TFS CO's Office, Sheppard AFB, TX; 1700 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was at his desk, going over some paperwork that had accumulated while he'd been off on his last mission of the day. He quickly took care of it, placed it in his OUT box, then glanced at his office clock. 1701? Good. Time to get over to the Club. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, came in. “Boss, before you head over to the Club, got a few admin things to take care of.” He handed his CO a clipboard with several papers.

“What have you got?” Guru asked as he scanned the papers. “Aircraft status update?” The CO checked the sheet. “Only twenty? We've got twenty-two birds now.”

“Two are down for hundred-hour checks. Mine, and Frank's.” Ellis replied. “So we'll take the two new ones.”

“Enjoy Euro One,” Guru replied. “What else?”

The XO showed him another paper. “Supply update. The scroungers have a couple of requests for their horse-trading.”

Guru looked at the request. “More canned hams? That I can understand, Mark, but the fruit cocktail? What do they need thirty cases of that for?”

“Don't know, but Ross says the folks they deal with have that on their lists, and if we can give them some of what they want...”

“We have a better shot at getting what's on our list,” The CO finished. “Okay. Oh, tell Ross to hold off on any further deals involving Sparrow missiles. We're getting AIM-7Fs next week.”

“The deal he's got already?” Ellis wanted to know.

“Go ahead. We can use the Sparrows from the Marines in that three-way deal,” Guru said. “And before you ask, General Olds talked with General Tanner. The logjam's been broken, and we'll be ditching our Es for Fs. And we get new ALQ-119 jammer pods.”

“Hello,” Ellis smiled. “Guess somebody put the fear of God into certain people, especially with those ZSU-30s now in-theater.”

The CO nodded. “Guess so.” He scanned another paper. “We're released from CAS, I see. Back on the ATO tomorrow.”

“People'll be cheering when they hear that. CAS is the A-10s' trade.”

“Down, boy. We fill in for them when they're busy elsewhere, or it's an all-hands effort,” Guru reminded his Exec. He checked the next paper. “Weather....storm coming into Colorado, Nebraska, and Kansas, we're on the southern fringe of it. No adverse effect on flying, just some high clouds.”

Ellis frowned. “That's a bummer. We could use another stand-down day.”

“We'll get another one sooner or later,” Guru said. He checked the last two papers. “Application for Pararescue School, and another for Airman to Pilot?”

“Yep. Airman Dale Morgan wants to go Pararescue.”

“He does know that if he washes out, he's coming back here?'

The XO nodded. “He does, Boss.”

“Fair enough. Hope he enjoys Hill,” the CO said as he signed his name on the “Approved,” line. Hill AFB in Utah was where the Pararescue School had been reconstituted after being overrun at Kirtland AFB during the early days of the war. “And the Airman to Pilot?”

“Airman First Class Janet Nelson,” Ellis said. “She's one of Don's people.”

Guru went over the application. “Four semesters at Nevada-Reno, still 'undecided' as for major, but she does have the Physics class the review board likes.” He went on. “She's asking nav?”

“She's got 20/30 vision in one eye, 20/20 in another.”

“That'll do it,” Guru said. “She does realize that once she finishes knife-and-fork, then nav, she's got an eight-year commitment to the Air Force?”

“She does, Don said.”

Guru nodded as he approved the application with his signature. “Here you go,” he said, handing the clipboard back to the exec. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, Ross took Airman Kellogg into town this morning. They found what's left of Kellogg's house.”

“Any issues with squatters?” The CO asked.

“Nobody's squatting there, Boss. All that's left is the fireplace and one wall. Along with a burned out BMP in the front yard,” said Ellis. “They did find what he and his dad buried in the backyard, though.”

“Good. What'd they do with the box?”

“Ryan Blanchard has it for safekeeping, until we can find out a way to secure it somewhere until the war's over and he can reclaim it.”

“All right. Anything else?” Guru asked.

“One last thing: Frank formally applied to the F-20 program,” Ellis told the CO. “And we all know where that's headed.”

“Dead-end alley,” Guru nodded. “And when Frank finds out? He'll whine again to Daddy back in Boston.”

“All he can do,” the Exec said.

“His problem,” Guru said. “All right, that's it?”

“That's it.”

“All right, then,” Guru said as he got up from behind his desk. “Let's go to the Club.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part IX: Blowing off steam in the O-Club, and listening to some war stories from way back...



Sheppard AFB Officer's Club, 1715 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and his Exec walked into the Club, and found it already buzzing. It didn't take long for the two to find out that the F-20 pilots and their combat sorties that afternoon were the object of discussion. When they got to the bar, they found Goalie and Kara already there. “Ladies,” Guru said. “I see the F-20 jocks are strutting around.”

“They've got every right to,” Kara said. “One of 'em, Pruitt, I think, when he got his drink, said that a bunch of us are alive because of those guys.” She took a drink from a bottle of Budweiser.

“Hate to say this, but they're probably right,” Goalie nodded. She looked at Guru. “You said that earlier.”

“I did,” Guru replied. “And I'm not going to argue with success. The other thing I'm glad about is that General Yeager listened when reminded of the no-combat order.”

A familiar voice spoke up from behind them. “Major, You're not the only one to say that,” It was Colonel Brady. He came up to the bar. “If he'd wanted to fly, no way would I have authorized their going. Simple as that.”

“Glad to hear that, Colonel. You said that earlier, but I'm sure glad you didn't let him go,” Guru said. He motioned to the bartender. “Smitty? Sam Adams for me, and Bud for the XO.”

“Running low on the Sam Adams, Major,” Smitty replied in his Texas twang. He'd been a barkeep in Wichita Falls prewar, and had been one of the first civilians to get a job on base after liberation. “Might want to think on an alternative until we get some more.”

“In that case, Bud for me as well,” Guru said. Smitty put two bottles on the bar, and Guru paid him. Then he turned to Colonel Brady and Goalie, just as General Olds and General Yeager came in, and both were talking. “Wonder what that's about?”

“How they'll both get around the no-combat order?” Kara said, still nearby.

“Don't even say it, Captain,” replied Colonel Brady. The last thing he wanted was a sudden transfer to NAF Argentia in Newfoundland, heading up the Marine Detachment there.

Both generals went to the bar and ordered. After getting their drinks, they came by where the 335th people, and Colonel Brady, were. “Colonel, and Major,” General Olds said. “Enjoying the evening?”

“Looking forward to some of General Yeager's stories from Edwards, back in those days,” replied Brady, and the 335th people nodded agreement.

Yeager nodded. “You'll hear a few. And not just Edwards. Damn near got myself killed testing a MiG-15 a defecting North Korean flew to Kimpo in September, '53.”

“And the movie, General?” Goalie asked. “The Right Stuff?”

“That, and I did some of the flying for the John Wayne movie Jet Pilot,” Yeager said.

“Looking forward to it, sir,” Guru said.

“General,” Brady said. “Thanks for what your people did today. Quite a few of us are probably alive because of your guys in the F-20s.”

Yeager smiled. “Wasn't my idea, Colonel. Clancy and Pruitt-” he nodded in their direction, at a table where AF, Navy, and Marine pilots were waving hands-and still arguing the F-20 versus their respective mounts. “They sold me on it.”

“General,” Guru said. “Just glad that, (a) you weren't flying, and (b), they got some of those guns.”

“Thanks, Major,” Yeager said with a smile. He went off to be with his people, and got into some of the discussions (or arguments) going on.

General Olds watched the goings-on, and observed, “I don't think anyone's mind is going to be changed. Either you're committed to the F-20, or you're happy flying the bird you're in now. Whether it's the F-4, F/A-18, or for the Navy guys, the A-7, it makes no difference.”

“No,sir,” Guru nodded. “And for the record, we've only had one applicant to the F-20 from my squadron. And, sir, I think you know who it is.”

“That snobby major?”

“Yes, sir.”

Olds nodded back. 'Well, Major, look at it this way: when he finds out that he's not getting in, he may just have that case of the stupids you can use to kick his ass out of your squadron.”

“Wouldn't mind that at all, General,” Guru said. “Problem is, hope he doesn't get any of his element killed, or any friendlies, for that matter, and when I do kick him out? I'd be inflicting him on a fellow officer who'd be wondering what he's done to deserve the new arrival.”

“Collateral damage, Major,” Olds told the CO. “Can't be helped, especially in situations like this.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded. “Unintended consequences.”

“My thoughts exactly, Major.”


Guru and Goalie then found most of their flight at a table. Then Sweaty came in, with some newspapers. “Got some new ones. USA Today, Stars and Stripes, the Los Angeles Times, and the San Diego Union.”

“Give me the L.A.,” Guru said. “Closest thing to a hometown paper for me.”

Sweaty tossed a paper to her CO, then passed out the rest. “Well, anything new?”

“Says here they're still investigating Proxmire,” Guru said as he handed the Sports section to Hoser. Even with the war, there was still some College sports going on. “FBI's checking on at least one more aide, maybe two.” He was referring to a Senator from Wisconsin who had made no secret of his anti-military views from the 1970s onward, and had also been a critic of NASA. One of his aides had been arrested for suspected ties to the Cuban Embassy in Paris, and the FBI was only beginning its investigation.

“Serves him right,” Cosmo said from a nearby table. “After all that anti-NASA and anti-Science stuff he pulled back in the '70s?”

“Take it easy, girl,” Goalie said. “He was against almost every weapons system we're using now to save the country. We've all got reasons to despise him.” She was checking the local news section, though for her, the Orange County Register was the home paper.

“Steady,” Guru reminded them both. “Whoa...this is hot.”

“What?” Kara asked as she skimmed USA Today.

Guru smiled. “The West German Defense Minister resigned. First of the rats there to go.”

Heads nodded at that. The Neutralist coalition that governed West Germany had kicked out U.S, British, and other Western forces, and had caused NATO's breakup. An event that many in the U.S., Canada, and Britain, felt had directly led to the war, and the attitude of some of the West German press, calling stories of Soviet atrocities in the war zone “Grossly exaggerated,” only fueled anger at the Neutralists. “Hope that starts the ball rolling, now that half of their government got exposed as Stasi or KGB assets.”

Jena Wendt, the Australian reporter attached to the 335th, came in. “I see you guys are seeing our competition. Here's something you may not know. Got the news from Sydney a few minutes ago. Seems the West German Vice-Chancellor got killed earlier today.”

“WHAT?” Several people said at once.

“Run that again, Ms. Wendt,” Guru said. “The Vice-Chancellor of West Germany is dead?”

“That's right, Major. His car was in a traffic collision with a large truck. The reports from Bonn say he didn't want any bodyguards, and all he had was his driver,” Ms. Wendt said.

“Mighty convenient for certain parties,” Kara noted. She'd had some International Relations while at Auburn. “Somebody arranged an 'accident, I'd say.”

Dave Golen nodded. “Okay, the Chancellor got exposed a few days ago as a Stasi asset, right?” He saw heads nod. “The Defense Minister resigned, and now this.”

'Why'd he resign?” General Olds asked. He'd been paying attention to the conversation.

Guru checked the article. “Doesn't say here.”

“What the news from Sydney said,” Ms. Wendt added, “It was a sex scandal.”

Then their RAF Liaison Officer, Flight Lt. Steve “Jack” Lord came in.”Fellows, I just finished listening to the BBC on shortwave. It's more than that. Seems some photos of the chap got sold to Der Speigel.”

“What's that?” KT asked.

“Think Time or Newsweek, now. Or Life back in the '50s and '60s, Lieutenant,” Olds said. “Go on, Flight Lieutenant.”

“Yes,sir,” Lord said. “Anyway, seems the chap in question got involved with underage girls. Several of them.”

Mark Ellis nodded. “And somebody had pictures, sold them, then sat back and watched the fireworks,” he observed.

“Better,” replied Lord. “Speaking of which, they had demonstrations in several West German cities. In Munich? 75,000. Same in Hamburg. Frankfurt and Stuttgart had 40,000. So did Mainz and Nuremberg. All had one demand: the Neutralist Coalition Government's resignation.”

Just then, the Marine mess people came in, with the Wichita Falls restauranteurs who helped run the mess operation as well. “People, we've got grilled ham steak, or Santa Fe Chicken. With all the sides.”

After people got what they wanted, conversation turned back to the news. “Well, that means those Commie-lovers in Bonn are getting what they deserve,” Sweaty noted.

“Not yet,” Dave Golen pointed out. “They can appoint replacements, but it's only a matter of time.”

Lord nodded as he ate. “One other thing, Major. Seems the Bundeswehr, the West German Army, canceled all leaves and was put on some kind of alert. Same thing for the Luftwaffe and the Navy.”

Sin Licon, the 335th's Intel Officer, was with some of his USMC counterparts from MAG-11. “That's another piece of the puzzle,” he said after he took a bite of ham. “If this was some third-world shithole in Africa or Asia, I'd be thinking one word right now.”

“What's that?” Don Van Loan asked.

“Coup.”

People looked at each other, and there were smiles all around. Most Americans, along with their British and Canadian allies, blamed the Greens and their cohorts in West Germany for starting the whole chain of events that led to the war. “Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch,” Guru said. “About damned time those Commie-lickers got shown the door.”

“I'll drink to that,” Goalie said, raising her beer bottle.

“You sure, Captain?” Olds asked. “This is Europe, not some shithole in Asia or Africa.”

Colonel Brady nodded agreement. “They don't do coups in Europe, Captain.”

“Sirs, it fits. A week or so ago, their whole government got exposed as KGB or Stasi assets,” Licon said. “Then the protests started. Now they're growing. Then the Defense Minister walks to avoid a sex scandal. Today, the Vice-Chancellor got crunched in his car by a truck. Now the West German military's on some kind of alert. Only one thing to do next: tell the government to take a hike, or the next thing that happens is the Leopard 1s and 2s in the streets.”

There was silence for a minute as people digested that. Then it was Kara who said, “Well, let's hope the Bundeswehr does better than the Valkyrie plotters did in '44.”

“They will,” General Olds said. “They'll do their homework, seems like folks are on their side, and maybe the Neutralists see the handwriting on the wall, and beat feet to their masters in East Berlin.”

Sin Licon nodded. '”Don't think it'll be long. A week, at least. At most? A month.”

“Good riddance,” Flossy said.


As people were eating, The CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite came on, and “The Most Trusted Man in America” spoke. “Good evening from Los Angeles. Today, U.S. Forces in Central Arkansas repelled a major Soviet and Cuban attack south of Pine Bluff. Our Bernie Goldberg has a report from the fighting.”

On the TV screen, images of M-1 tanks and M-113 APCs engaging targets, AH-1 Cobras as well as fixed-wing air going in, burning tanks and BTRs, and both Cuban and Soviet prisoners being escorted to the rear. “The Soviets and Cubans tried moving north up from Louisiana and along the Arkansas River,” Goldberg was saying, “But the Army was waiting for them. The unit I'm with, the 42nd “Rainbow” Division from New York, set a surprise for the enemy, and the Soviets and Cubans fell for it.” More images of combat followed, and when a powerfully built Black officer climbed down from an M-1 tank, several sets of eyes widened. But it was Hoser who spoke first.

“Recognize him?”

“Sure do,” Scorpion said. “That's Bo Jackson. Drafted for baseball by the Royals, and football for the L.A. Raiders before the war.”

“How'd he ….?” Cosmo asked.

“I think he was still at Auburn,” Scorpion replied.

“He's probably counting his lucky stars,” Digger said. Bum ankle and all, he was in the Club with everyone else.

“No kidding,” Kara said.

“And, at the end of the day, the Rainbow Division moved forward, trapping a Soviet Motor-rifle Regiment against the Arkansas River and wiping it out,” Goldberg said, his voice over imagery of wrecked T-55 tanks and BTR-60s. “Bernard Goldberg, CBS News, with the Rainbow Division, Southern Arkansas.”

Other reports on the war followed, with one from the 3rd Marine Division in British Columbia, and another from the 40th Infantry Division in West Texas, then things shifted to Philadelphia. “Problems continue to mount for Senator William Proxmire, as another staff member has been taken into custody by the FBI, While Senator Proxmire continues to deny knowledge of staff contacts with the Cuban Embassy in Paris, Senate Minority Leader George Mitchell is very concerned, Senate sources indicate.”

“Bye, bye, Proxcreep,” Cosmo spat.

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “But I'm not arguing with you.”

“Overseas, the investigation into the death of West German Vice-Chancellor Hans Schroder continues, as the Green Party openly blames the CIA, BND, and British Intelligence for his death,” Cronkite said. “Denials have come swiftly from both Philadelphia and London, as more protests continue for a fifth day against the Neutralist Coalition government. Demonstrations have now occurred in a dozen cities in West Germany, this on the heels of the revelation that several members of the West German Cabinet, including the Chancellor himself, have links to the KGB and Stasi. Yesterday's resignation of the Defense Minister only adds to the pressure on the government. Informed sources in Philadelphia and London give the Bonn government's time as 'short' with 'weeks, if not days' as the Neutralist Coalition's hold on office is becoming frail with each day.”

Cheering followed, as people at several tables raised their bottles or glasses in toasts.

Then there was another Charles Kuralt On the Road report, and this one was from several coastal communities in Massachusetts. He started in Gloucester, where the fishing boats went out, as they always did, but as they returned, a Coast Guard patrol boat would hail them, asking if anything unusual had been spotted, or if they had seen any submarine periscopes. A far cry from when fishing boats would see U-Boats off the East Coast in 1942, but still, fishermen reported anything they saw to the Navy or the Coast Guard. Then Kuralt went down to Salem, where he stopped at the office of the city's official witch, who also had a picture of the cruiser U.S.S. Salem on her office wall. She had been at the recommissioning ceremony, and had not only cast a spell to protect the ship and crew, but “I also put a curse on the entire Soviet Navy”, she said. He then met members of a State Beach Patrol, who were checking the coastline for any signs of enemy activity. All were either too old for military service, as several were Vietnam or Korea vets, or were 4-F. One young man, who looked very fit, and carried an M-14 rifle, was almost ashamed to be there. “I tried joining up after Invasion Day, and failed the physical.”

Kuralt was curious, “Why'd you fail?”

“I'm diabetic. I don't need insulin, but have to take four different pills every day,” the young man said. “I can't go into the military, so this is the next best thing, I suppose. I wanted to go, but....”

“And so, this young man found a way to serve. Charles Kuralt, CBS News, On the Road again, Salem, Massachusetts.”

“And that's the way it is, November 10, 1987. For all of us at CBS News, Good Night.”

After that, Colonel Brady stood up. “People, I know you all want to hear from General Yeager tonight, but today is a special day. 10 November, 1775, is the day the Marine Corps was founded, at Tun Tavern in Philadelphia. If this was peacetime, we'd be having a unit formal, dinner and dance, and so on. Now, it's wartime.” He waved some Marine mess people in, who brought in several large cakes. “I'd like to have the youngest Marine officer here come up, but first, the guest of honor. He may not be a Marine, but he was not only a World War II ace, but was the fastest man alive not just once, but several times. And he also represents the Air Force people who fly with us. General Yeager? Would you please come up and accept the first slice?”

Yeager stood up. “I'd be honored, Colonel,” he said in his West Virginia drawl. After taking the slice, Brady asked the youngest Marine officer to step forward. A bespectacled young woman with Second Lieutenant's bars came up. After Colonel Brady took a slice, he handed it to her.

“What's that all about?” Ms. Wendt asked. Her cameraman, Scott, was filming the whole thing.

“This is the Marine Corps' birthday,” Kodak Griffith said. “The first slice of that cake goes to the guest of honor. He's not a Marine, but nobody can deny what General Yeager's done.”

“And the second?”

“It goes to the oldest Marine present, in this case, Colonel Brady, then he gives it to the youngest one. It signifies the passage of the Corps' traditions from one generation to the next.”

“People,” Brady continued. “There's several cakes here, enough to give everyone present a slice; Marines, Air Force, Navy, and our guests. Now, I'll be going to the Enlisted Mess, to do the same with the NCOs and enlisted folks, but I'll be back before Twelve-Hour. Because, General,” he nodded at Yeager. “I want to hear some of your stories.”

Yeager grinned. “I'll be here, Colonel.”

“One last thing. Today, we lost Major Bill Poore and two other Marines from VMFA-134. It's just a reminder of the price we've paid so far, and we're going to have to pay, before this is all over.” Heads nodded at that. After a moment of silence, Brady said, “I'll be back. And you all have some fun. That's an order.”

After he left, people got their cake, then Kara went to the pool table. To no one's surprise, one of the F-20 pilots, Pruitt, went to challenge her. Both combatants laid down their money. It didn't take long for Kara's skill to show, for Pruitt found his wallet lightened by $50.00. “Who taught her to play pool?” He grumbled.

“She's been doing this longer than you have, son,” Yeager said. With that, he went over and challenged her to a game. Again, both combatants showed their money, but this time, it was General Yeager whose skills were superior. “All those nights at Pancho's.” He smiled.

Kara shook her head. “That's three generals who've done this. General Tanner did it to me twice, and I still want a rematch with General Olds,” she grumbled.

“I'll try,” Prada said.

“Your money,” Guru warned her.

This time, Kara was superior, and she grinned as Prada paid her after the game. “Good to see I haven't lost my touch.” She said as she worked on her second beer of the night. “Who's next?”

“Clancy?” Yeager said. “You want to have a go?”

The young Captain gulped, took a drink of Mountain Dew, then went over to the pool table. He put down his money, and it didn't take long for Kara to make him regret doing so. “I want my money back,” he muttered.

“Try again tomorrow night, Captain,” Guru said to the F-20 driver. “By the way, thanks for killing those guns today.”

“Just doing our jobs, Major,” Clancy replied.

“Maybe,” Guru nodded. He waved to the barkeep. “Smitty? Another soda for the young pup, and a Bud for his two wingmates.”

“Comin' up, Major,” the barkeep replied. After producing the drinks, Guru paid him.

“Major...” Clancy said.

“It's the least I can do. I don't have to write any letters because of you guys,” Guru said, and Clancy noted the serious tone to his voice. “I'll talk with Chief Ross tomorrow, and see if he can get a case of soda for you-Coke, Pepsi, whatever, and a case of beer each for your wingmates.”

“Major, we just did our jobs,” Clancy protested.

“Captain, I'm still here, and so is half my squadron. Nobody in the 335th is writing any letters to next-of-kin because you and your two pals killed those guns. Keep that in mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said Guru. “You have a good rest of the evening, Captain.”


It was 1830 when Colonel Brady returned, and after getting another beer, nodded to General Yeager. “General? If you're ready, the floor is yours.”

“Just a few minutes, Colonel,” Yeager said. He had been talking with one of the ferry pilots who'd brought the two new birds for the 335th. “First, we should hear from Captain Corrine Cassidy. She was at Laughlin AFB down in Texas when the war began, and she's one of a handful of people who escaped from there on Invasion Day.”

Brady nodded. “General, your call,” he said. “Captain?”

Goalie turned to her old friend and Academy roommate. “Showtime, girl.”

Cassidy stood up, brushed back her short brown hair, and said, “Been a long time since I've had to get up and talk like this.” There was some laughter, then she started. “Well, I was a flight instructor down at Laughlin with the 47th Flying Training Wing. Now, prewar, there were refugees crossing from Mexico, saying there were Soviets and Cubans near Piedras Negras, that's just south of the border from Del Rio, and nobody paid much attention. Until a friend of mine saw Hinds flying on their side of the Rio Grande, and not far from the base. That got people's attention. So did reports from the Border Patrol of tanks and APCs south of the border, and I mean within visual range of the Rio Grande.”

“Somebody was asleep,” General Olds noted.

“No arguing that, sir,” Cassidy said. “Anyway, on that day, I was told by my CO to take a T-38 up on a check flight as it had just come out of maintenance. I'm taxiing out, and I hear on the tower frequency they're trying to contact a bunch of choppers that have crossed the border. I'm thinking 'Somebody's made a big navigational error, and they'll head back once they hear the Tower. They clear me for takeoff, and the next thing I see are Su-25s coming in on attack runs.”

“Holy shit...” Brainiac said. “And you with nothing.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied as she took a drink from her beer bottle. “The Frogfoots make their runs, then the Hinds, and the next thing I see are the troop carriers. Hips and Hooks.” Hooks were the Mi-6 heavy lift helo. So I did what I could to break them up. Tried going through them like a hawk onto a flock of pigeons.”

Some of the fighter pilots recognized the tactic at once. “So you were trying to knock them down with your jetwash?” T-Bone asked.

“Sure was,” Cassidy nodded. “Might have caused a Hip to run into some power lines, but that's it. I thought about climbing, but knew that if there were Frogfoots around, there'd be MiGs as well. So I headed towards San Antonio, and there were several others following me. T-37s and T-38s. There were a dozen of us all told, and when we got there, there was smoke coming up from Kelly, Brooks, San Antonio International, Fort Sam Houston, and Randolph. We had to put down somewhere, and wound up at Randolph.”

“On fumes?” Kara asked. She remembered her escape from Reese a few days later. She also looked at Cassidy. Where have we seen each other?

Cassidy shook her head. “Not me, but a couple of the other -38s were, and the -37s as well. After we put down, there was mass confusion. Finally found somebody we could report to, a Bird Colonel, who told us to refuel and get north. Altus or Vance. So that's what we did. And when the bug-out from there came? Us T-38 drivers wound up at Salt Lake International.”

“We may have crossed paths there and not known it,” Kara said. “Made a bug-out from Reese when the line in West Texas blew.”

“Maybe. Anyway, wound up at Beale eventually, then Kingsley Field where they wanted me to be an F-4 IP to free up men for combat, then when the law was changed....”

“You got to do it for real,” Goalie said. “Corinne, how'd you wind up on the Ferry Run?”

“One of the instructors wanted a night in bed.” Cassidy replied. “I told him to fuck off, and when I graduated? Opened my orders and found out I was on the ferry run. Turned out the instructor was a friend of that SOB who runs the place, Tigh.”

Heads nodded at that. Nearly everyone there knew Kara's story of “Pissing off a superior asshole.” Flossy asked, “How's the ferry run?”

“Long and boring,” was the reply. “You do build up your formation flying, plenty of instrument time, especially at night or bad weather. And you're always with a tanker for navigation assistance. And right now? I've had enough. Two more months, then I finally get to do what I was trained to do with an F-4.”

“Maybe sooner than that, Captain,” Guru said. He looked at General Olds, who nodded approval. “Don't be surprised one of these days if you check your mail and find transfer orders. Might even be to us.”

“Major, I'll be waiting.” Cassidy grinned.

“General Yeager? Your turn.” Brady nodded in Yeager's direction.

“Well, started out as a private and aircraft mechanic,” Yeager said in his West Virginia drawl. “Pearl Harbor meant I could apply for flight training, I got accepted, and was winged in February of '43. Flew with the 357th Fighter Group, first in P-39s, then when we got to England, P-51s. Got my first German on March 4, then got shot down the next day. Spent some time with the French Resistance before they got me and another evader to Spain.” His eyes focused on Guru. “So I'm not the only one around who's 'been there and done that.'”

“General, you went there well before I did,” Major Wiser replied. “Didn't you have to appeal to Eisenhower to get back into combat?”

“Sure did, with another fella, and since it was after D-Day, he approved it. Got promoted to Lieutenant, then Captain, and while doing that, got ace in a day.”

“How's that?” Ms. Wendt asked. She had her microphone out, and her cameraman was getting this on tape.

“Got behind a Me-109, but before I could shoot, he panicked, and took out his wingman in a midair,” Yeager smiled. “The other three I got the old-fashioned way. By gunning them. Got an Me-262 later on.”

Flossy looked at the General. “How many kills?”

“Eleven and a half, and yeah, before you ask, they did give out half and even third and quarter credits,” replied Yeager.

General Olds smiled. “At least he had proof of his 262 kill. Didn't see mine crash, so....”

“And when my combat tour was over? Came home, got married, and asked to go to Wright Field in Ohio. That's how I got into test flying. Then all that was sent to Muroc, which became Edwards.”

Colonel Brady then stood up. “All right, people! How many here have either read the book The Right Stuff or seen the movie?” Many hands shot up. “General, how accurate was the movie?”

“Pretty close, though there never was an X-1 crash like they showed in the beginning. And yeah, I did do the first supersonic flight with two broken ribs. The X-1 flight? They got it right,” said Yeager.

“And you got a steak dinner at Pancho's,” Guru said. “She really did make that offer?”

“She did, and after my trip? She extended it for anyone who broke a speed record. Scott Crossfield got one for being the first to go Mach 2. Nearly got killed in the X-1A after going Mach 2.44. They got that part right as well. Even had a cameo.”

One of the Marines asked, “Where, General?”

“The guy tending bar at Pancho's?” Yeager grinned. “You're looking at him.”

Goalie turned to Guru. “You have that movie on tape, right?”

“I do. Guess we'll have to rewatch it and look for him,” said Guru.

“Didn't you fly in that John Wayne movie, Jet Pilot?” Asked Kara.

“Sure did,” Yeager replied. “A dog of a movie, but at least I got to meet John Wayne and Janet Leigh,” he grinned.

Don Van Loan then asked, “General, what about the MiG you flew?”

Yeager nodded. “Flew a MiG-15 that a defecting North Korean flew to Kimpo in September, '53. They took it to Okinawa, and I was part of the flight test program. It had some good points, and some bad, and I think you all know what those were.”

Heads nodded again. The F-86 vs. MiG-15 duels were taught in fighter training, still. “Any memorable moments, General?” Mark Ellis asked.

“Nearly got killed in a dive,” Yeager said. “You couldn't control a MiG-15 in a dive, and I only pulled out when it got into denser air. I went to Russia a couple years after I retired, and when I talked to several of their test pilots, I told them about the MiG. They were surprised I was still alive.”

Then Colonel Brady glanced at the clock. “Two minutes to Twelve-hour people! Finish your drinks if you're flying in the morning.”

“One last story before then. I took an NF-104 up to 104,000 feet and got into a flat spin. Bailed out at 11,000 and got burned by the ejection seat's rocket motor. Wasn't my fault,” said General Yeager. “The plane went into the spin from excessive angle of attack and the lack of aircraft response. There wasn't any input into the controls. The engine spooling from the J-79 shut down for the rocket-powered zoom climb phase caused it. Last time I tried setting that kind of record.”

The clock then struck 1900, and one of the Navy flight surgeons rang the bell. “Twelve-Hour now in effect!”

People who were flying in the morning turned in their drinks and switched to something nonalcoholic. Guru went and got a plate of nachos and some Seven-up for himself and Goalie, and when he returned, he was surprised to see General Yeager sitting down with Ms. Wendt and her camera crew. “That's new.”

“General Yeager with a camera crew?” Goalie asked.

“Yeah, he's got....issues with Brits, but Aussies? Don't think so.”

“They'll have to say he's on some kind of tour of the war zone,” Goalie noted. “No mention of the F-20.”

“That's a given.”

Their RAF liaison officer came over. “Major, excuse me, Guru.” Jack Lord nodded. “And Goalie.”

“Jack,” Guru said. “Pull up a chair.”

“Don't mind if I do.” Lord said. “I see the General's getting cozy with the media.”

“You didn't ask any questions,” said Goalie. “What's up with that?”

“They say General Yeager has had....issues with RAF personnel in the past,” Lord said.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Too many Colonel Blimp or stiff upper lip types, or so the stories go. Don't worry, because by the time your guys get here? Yeager and his people will be gone.”

“Good to know, but in the meantime? That girl F-20 pilot? Prada? I'm going up with her in the morning.”

“Just remember this, Jack,” Guru said. “Ask where the slot in the cockpit is for the quarter.”

The RAF Flight Lieutenant smiled. “I'll have to remember that.”

After Lord went to go and talk with General Olds, Goalie asked, “Isn't Frank getting a ride?”

“Yeah, but General Yeager told me this: that ride he gets will be his first-and last-in an F-20,” Guru told his GIB and lover.

Goalie let out a grin. “Happy day. Or it will be.”

“It will be,” Guru agreed. “But there's this: when Frank gets that letter saying 'Your request to transfer to the F-20 program has been carefully reviewed. However.....' no telling how he'll react.”

Goalie nodded. “You're right. Holy....he'll get a case of the stupids, and who knows what'll happen?”

“Don't even want to think about it.”

Time marched on, and it was soon 2100. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!” Doc Waters announced. With that, those who were on the morning's flight schedule headed off to their tents, and that included the F-20 people. For the 335th and their Marine and Navy colleagues, another day, another ATO. For the F-20 pilots, their first real day of demonstrations was on the agenda.

[Matt Wiser]

Part X: The 335th is back on the ATO, along with the rest of MAG-11, while the F-20 demo flights begin...


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 11 November, 1987. 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser came into the squadron's office, and heard the familiar voice of Wolfman Jack on the radio. When he came in, he noticed Hacksaw, the Night-Shift SDO, at his desk. “Hacksaw,” he nodded.

“Morning, Major,” the SDO said. He started to rise, but then remembered.

Guru regarded the SDO. “You do know we've got two new birds. Since we didn't get replacement crews....”

“Looking forward to that, Major,” Hacksaw grinned. With new birds, that meant getting a permanent slot as a pilot was highly likely.

“Good,” the CO said. “Anything happen overnight?”

“Not much,” Hacksaw said. He motioned to the CO's office. “Exec's waiting for you.”

Guru noticed Capt. Mark Ellis there, waiting. “Thanks. And what's been on the radio overnight?”

“Well, Boss, he was going back to 1976 for a while. Not quite Kasey Kasem, but he's been doing the 'Top Ten', say, July, for the past few nights.”

“So, what was number one in July?” The CO asked, “Just out of curiosity.”

“You remember Afternoon Delight?” Hacksaw replied. “If you were old enough, you knew what they were singing about.....”

“Do I,” Guru nodded. “Well, eleven years or eleven lifetimes ago. Things were different then.”

“They were.”

“Okay, well, happy listening.”

“Thanks, Major,”

Guru then went and talked to some of the night-shift admin folks, then went to his office. “Mark,” he nodded as he came in. “What's up this fine morning?”

“Morning, Boss,” the XO replied, handing the CO a cup of hot chocolate. “Got a few things for you before breakfast.” Ellis had a clipboard in hand.

Guru nodded and took the cup. He had a sip, then said, “All right, what have you got?”

“Aircraft Status Report. Still twenty for the morning due to two having hundred-hour checks.”

“They're not finished?”

“Just got started, and that'll take most of the day,” Ellis reminded his CO.

“All right,” the CO said as he signed the form. “What's next?”

“Morning Report for both MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force.”

Major Wiser scanned the reports, then signed them. “Okay, that's done. What else?”

“General Yeager and his people went to the Early-Bird breakfast. They're getting their F-20s ready for their demo runs. And I do know who's going up first,” Ellis said.

“Let me guess: Frank,” Guru said. It wasn't a question.

“You got it,” the XO replied. “At least that's being taken care of first thing.”

“Good. Because that's all he'll get out of the F-20,” Guru reminded his Exec. “Who else is going up today?”

“Colonel Brady, for one. Just to get a feel for the -20, and maybe see if it'll be good as an Aggressor postwar, he said. “I'm going in the afternoon, and guess who else has a check ride?”

“General Olds,” Guru commented. “That's a no-brainer. Tell me, though: who is flying him on his check ride?”

Ellis checked his notes. “Prada.”

“Good. Because we don't need General Olds and General Yeager in the same bird. Not to mention either of those two young pups taking General Olds on his ride. What we know of those two.....”

“They might give General Olds a trip down to the front lines, because they know he'd appreciate it,” Ellis finished for his CO.

“And I wouldn't,” Guru said. “Okay, Prada will stay away from the shooting, unlike those two. Next?”

“Weather report,” Ellis handed his CO the paper. “Getting a little cool and a little cloudy, but...”

“But nothing that'll keep us from flying,” said Guru. He sighed. “Anything else?”

“Supply requisitions,” the XO said. He handed the CO the papers. “You want the scroungers to go after this stuff as well?”

Guru scanned the list. “Brake fluid, hydraulic fluid, radar parts, spare main gear and nose gear tires.....” His eyes widened, then he stared at the Exec. “A couple of spare ejection seats?”

“You'd have to ask Kev O'Donnell about that.” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the squadron's Maintenance Officer. “The way things are, a bad seat means a bird off the schedule until we get one,” Ellis reminded his CO. “Be nice to have one or two spares around, Kev says.”

Guru nodded. “If he says we need a couple? I'm not disagreeing with him. Tell the scroungers the usual: if Supply can't get what we need, they do.”

“Got you, Boss,” said Ellis “Chief Ross says we may have a new PAO.” He handed the CO a paper. “You want her?”

Major Wiser scanned the paper. “With this kind of flight record? Tell Ross to get her here. Now, Kodak Griffith's a good man, but he's a Marine, and sooner or later, he has to go back to the Jarheads. Having one of our own who can handle PAO duty as well as flying is something we need.”

“I'll talk to Ross. Oh, one last thing: I ran into Goalie's friend from last night, Cassidy. The ferry pilots were leaving Early-Bird and are waiting for the westbound C-141. Anyway, she told me she wants to transfer to this squadron when they get back to Travis.”

Guru nodded approval. “Talk to Ross again. Having another Day One vet in this squadron, even if she wasn't technically flying combat? The more, the better.” He looked at his Exec. “He does know people in Officer Detailing. Make it happen.”

“Will do, and that's it for now.”

There was a knock at the door, and the CO responded, “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

The office door opened, and Goalie came in, with a cup of coffee and one of cocoa in her hands. “Morning, guys,” she said. Between the three of them-and Don Van Loan as well, they were quite informal. She handed Guru the cocoa. “And hot cocoa for my pilot.”

“Thanks. I actually get a better zing from the chocolate anyway,” Guru said. “And what's up this morning?”

“The F-20 guys are what's up,” Goalie said. “They were awake before I was. Saw Prada coming back from Early-Bird when I was headed to the shower.”

“They're going up shortly. While the rest of us are eating, and guess who's first up?”

“No guess. Frank,” Goalie nodded. It wasn't a question.

Guru nodded. “Mark and I were talking about it. And guess who may be joining us before too long?”

Goalie's eyes widened. “Corrine?”

“Yep. Day one vet, even if she never fired a shot,” the CO said. “She's going to request a transfer to us when she gets back to Travis, but if that goes south, her tour's up in a couple months anyway.”

Goalie let out a grin. “And Ross knows people in Officer Detailing. The orders are cut and ready when her tour's up.”

“That's it,” the CO nodded as he drank his cocoa. “Anything from the Ops people?”

“Getting the packets together. Which means we're not on CAS today.”

This time, it was the XO's turn to smile. “Boss, we should all be grateful for that,” he noted.

“We are,” Guru said. He noticed the wall clock read 0550. “Got an idea to run by you before breakfast. Is there an Air Force reg that says we can't enlist our mascot in the service?” He was referring to the squadron's Golden Lab, Buddy. “Never came up in OTS.”

“Don't think it came up in ROTC,” Ellis replied. “Academy?”

Goalie shook her head. “To be honest, guys? I have no idea.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, then. Mark? This'd be a good thing for morale. Chief Ross and the NCOs take care of that dog, and somebody's going to be taking him home when this is over. Find out. And if there's nothing in the regs? We go ahead and do this. Backdate the enlistment to the day we got him, make him an E-3 or so, and that'll be that.”

“And this is something General Olds would like, and to him, it's another example of thumbing your nose at authority when they get in your way,” Ellis finished.

“I like it,” Goalie said.

“So do I,” Ellis agreed. “I'll check it out and get back to you.”

“Do that,” Guru said. “Let's go eat.”

As they left the CO's office, another familiar song was coming over the radio. “Well, now...we need to get him on a USO show,” said Goalie.

“Who?” Ellis asked.

“Chuck Berry,” Guru replied. He recognized the song at once. “That's Johnny B. Goode.”

“An oldie but a goodie,” Goalie smiled.

“It is. Come on and let's go,” the CO said.


When the three officers arrived at the Officer's Mess Tent, there were quite a few Marines, Navy, and 335th people waiting. Among them were General Olds and Colonel Brady, plus most of the 335th's flight crews, though Guru knew some early risers preferred the Early-Bird because it was less crowded. “General, Colonel,” Guru said, sketching a salute.

“Major,” General Olds replied. “Looks like we'll get the 'official' F-20 debut today.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded. “Word's gotten around about who you're flying with, and for the record, General? I'm just glad you're going up with Prada instead of those two young pups. They might just indulge you on a trip to the front lines.”

Olds grinned. “You did figure that out, Major. And in case you're wondering, so did she. Prada insisted that I go with her.”

“For that, General, I'm glad,” Guru said. “General, there's something else.” He explained what he wanted for the squadron's mascot. “Sir, you've been around the Air Force longer than anybody here, General Yeager excepted. Anything you know of why we couldn't do this?”

“I don't think so, right off, Major,” General Olds replied. “It's a good idea to improve unit morale, and for sure, I'll raise this with General Tanner. Make sure there's some kind of directive to make things like this official. And other units probably want to do this, so you're not alone.”

“Thank you, sir.”

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


After Breakfast, the flight crews gathered in their respective briefing rooms. When Guru got to the room his flight used, he found his people there, waiting. “All right, people, ready to get with it?”

“Ready, Boss,” Kara said. “Just as long as it's not CAS.”

“Same here,” Hoser added, and the others nodded.

The CO grinned. “We're not on CAS, but...” He opened the briefing packet. “We're going to the same general area. Star Hollow Lake, just west of Granbury.”

Goalie looked at him. “What's there?”

A copy of a TPC chart and a JOG chart came out of the packet, along with some recon photos. “Says here it's a suspected divisional headquarters. Some command vehicles on the imagery, so we get to kill a general. Maybe more if somebody's paying a visit from higher up.”

“Well, now...” Sweaty nodded. “Not that often we get to kill some of Ivan's brass.”

“Easy girl,” Guru said. “They won't make it easy for us. There's some air-defense assets here. Looks like SA-9 and ZSU-23-4, and you can bet there's grunts with MANPADS.”

Heads nodded. “Any of those ZSU-30s around?” Kara asked.

The CO scanned the intel summary. “None indicated, but good question. Assume they are. If you see those big tracers coming up? Abort.”

“Got you.”

“That's not all: SA-11s are in the area, along with Army-level SA-4s, thanks to the East Germans. We are also in the engagement zones for the Hillsboro and Waco North SA-2s,” Guru said. “Before you ask, yes, we are getting Weasels. Coors One-five and One-six will join us at the tankers.”

There was a sigh of relief from everyone, and that included the CO. “Good news to start the morning.” KT noted.

“It is,” Guru agreed. “Okay, Element leads have a dozen Snakeyes-six Mark-82s, six M-117Rs. Wingmates have a dozen Rockeyes. ALQ-119 pods for the leads, -101s for the wingmen. Two AIM-7s, four AIM-9Ps, full guns, and two wing tanks, each bird.”

“So how do we get there?” Brainiac asked.

“We follow the Brazos River, and stay on the east side. That's the Nicaraguans, as we know, and they don't shoot at us unless they're the ones being attacked. Turn west at Granbury, and follow U.S. 377 down to Tolar. Go NNW to the lake, which is the pop-up point. Hit the target, then get your asses north as fast as you can,” Guru told his crews. “Intel says there may be Ivan's own CAS birds and helos, so watch out. IF you can, take a shot, but otherwise, don't go out of your way. They may lure you into a flak trap.”

“Happy thought,” Sweaty said. “Not.”

“Not a good thing,” agreed the CO. “Now, MiGs are reported at James Connelly AFB near Waco, Gray AAF, Temple, and Bergstrom. Flankers are also at Bergstrom, so be careful.”

“Lovely,” said Kara.

“In case you're wondering,” Guru went on. “Dave and Flossy have their own mission, so that's why they're not coming with us. Any other questions?”

“First of four, right?” Preacher asked.

“To be hoped for,” Guru replied.

“Bailout areas?” Kara wanted to know.

“Usual,” the CO replied. “Any place away from the roads. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right. Let's gear up and I'll see you at 512.”

The crews left the briefing room and went to gear up. When Guru came out of the Men's Locker Room, Goalie was waiting for him, as usual. “Ready?”

“Time to earn our flight pay,” Goalie said. “They do pay us for this, you know.”

“Of which, forty-five cents of every dollar goes back to Uncle Sam,” said Guru. “Wars are expensive, my dear.”

“And not just in terms of blood,” Goalie finished.

“They are,” the CO and History Major agreed.


Guru and Goalie went out to the squadron dispersal area, and heard the F-20s warming up. They dismissed that from their thoughts as they went to 512, and found the rest of the flight waiting. “Usual procedure on the radio?” Kara asked.

“Mission code to AWACS and other parties,” Guru nodded. “We're Camaro Flight this time. Call signs between us.”

“Got it,” Sweaty said, and the others nodded.

“Good,” replied the CO. “Any other questions?” There weren't any. He clapped his hands. “Time to go. Let's hit it.”

The sun had cleared the eastern horizon as Guru and Goalie went to 512. “Major?” Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, asked. “She's all set. Five-twelve is ready to rock and kick some Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their usual walk-around, then after signing for the aircraft, they mounted their bird and got strapped in. They went through their preflight checks, and as they did, the F-20s taxied past. Guru saw them as they did, and Guru was glad to see no air-to-ground ordnance loaded.

“Glad they're not going where we are?” Goalie asked.

“Very,” Guru replied as he went through the checklist.

“Don't blame you,” she said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours. Last thing we need is Sundown Cunningham or worse, the Chief of Staff showing up. Not now, anyway.”

Goalie knew it. “No way. Not right now,” she agreed. “Preflight checklist complete. Ready for engine start.”

“Ready,” Guru replied. He gave a thumbs-up to the Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal in reply. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running, As they warmed up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Number two?” Goalie asked, curious. “Who's Number One?”

“F-20s, I'd bet,” said Guru. “Roger, Tower. Camaro Flight rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to the CC, who waved to the ground crew. They pulled the chocks away from the wheels, then Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal. Guru released the brakes, and he taxied out. Once he cleared the revetment, the CC snapped a salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. The rest of the flight followed as Guru taxied towards the holding area, and sure enough, the F-20s were ahead of him. And right behind him were two Marine flights, one of Hornets, one of Phantoms.

After the F-20s taxied onto the runway, Guru taxied 512 into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. The F-20s then rolled down the runway and into the air. Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-eight for five,” the call came back from the tower.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru called. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara brought 520 in alongside in his Five O'clock. As usual, Kara and Brainiac gave their flight leader a thumbs-up, and Guru and Goalie both returned it. Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower flashed the green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru told Goalie as he pulled down his canopy. She did the same, closing and locking it. A quick glance toward 520 saw Kara and Brainiac had done the same. All set. “Here we go.” Guru said. He ran the engines to full power and released the brakes, and Kara did the same. Both 512 and 520 rolled down the runway and into the air. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn to go. Once airborne, the flight formed up at 10,000 feet for the trip to the tanker track over Mineral Wells and the rendezvous with the Weasels.



Over Central Texas, 0745 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was headed south, just east of the Brazos River, and in the Nicaraguan sector. As was usual by now, the Nicaraguans hardly shot at them, though as the flight headed south, the East Germans on the other side would shoot, but the strike flight and the Weasels flying with them, were out of effective range for the most part as they headed south. Though the occasional tracers did come close on occasion.

The two Weasels with them packed a mixed load. The leader had four HARMs and a centerline tank, while the wingman had two HARMs, a Standard-ARM, and a LAU-88 launcher with a “slant-two” Maverick load, along with the bag on centerline. With the ZSU-30 in the area, having a Maverick shooter was a good thing to have around, and when Coors One-six told what he was packing, there were sighs of relief in the strike birds' cockpits.

Now, as the strike flight and the Weasels followed the Brazos River, everything was quiet. Though the crews were taking nothing for granted, the pilots keeping an eye on their instruments and their heads on a swivel, watching for any threats, whether gun or missile, while the GIBs were handling the navigation. In 512, Guru was scanning his instruments, then scanning outside the cockpit, something that his RTU instructors had drilled into him down at Homestead prior to joining the 335th. “ETA to turn point?” He asked Goalie.

“Granbury in one minute,” she replied. Goalie also checked her own EW gear. “Nothing so far.”

“That'll change,” Guru noted. Once they got into the East German sector, they would be drawing fire.

“It will,” Goalie confirmed. “Thirty seconds.”

“Granbuy dead ahead,” Guru called. “No flak yet.”

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

Guru put the F-4 into a right turn, going over the town at barely 350 feet AGL, and clearing the two bridges: the original U.S. 377 bridge, and the U.S. 377 bypass south of that. The Nicaraguan flak batteries stayed silent, while the East German gunners, caught by surprise, barely had time to react.

In the town, the Nicaraguan garrison commander was wondering what on Earth he'd gotten into. His orders from II Corps were clear, do not antagonize the locals any more, cooperate with the Soviets, and try and get along with the East Germans. Though the airport and half of the town was across the Brazos River and theoretically in the East Germans' sector, the garrison was Nicaraguan for the most part, though a Soviet Rear-Area Protection Division had a regiment on the west side, and frequently patrolled the area. However, they were most reluctant to go anywhere off the roads, and, the Nicaraguan Colonel admitted, his own men were the same way.

Now, in the City Hall, he was also dealing with the Mayor. The man had been a used-car salesman before the war, and was, to the Colonel, in a hard position. The prewar mayor had been taken away by the KGB after the occupation began and had been likely killed, and the next two men to occupy the office had also been killed-one by the KGB and PSD as a suspected “Enemy of the People”, while the other had been shot dead in the streets by the bandits and counterrevolutionary swine who called themselves the Resistance, and despite the usual reprisals, no one had been caught. Now, the Colonel suspected the new Mayor was trying to play both sides-trying to keep the KGB from liquidating him, and also trying to keep the Resistance from doing the same.

Then the F-4s flew past, and it wasn't a surprise to the Colonel to hear the air-raid sirens sounding after the Yanqui aircraft had flown past. He shook his head in disgust, wishing for a combat command, and went back to talking with the Mayor.


“That's that,” Guru said as they cleared the town. He glanced behind and saw the flak bursting behind the strike flight. “And they're still shooting.”

“They can shoot all they want,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to Tolar and the next turn point.”

“Roger that.”


In Tolar, the Colonel commanding the Soviet 74th Independent Tank Regiment was wondering what was going on. His regiment had been brought forward on General Suraykin's orders the night before, and, much to his surprise, had not been hit from the air. His regiment, one of two independent tank regiments attached to the 4th Guards Tank Army, had finished its refitting, but with T-64BVs instead of the originally promised T-80s, but the motor-rifle boys still had their BMP-2s, and the artillery battalion was fully reequipped with 2S1 122-mm howitzers. Though the air-defense battalion was smarting at not getting the new 2S6 Tunguskas, they had their ZSU-23-4Ms and Strela-10s (SA-13 Gophers).

His unit's sudden movement, though, concerned him. General Suraykin had ordered the regiment to move up the previous afternoon, and wait in Tolar until further orders. The General had contacted him again only a few minutes ago, and told him that on order, he was to move up and act as a rearguard for the 144th GMRD, which had run into a buzz saw from the Americans' First Cavalry Division and 11th Airborne Division, and was having trouble pulling back. The Colonel briefed his staff and battalion commanders, and now, he was waiting. How long, though? Only the General knew that.

As for the garrison, there were Soviets, there, from a Rear-Area Protection Division from Riga, and the Colonel could plainly see that they were in no shape for front-line service. Not only was the company's average forty-five, but their equipment was wretched-a platoon of T-34/85s, a battery of ZIS-3 76-mm guns-both Great Patriotic War-era leftovers, and a handful of BTR-40 APCs. Good enough to control the town, but they were clearly not fit for serious action against the counterrevolutionary bandits who were believed to be in the area. That didn't surprise the Colonel at all, for many of them were Estonians, and rear-area protection was something they were likely not to be very good at.

The Colonel had just left the garrison HQ, when his Chief of Staff shouted, “AIRCRAFT ALARM!” He jumped into a slit trench just as the F-4s flew over, turning to the north. Where had they come from?


“Tolar dead ahead,” Guru said. “EW clear.”

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

Guru put the F-4 into a hard right turn to the northwest, and the rest of the flight followed. “Time to IP?”

“One minute to Star Hollow Lake,” Goalie said, checking the ARN-101 and her map.

“Copy,” replied Guru. He was still keeping his head on a swivel, looking out for threats. The terrain flew by below, and so far, no radars up on the EW repeater.

'Thirty Seconds,” Goalie called from the back seat. That was the cue for the Weasels to go in.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Coors One-five, time for you guys to go to work.”

“Copy, Camaro Lead,” the Weasel leader replied. Both F-4Gs climbed, and as they did, several radars, both search and missile, lit up. “MAGNUM!” Coors One-five called as he began sending HARM missiles back at the radars. One-six fired two HARMs as well, but kept his AGM-78 and Mavericks to deal with any emerging threats.

“Stand by...” Goalie said.

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “Music on, switches on, and stand by to pull.”

The rest of the flight acknowledged as Star Hollow Lake appeared directly ahead. “Pull!” Goalie called.

Guru pulled up, and 512 climbed, and as he did, he searched for the target area. Sure enough, a number of command vehicles caught his attention. That had to be it. And not just the vehicles, for Ivan was fond of building dugouts as well to use for a CP if the unit planned to be there a while. Not your day, Ivan.....”Flight, Lead. Target in sight, and time to go to work.”

“Switches set back here,” Goalie told him. “All in one pass.”

“Good girl,” Guru replied as he rolled in. “Let's go.”


To the west of Star Hollow Lake, and two miles from the Command Post of the 144th GMRD, General Suraykin was livid. He had called up his personal Mi-8IV command helicopter at first light, along with several of his staff, and none of them liked what they saw. The East Germans had their 20th MRD ground down, and the 144th GMRD had fared no better. In fact, one regiment of the 144th had been caught between the First Cavalry Division and the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment and almost completely annihilated, with only a few tanks and APCs escaping the carnage. The other two Motor-rifle regiments had been roughly handled, and the tank regiment had fared no better. Now, the 144th was at fifty percent effective strength, and would have to be pulled back. But, Suraykin knew that he would either have to commit the 138th Tank Regiment, which was at about seventy percent strength-and in normal times, it was really a brigade in all but name, but now.....It was that, or send in the 74th, which had completed its reconstitution. Before General Suraykin could do anything, though, he was on the radio to the Front Commander, because the 144th GMRD and the 138th TR were technically under East German command for this operation.

“Comrade Front Commander, I would recommend that this attack be called off. Pull back to the start lines, regroup, and try again another day.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Suraykin, are you sure about this?” The Front Commander for 1st Central Front said.

“Yes, Comrade Front Commander, I am. The 144th Guards is down to fifty percent effective strength, and one regiment has, for all intents and purposes, been destroyed,” Suraykin replied. “There's no other choice.”

In his own command post, the Front Commander looked at his situation map. It told the story, and he knew it. “All right, Suraykin. As of now, all Soviet forces previously under the East Germans now belong to the 4th Guards Tank Army. I'll notify General Metzler, and not only inform him of that, but suggest-strongly, that he pull back as well. We'll have to let the Americans have this one.”

“Thank you, Comrade Front Commander,” Suraykin said. Let the Americans have this one. Since Wichita, there had been all too many of that. Then his deputy Chief of Staff, who was filing that role while the Chief was running things at Army Headquarters in Waco, came into the helicopter. “What?”

“American aircraft, Comrade General,” the lieutenant colonel said.

“I'll call you back, Comrade Front Commander,” Suryakin told his superior. “If I'm still alive.” General Suraykin ran out of the helicopter, which had been draped in camouflage netting along with another, and raised his binoculars. F-4 Phantoms were coming in, but not coming at them. They were headed for the Main Command Post for the 144th GMRD. “They're not coming for us. This time,” he observed.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his bomb run. He was in a shallow dive, the best way to use his Snakeyes, and as he came in, Guru noticed the cluster of command vehicles that was the target. Not every day one got to kill some Soviet brass, he knew. As he came down, some light flak-probably 23-mm, he thought-came up, but it didn't seem to be radar-guided. Not today, Ivan....he put his pipper in the center of the group of vehicles. “Steady....Steady...And....NOW!” Guru hit the pickle button and a dozen bombs-six Mark-82SE and six M-117R, came off the racks. He slammed the throttles forward to give him and Goalie some more speed, banked hard to the right to avoid heading for the battle area near Lipan, and also avoiding some flak in the process. “Lead off safe,” he called.


In a hastily-dug bunker in the middle of the command vehicles, General Lopatin surveyed his maps and knew he was in for it. Unless General Suraykin was able to convince the Front Commander that pulling back was the best option, the Americans' First Cavalry Division and Third Armored Cavalry Regiment were going to chew up his division and spit out what was left. His staff was busy, attending to the details of a division in combat, and only when the ZU-23 AA guns began to fire did he realize that the Command Post was under air attack. He heard Guru's F-4 fly overhead, and then the first bombs going off, just before a five-hundred pound bomb smashed through the top cover of the bunker and exploded......


“SHACK!” Goalie called as Guru made his egress turn. “Good hits!”

“How good?” Guru asked as some baseball-sized tracers-which meant 23-mm, passed over the canopy.

“Good enough!”

Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. “I'll take your word for it.” He then headed for the Brazos River and then the I-20.


General Suraykin watched from his location as the Division's Command Post was covered in smoke and flame. He saw the attacking F-4 pull away, then he noticed another coming in.

“Comrade General,” as the major who was his ADC came to him. “Shouldn't you take cover?”

“They're not coming for us, Dimitri Mikhailovich. Even if they do, not much we can do, eh?” Suraykin said. He glanced out to the lake and saw another F-4 coming in. “Here comes another.”


“Two's in!” Kara called as she came in. She, too, noticed the flak, and this time, what looked like a SA-7 type missile, coming up, but ignored it as she bored in on her attack run. Her EW repeater was silent, and that meant the flak wasn't radar-guided. Kara picked out the target area, and though it was obscured by the smoke and flame the CO had left behind from his run, there were still some vehicles visible. Fair enough. Not a good day to be a general, she thought as she lined up some of the remaining vehicles in her pipper. “And....And....HACK!” Kara hit her pickle button, releasing her Rockeye CBUs, sending a dozen bombs Ivan's way. She then pulled up and away to the right, jinking as needed to avoid flak, and picked up the CO's exhaust trail as she cleared the target area. “Two's off target.”


From his vantage point, General Suraykin watched as Kara's F-4 went in on its run. He couldn't help but admire the determination of the pilots as they pressed home their attacks with the antiaircraft fire and missiles coming up, even though the Strela shoulder-fired missiles were not that effective fired head-on. “Air defense?” He asked his ADC just as the F-4 released its bombs, and the CBUs went off.

“Comrade General, the division's air defense commander doesn't answer,” the major replied.

Suraykin shook his head. Then he saw another F-4 coming in. “We're getting some more.”


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

“How good?” Kara asked, jinking as she did so.

Her GIB was grinning beneath his oxygen mask. “Got some secondaries!”

“I'll take those,” said Kara. She picked up the CO's bird as they headed north.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She rolled in on her run, and as she came down, she saw the smoke and flame left by the CO's element. Not much left, but what the hell, they didn't get paid for bringing ordnance back. Sweaty picked up a couple of vehicles that looked intact, but since the intel brief mentioned dugouts and bunkers, she decided to lay her bombs where the CO had. Ignoring the flak coming up, she lined the center of what had been the CP area in her pipper. “Steady....And....And...HACK!” She hit her pickle button, sending a dozen Snakeyes down onto the target area. Sweaty pulled up and away, jinking as she did so, before picking up the escape course towards the Brazos River. “Three's off safe,” Sweaty called.


General Suraykin watched as Sweaty's F-4 came in and made its bomb run. He saw through his binoculars as BTR command vehicles and command post trucks-some of which were burning already, were tossed aside like toys as bombs exploded around them. Shaking his head, he looked to his right and saw another F-4 coming in over the lake. “One more, Comrades,” he called to his staff, who were also watching.

“SHACK!” Preacher yelled from Sweaty's back seat. “Great hits!”

Sweaty was turning to the right after avoiding some flak and a missile-what kind she didn't know, flew past the aircraft. “How great?”

“Righteously great!” Replied the ex-seminary student turned WSO.

“Good enough,” Sweaty said as she turned for the Brazos.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called. As he went in, he noticed where Sweaty had laid down her bombs, and chances were, there wasn't much left. But still, he had a dozen Rockeyes, and intended to use them. The flak was still coming up, and even a couple of missiles-probably SA-7s or -14s, he thought, but he ignored both. Hoser came in closer, and noticed a few vehicles just to the north of where Sweaty had put her bombs down. You're next, Hoser thought as he centered them in his pipper. “Steady....Steady....And....HACK!” He hit his pickle button, releasing his Rockeyes down on the target. He immediately pulled up and away to the right, slamming his throttles full, and jinking to avoid flak. “Four off safe,” he called.


“Damn it,” muttered General Suraykin. “They're good.” He turned to his ADC. “Anything from the 144th's Rear Command Post?”

“They've lost contact with the main, Comrade General,” the ADC replied. “The deputy commander is asking for orders.”

Suraykin went back into his helicopter and checked his map. The blue arrows coming down made sure his decision was a quick one. “Order the 144th Guards to pull back to their start lines. Send in the 138th Tanks as well to act as a rearguard. Inform their commanders that they are under my command as of now.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”


“SHACK!” KT called from Hoser's rear cockpit. “Got a couple of secondaries!”

“Big ones?” Hoser asked.

“Good ones,” she siad.

Hoser banked right and picked up his element lead. “Guess we'll take that,” he replied. Then he formed up on Sweaty.


“How's that for an E-Ticket ride?” Guru asked Goalie once he finished jinking.

“None of those basketball-sized tracers,” Goalie replied. “That's good.”

“It is,” Guru noted. “Coors, Camaro. We're outbound at this time.”

“Copy, Camaro,” Coors One-five replied. “We're now Winchester and coming out.” The Weasels were living up to their “First in, Last out,” motto.

“Brazos River coming up,” Goalie added.

“Got it,” said Guru. He glanced to the right and found Kara's bird with him in Combat Spread. “Sweaty, you with us?”

“Right behind you, Boss,” Sweaty replied.

Once they got to the river, the flight headed for the I-20. Though they were careful to clear the I-20 bridges over the Brazos, for the Army air-defense people tended to shoot first and identify afterwards. To them, anything flying was the enemy. Then they climbed and headed for the tankers. Once they had finished their refueling, the Weasels parted company.

“Camaro, Coors,” the Weasel leader called. “Nice job, and maybe we can do this again.”

“Thanks, Coors, and glad to have you around.” Guru replied.

Then the flight headed for Sheppard. When they arrived, they were third in the pattern, as not only the F-20s were coming in, but a pair of Marine flights were ahead of them as well. When it was their turn, the flight came in and landed. As they were taxiing back to their squadron's dispersal, the crews noticed the F-20 people already getting out of their birds, and Frank shaking hands with General Yeager. “Looks like Yeager's putting on the act,” Goalie said after they popped their canopies.

“Knowing what we know? He has to,” Guru replied. “Oh, to be a fly near that conversation.”

“Same here,” said Goalie. “Wonder what's going through General Yeager's mind now.”

“Wishing he could tell Frank, 'No way are you going up in one of my airplanes again.'”

Guru taxied into the dispersal area, and then found 512's revetment. He taxied in, and after getting the signal from Sergeant Crowley, shut down. Both pilot and GIB went through the post-flight check, then the ground crew brought the crew ladder, and they egressed from the plane. Then they did their usual post-flight walk-around.

Sergeant Crowley brought the Pilot and GIB bottles of water. “Major? How's my bird?”

“She's still truckin', Sergeant. Get Five-twelve ready for another one,” Guru said to his CC, then he downed half of the bottle then and there.

“How'd things go, sir?”

“Made a divisional HQ go away,” Guru said.

“Hopefully with a general there,” Goalie added. “Hopefully.”

Crowley nodded. He knew full well that sometimes, what looked obvious turned out the other way. “Well, Ma'am, if he wasn't there? Maybe he decided his unit had better be someplace else.”

“Maybe,” Guru said. “Okay, Sergeant. Pull the strike camera footage. And let's get her turned around.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said to the ground crew. “You heard the Major! Get this bird ready for another one.”

Guru and Goalie headed toward the revetment's entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac already there. “Well, Kara? How'd things go with you?”

“Got some secondaries,” Kara said. “And you guys tossed a few APCs or trucks around. CBUs took care of those.”

“Who'd we kill, though?” Goalie asked.

“Good question,” Sweaty said as she and Hoser, along with Preacher and KT, came up. “I'd like to know where the MiGs are.”

“Maybe somebody's done some runway-busting,” Kara ventured.

“That'd be good,” Hoser said.

Guru nodded, then checked his watch. “It's 0840, people. We've got an hour, hour and a half, max, before the next one. Let's debrief, and you all need to check your desks. The elves don't take care of the paperwork, you know.”

“Too bad,” Kara muttered. Her attitude towards paperwork was well known. And shared by many-the CO included. But they had to get it done, even with a war on.

Guru looked at her. “No arguing that.” He had a loathing for unnecessary paperwork, and the bureaucrats who pushed it his way. Something that he shared with both General Olds and the late Colonel Rivers. “Come on, let's go see Darren, then get ready for the next one.” He was referring to Capt. Darren Licon, their intelligence officer.

“And we do this again before noon.” Sweaty noted. “We do have to earn our flight pay.”

“That we do,” Guru nodded. “Let's go.”

They headed on to the squadron's offices to debrief, and get ready for the next mission.

[Matt Wiser]

Part XI: The day goes on, while the F-20 demos are in full swing...



335th TFS HQ, 0945 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was in his office, going over some paperwork. As usual, the elves never took care of it while he was gone, but fortunately, there wasn't much in his IN box. He dealt with the papers that the armchair warriors sent his way, then he got up and had a look outside his office window. The F-20s were back, he noticed. They seem to be good birds, he mused, but awfully short-legged. Why didn't Northrop think about giving them a thicker wing, which, in theory, meant more fuel in wing tanks, just like the F-4 did? He shook his head, then his Exec came into the office. “Mark,”

“Boss, got a few things. First, the eastbound C-130 came in. Had a few things for us,” the XO said.

“Such as?”

“A new ejection seat, and Ross is looking for another,” Ellis told the CO. “And miracle of miracles, the early editions of the West Coast papers. Well, the L.A. Times, Orange County Register, along with today's Stars and Stripes and USA Today.”

The CO nodded. “I'll have a look later. Like, say, over lunch. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Ross got some Vietnam-era style bush hats. You've seen photos of F-105 or F-4 guys wearing those, right?”

“Sure have,” Guru replied. “Ross got us some?”

“Enough for every officer in the squadron, and a few extras,” Ellis said. He tossed his CO a hat with oak leaves on it. “And the first goes to the CO.”

“Thanks, Mark.” Guru said. Though he preferred his squadron baseball cap, he'd wear this from time to time. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

One of the ops NCOs came in. “Major? This came in for you, sir.” The Sergeant handed Guru a message form.

“Thanks, Sarge,” the CO said. He scanned the form. “Well, now.”

His Exec looked at him. “Anything you can tell me?”

Guru handed Ellis the form. “Just a message from the Chief of Staff and the Vice-Chief, who is Sundown Cunningham, by the way, reiterating the no-combat order for both General Olds and General Yeager.”

Ellis nodded. “Guess we'll have to tell them.”

“We will.” Guru checked his desk. The IN box was empty and the OUT box was full. “Know where the F-20 guys are?”

“They just got back from another demo.”

“Good.” Guru put on his new bush hat. “Then let's go.”



When the CO and XO got to the dispersal area the F-20s were using, one of the C models and the D two-seater had just shut down. Canopies popped open, and General Yeager came out of the C, while General Olds climbed down from the back seat of the D, and only then did Prada get out of the front seat. “Nice ride, Captain,” Olds said to Prada, shaking her hand.

“My pleasure, General,” Prada grinned.

“Not a bad little airplane, if I do say so,” Olds went on.

“General,” Guru said as he and Ellis came up, sketching salutes as they did. “How'd things go?”

“Major,” Olds said, “Not bad. This is a nice little airplane, and as a dogfighter, it's small, nimble, and deadly. But it's got some drawbacks. Endurance is one, and so is weapons capacity.”

Both 335th officers nodded. “How much endurance, sir?” Ellis asked. “If you don't mind my asking.”

“Forty-five minutes,” Olds snorted. “There'd be more if we had a pair of wing tanks, but all we had was the centerline. These birds will be useful as aggressors postwar, and maybe going to the Guard and Reserve, but that's about it.”

“I was hoping for more than that, Robin,” Yeager said. “The folks I work with back at Edwards won't be happy.”

“You mean the guys from Northrop?” Olds asked. He saw Yeager nod, then went on. “Being combat-proven means they'll get the overseas sales they want, and not just Korea and Taiwan. Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, the Philippines, they'll probably line up, and so will some Middle East customers like Jordan, Saudi, and the Gulf States, along with anyone already flying F-5s. Here? Aggressor and ANG service after the war is probably the best you can shoot for.”

Yeager nodded. He knew Olds was probably right about this, but still....he knew that Northrop would fight hard after the war to have F-20s in the postwar inventory. “We'll see.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “In that case, I have something for both generals.” He handed the message form to General Olds. “It's from the Chief of Staff himself, along with General Cunningham.”

Olds perused the form, then turned to Yeager. “Well, Chuck. They're reiterating the no-combat order. And they added this: no flying within thirty miles of the front lines for both of us.'

Yeager took the form and read it himself. “Nothing like a directive from the Chief of Staff to liven up the morning,” he said in his West Virginia drawl. “Well, wouldn't want to get our hosts in trouble, now.”

“No, sir,” Guru said. “That makes me feel better, and probably Colonel Brady as well.”

“Speaking of which,” Ellis said. He pointed towards the Ops building, and Colonel Brady was coming towards them, in full flight gear. “Looks like he's expecting a ride.”

“He is,” Prada said. “I'm taking him.” She went back to her F-20D, where the AF ground crew and the Northrop tech-reps were finishing up the turnaround.

“Colonel,” General Olds said. “Taking care of some business?”

“You could say that, sir,” Brady replied. “The Marines and Navy might buy some of these as aggressors after the war. I'd be remiss if I didn't take a ride and pass on a report on these.”

The AF officers nodded. Both 335th ones, especially. Both of them felt the only F-20s the Air Force would wind up keeping postwar would be in the Aggressor Squadrons. “Well, General,” Guru said. “Just glad that's a decision above my pay grade.”

“And mine,” Olds said.

Colonel Brady climbed into the D, and got himself strapped in. As he and Prada did the preflight, the other two C models taxied in. “Those guys doing a CAP?” Guru asked.

“You could say that, Major,” Olds said. “But watch.”

The two 335th officers watched as Clancy and Pruitt's birds came in, only the pilots didn't dismount their aircraft. The ground crew did a hot turnaround in terms of refueling, since they had not expended any ordnance, then the two F-20s taxied back out. “Impressive, even for tech-reps,” the 335th CO noted.

“They all ex-Air Force?” Ellis asked.

“They are,” Olds said. “You two taking a ride later?” Olds regarded the two junior officers. A chance at a new bird, even with the F-20's shortcomings, was something young officers often drooled at.

“I'll get mine in before they leave, General,” Guru said. “But, like I told General Yeager when they got here, I'm a Phantom Phanatic, born and raised. The only thing I'm looking forward to is the F-15E, when those come around.”

“Same here, General,” the XO added.

Olds nodded. If he was in their shoes, and twenty years younger, he'd feel the same way. “I know what you mean.”

Then the 335th's Ops Officer came up. Capt. Don Van Loan sketched a salute. “General,” he said. “Boss,”

“Captain,” Olds said. “Looks like you're getting ready to go back out.” The Ops Officer was in full flight gear.

“Yes, sir,” Van Loan replied. “Just briefed my people, and I've got these for the CO and XO.” He handed both two pieces of paper.

Guru scanned it. It was the next FRAGO. He looked at Ellis, who nodded. “General, we've got business.”

“Good luck, all of you,” the General said with due seriousness. “Be careful out there.”

“Do our best, sir,” Guru said. He and Ellis saluted, then went back to the 335th's building, while Van Loan went to his aircraft. Kara came to meet both of them. “Kara,”

“Boss. We've got a mission, and so does the Exec.”

“Take care, Mark,” Guru said. “Don't want to break in Don as Exec.”

“Or Kara as Ops,” Ellis laughed.

Kara nodded. “Glad to see I'm not the only one feeling that way,” she joked.

“Okay, let's get back in the game,” the CO said.


The Exec went to brief his own flight, while Guru and Kara went to their flight's briefing room. When they got there, their RAF liaison officer was there. “Jack,” Guru said.

“Guru,” Flight Lt. Steve “Jack” Lord nodded. “Mind if I join the briefing?”

“Not at all,” the CO replied. “Come on in.”

They went into the briefing room and found the rest of the flight there, waiting. “Boss,” Sweaty said. “What's up?”

“We are, in about twenty minutes,” said Guru. He opened the briefing packet and spread out recon photos, a map, and had a summary in his hand. “Here's where we're going. Tolar. Southwest of Granbury on U.S. 377.”

“Been there before,” Goalie observed. “And not that long ago.”

“Weren't we busting up a supply dump or a dispersal field for Hinds?” Hoser asked.

“Something like that,” Guru said. “Okay, here's the deal. There's a regimental assembly area around the town. We need to disassemble some of 'em. And here's a restriction: no CBU use in the town.”

Kara looked at her CO. “Civilians still living there?”

“That's right. This is still a town, not a collection of ruins,” Guru replied. “There's four battalion assembly areas on the photos,” he said, passing the photos around. “We go after those.”

“And we're carrying CBUs,” Goalie said.

The CO nodded. “We are, so those are our targets.”

“Flak or SAM suppressors?” Sweaty asked. “Those places are usually well defended.”

Guru checked the frag order. “Negative. Just us.” Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Dave Golen and his element came in. “Guru, are you going down to Tolar?” He asked.

“We are,” Guru replied. “You going there?”

Their IDF “Observer” showed him a frag order, and both compared what they had. “We're going in ten minutes behind you.”

“Not anymore,” Guru said firmly. “You'd be going in on a fully alerted target. What's your ordnance load?”

“Six Maverick Cs, each airplane,” Flossy Jenkins said, and her temporary GIB, Jang, nodded.

The rest of the flight noticed their CO thinking for a moment. Then he looked at the photos. “Okay. Dave? You and Flossy are going with us. Launch under your own call sign. Join us at the tankers.”

“Got you,” Golen said. “And then what?”

“You guys go ahead of us,” Guru said. “Kill anything that looks like a SAM launcher or gun track. Run out of those or can't find any? Kill any command tracks you see.”

“Understood. With the Mavericks, we'll only have two Sparrows and gun.”

“We'll cover you.” Major Wiser looked at the rest of his flight. “We're all carrying Rockeyes, so pick a battalion assembly area and go after it. This is one of those oversized regiments, mind you. Fifty or so tanks per battalion, instead of thirty. Expect regimental level air defense. And this is still technically the East German sector, so watch for SA-4s. And that division we smacked around yesterday? They may still have SA-11s around. Leads have an ALQ-119 pod, wingmates have the -101s. Four AIM-9Ps and two Sparrow Es each bird, and full gun.”

“Still Es?” Sweaty asked. “What about the Fs we're supposed to get?”

“Shouldn't be too long,” said Guru. “Now, the MiG threat is unchanged since early morning, and bailout areas are the same.”

Preacher asked, “How are we getting there?”

“Getting to that,” the CO replied. He pulled out a TPC map. “We follow the Brazos River again. Go past Granbury and watch for flak at the Lake Granbury Dam, by the way, to the U.S. 67 bridge. Then we turn west to Glen Rose. Turn north, and be careful for flak at the Comanche Creek Nuclear Power Plant. IP is just three miles south of Tolar, and there's no landmark. Once you hit the IP, pull up and pick your target area. Once you've released your bombs and jink to avoid flak? Make sure your last jink is to the right. Get your asses to the Brazos, then head back north to the I-20.” Guru looked at his flight. “Questions?”

“We the first going after these guys?” KT asked. “If not...”

“If not, they're alerted,” Goalie said.

Guru looked at the Frag Order. “Doesn't say here.”

“Those new guns still around?” Brainiac asked.

Kara nodded. “Good question.”

Guru checked his intel summary for the mission. “Doesn't say. Okay, that division we smacked yesterday had those, and there may still be some. If you see any of those basketball-sized tracers on your run? Abort. If you see any on your way out? Call them out.” He turned to Dave and Flossy. “You might want to save a Maverick or two for the trip home.”

“Good idea,” Golen said.

“Major, I've got an idea,” Jang said. “How about some 'Magnum' calls on the radio. Ivan usually shuts down radars to avoid eating an antiradar missile when they hear that.”

“We don't have any Shrikes,” Sweaty pointed out.

“They don't know that,” Goalie said. “What do you think?” She asked Guru.

The CO had an evil-looking grin on his face. “I like it. Pick a beer for a phony call sign, then make a couple 'Magnum' calls. Every radar around is going to shut down when word gets passed somebody took an antiradar shot.” He turned to Jang. “Good thinking.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“Anytime,” Guru said. He looked at the wall clock. “Jack, anything before we go?”

“That phony antiradar call. Won't they figure out that it's not real?” Lord asked.

Guru replied, “Ivan knows the Weasels use beer names for call signs. It doesn't have to work every time, but enough. And every time I've heard that, their radars do shut down.”

“Understood,” Jack replied. “No harm in a little radio deception, then?”

“No,” Guru smiled. “Any other questions?” He asked. Heads shook no. “All right, that's it. Time to gear up. I'll see you on the ramp.”

As the crews headed to gear up, and Guru gathered the briefing material, Jack came over. “Major, up north, this would be a Tornado mission.”

“Or F-111s and A-6s down here,” Guru noted. “Usually. But too many missions for those guys, and not enough assets.”

“So it's your turn,” Lord noted.

“It is.”

Guru then went to Ops and turned the briefing material in, then he went to gear up. When he came out of the Men's Locker Room, Goalie was waiting for him, as usual. “Ready?”

“Time to go back to work,” she nodded. “Once more unto the breach.”

“Just as long as that 'close up the walls with our dead' crap doesn't happen,” the CO said. “Time to fly.”

The two headed out to the dispersal area, and found the rest of the flight waiting at 512 so he could give his final instructions. “Boss,” Kara said. “Usual on the radio?”

“Usual procedure,” Guru replied. By now, they knew what he meant. “Remember what I said about MiGs and helos from this morning. They may lead you into a flak trap.”

“Not good,” Sweaty noted.

“They never are,” Flossy said.

Guru nodded. “Right on that. Now, remember what I said about those tracers. If you see those basketball-sized tracers coming, and they get too close? You abort. Nothing down there is worth getting killed over.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Kara replied.

“Good. Anything else?” Heads shook no. He clapped his hands. “Then let's hit it. Time to go get 'em.”

As the crews headed to their aircraft, Jack Lord shook hands with Guru. “Good luck, Guru.”

“Thanks,” the CO replied. “This one could get hairy.”

The RAF officer nodded. “Hopefully not too sticky,” he said.

“Hopefully.”

Guru and Goalie then went to their aircraft, and found Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, waiting. “Major, Lieutenant,” he said, snapping a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to go.”

“Ready to rock, Sergeant?” Guru said, taking off his bush hat.

'She's ready to kick some more Commie ass, sir.”

“Good,” Guru said, tossing the hat to a ground crew member and Goalie did the same. They did their preflight walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. After strapping in, they went through the preflight checklist. “How do you like Jack?” Guru asked his GIB.

“He's not bad for an RAF guy,” Goalie said. “He's likable, but still has some of that English reserve people talk about. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours,” replied Guru. “At least he's not a stiff upper lip type. Ever been across the pond?”

“Once, at the Academy. Went to Lakenheath for two weeks, to see how an overseas base worked. In between my Sophomore and Junior year,” she said. “Not a bad place, and a lot of history there. You'd like it, I think. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“Maybe after the war. Okay, ready,” Guru said. He gave the thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. One, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running, and during the warm-up, they watched as a C-141B came in to land. Then it was time to call the tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Roger, Camaro Lead. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. “Camaro Lead rolling.” He then gave another thumbs-up to Crowley, who signaled to the ground crew. They pulled the wheel chocks away, then Crowley signaled the CO to taxi. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he turned towards the runway, Crowley snapped a salute, which Pilot and GIB returned.

Guru taxied to the holding area, and found another 335th flight directly ahead of him, with two Marine flights-one of F-4s, one of F/A-18s, ahead of the Air Force. The Marines went, then the 335th flight, which the CO noted was the Exec's, then it was their turn. Prior to the active, they held up so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties, then it was time. “Tower, Camaro Flight with four, requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Flight, clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-one for six.” The controller replied.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied onto the runway, and was followed by Kara in 520. A final cockpit check followed, then Guru and Goalie glanced over at their wingmates. Kara and Brainiac gave the thumbs-up, and it was returned. Then Guru contacted the tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let's go,” Goalie said.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru called. He pulled down his canopy, closing and locking it, and Goalie did the same. A quick look to their right found 520's crew having done the same. Then it was time. Guru applied full power on the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with Kara in 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn. They formed up and headed for the tankers. A minute later, after a Marine F-4 flight went, Dave and Flossy followed, heading for the rendezvous at the tanker track.



Over Central Texas, 1025 Hours Central War Time:


The Six-ship of F-4s flew south, generally following the Brazos River, but staying east of the river if at all possible. For that was the Nicaraguan II Corps sector of the ComBloc line, and the Nicaraguan air-defense people didn't shoot at American aircraft unless they were the ones actually being attacked. Which was something that Tenth Air Force was only too happy to exploit.

In Camaro One-one, Major Wiser had his head on a swivel. Not only was he keeping his eye on the instruments, but was also on the alert for any threats. Though the RWR was silent, optically aimed AAA or MANPADS could be a threat, thus he and the other pilots kept their eyes open. While he flew the plane, Goalie was handling the navigation and also keeping an eye out. Experience had shown that two sets of eyes in the cockpit had often been a crew-saver. “Granbury dead ahead,” he called.

“Copy that,” Goalie replied. “Should be out of range of the flak at the bridge.” She meant the U.S. 377 bridge over the Brazos. The Nicaraguans had the guns on the east side, while the East Germans had the guns on the west side-and often shot at passing aircraft even if the Nicaraguans held fire.

“Should be,” he reminded his GIB. Just then, the flight passed Granbury to the west, and hardly any flak came up from the east bank. Some East Germans, though, did shoot some 57-mm at the strike flight, but the flak exploded short of the F-4s. “That's that,”


“Copy. ETA to U.S. 67 bridge: one minute thirty,” Goalie called.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. So far, so good. “Flight, Lead. Watch for flak at the dam,” he called. That meant the Lake Granbury Dam.

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

It wasn't long until the strike flight passed close to the dam, and this time, the AAA gunners on both sides of the river opened fire. Fortunately, none of the 23-mm or 57-mm fire was accurate, though the golf-ball sized tracers coming up from the 23-mm sites did raise eyebrows.

“Bridge dead ahead,” Goalie called. That was their next turn point, and they would be taking fire for sure. “Fifteen seconds.”

“Flight, Lead. Music on,” said Guru on the radio. That meant to turn on their ECM pods. “And....turn.” Guru called as the U.S. 67 Bridge appeared. He put 512 into a right turn, and the rest of the flight followed, dodging the flak the East Germans sent up.

“Steady on,” Goalie said as Glen rose appeared. “Twenty seconds.” That meant the next turn.

“Copy,” Guru replied. Even as they flew towards the town, light flak-probably 23-mm, came up.

“Steady...and....NOW!”

Guru put 512 into another right turn and headed north, and the rest of the flight followed. “Time to IP?”

“Two minutes.” Goalie replied.


In Glen Rose, the East German garrison commander, a Major, had several problems on his plate, and he was wondering how he'd deal with them all. First, the Soviet 74th Tank Regiment's rear support echelon had established themselves in the town, with a regimental hospital, tank maintenance workshop, and supply point setting up, and the Soviets had simply moved in, showing the Major their orders from 4th Guards Tank Army. Then there was the Stasi Police battalion in the town, as part of the Kampfgruppe's rear security element, and the “Sword and Shield” men were insistent on searching for any “Counterrevolutionary Bandits” in the area, though he could have told them there was hardly any resistance activity, and did so. Nevertheless, the Stasi insisted on finding out for themselves. Which meant arrests and the occasional execution, and that made his problem with the local population, who knew full well the U.S. Army was to the north, and were eager for the fighting to get closer to the town, a lot worse. Then there were his allies on the east side of the river, and that didn't just mean Nicaraguans, but Libyans as well. His relations with the former were cool, and frankly, given what had happened to half of their Expeditionary Force up in Colorado, he didn't blame them at all for having a change in attitude towards the war. The Libyans, though, came across as being too eager, and when at the front, had a reputation for being more interested in looting than fighting.

Now, as he was coming out of City Hall, the Major was hoping to meet with his Stasi counterpart, Though he worked with the Stasi, as a good officer and Party member should, he felt that their activities had created as much or more Resistance activity than they had managed to stamp out, and frankly, he didn't blame the Americans at all if they put a bomb or two on the County Courthouse, where the Stasi had set up. Then he heard cheering from some of the townspeople, whose attitude had been surly ever since the invasion, and glanced up. Six American F-4 Phantoms flew over the town and turned north, and the Soviet rear-services troops, along with his own men-reservists who had previously served in the Frontier Troops, had been caught by surprise, even with the anti-aircraft fire to the east, at the Brazos River Bridge. Now, he wondered, will that Stasi swine decide to shoot five or ten locals just for waving at the aircraft? Waving at American aircraft happened all the time. And he also knew that such things had a habit of creating resistance activities, not suppressing them.


“Time to IP?” Guru asked. This had been their last turn before going for the target. “Flak up ahead.” That was the nuclear power plant.

“One minute,” Goalie replied. “Those guys just start shooting?”

“They did,” Guru said. “Mustang Lead, Corvette Lead. Time for you guys to go to work,” Guru called Dave Golen in Mustang One-one.

“Roger,” Dave replied. “Two, on me,” he called Flossy, and the two Maverick-armed went on ahead. They pulled up, and began taking AGM-65 shots as they did so. “Rifle” calls came over the radio, then came a call they had talked about.

“Olympia One-one, MAGNUM!” Everyone in the strike flight recognized Flossy's voice as she gave a phony antiradar missile call.

“Flossy's calling,” Guru noted. He took a quick glance at his RWR. Several radars that had come up had suddenly gone off the air. “And Ivan was listening.”

“Hope so,” Goalie replied. “Set 'em up?” She was referring to the armament control panel.

“Do it,” Guru said. He noticed Dave and Flossy still orbiting, and taking Maverick shots. “Flight, Lead, Switches on, and stand by to pull.”

“Two copies,” Kara replied, and the others did the same.

“All set,” Goalie called from the back seat. “Stand by to pull....ready, ready... PULL!”

Guru pulled up, and as he did, he saw the two Maverick-armed birds still orbiting, but clear of the target. Then one, whose he didn't know, fired a missile, which tracked down a target and exploded it. “Mustang Lead, how's it going?”

“Cleared the way for you,” Dave replied.

“Copy that. Flight, Lead. Target in sight.” And he rolled in on his attack run.



In Tolar, the Regimental Commander of the 74th Independent Tank Regiment was in a good mood. Though the 144th GMRD and the East Germans were falling back, and in good order, he was on ten minutes' notice to take his regiment forward, and give the Americans a bloody nose. After getting mauled at Wichita, and the retreat south-which at times, the Colonel knew, could have turned into a rout-his regiment had been refitted, and was now once again combat-ready. Though the American aircraft overhead wanted to have a say in the matter, for just a minute earlier, two F-4s had shown up, and were shooting missiles at his regimental air defense vehicles. Despite the air attack, and fortunately for him, the American aircraft hadn't yet shown an interest in his battalions' assembly areas. Just that these two were taking missile shots at his air defense.....and that, he knew from experience, meant more American air strikes would be coming. Now, what was taking Army so long? His regiment was ready to move, and the sooner he got the order, the better. He got to his command vehicle and was about to get inside when his orderly, a young Corporal, tapped him on his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Comrade Colonel, aircraft coming in!” The man said, pointing south.

“What...” the Colonels said, then he saw a smoke trail coming towards him. He'd been hit from the air before, and knew what these were. F-4 Phantoms. “AIR ATTACK! TAKE COVER!” The Colonel then jumped into a freshly-dug slit trench, dragging his orderly with him, and several other officers piled out of the command vehicle and jumped into the trench as well.


Guru rolled in on his bomb run. “Lead's in hot!” he called. As Guru rolled in, he spotted the battalion assembly areas, and picked the one northeast of the town. From the intel briefs, this was one of those independent tank regiments Ivan was fond of, and was oversized. Forty to fifty tanks per battalion, instead of thirty. Well, he'd help this battalion lose some of that. Guru lined up one of the companies in his pipper, and decided. Your turn today, Ivan.....He noticed some flak coming up, but it was unguided, and also heard Flossy's voice, calling a fake 'Magnum' shot. Hope it keeps working....”Steady....Steady..
And...NOW!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing a dozen Mark-20 Rockeye CBUs on that battalion. He pulled up and away, jinking as he did so, only seeing an SA-13 that had been launched after it had passed his bird. “ He made his final jink, then turned for the Brazos. “Lead off target,” Guru called.

“What the...” the Colonel said as Guru's F-4 flew by. The American didn't attack the town, but then he realized what was going on. The Americans were going for his battalions in their assembly areas. But as he climbed out of the trench to get to a radio, someone pulled him back in. It was his Chief of Staff. Before he could open his mouth, there was an explosion close by, and a ball of flame came very close. His own command vehicle had been hit.

Overhead, Dave Golen smiled. His GIB, 1st Lt. Terry “Breaker” McAuliffe, had found a command track, and locked it up. A quick squeeze of the pickle button had sent a Maverick on its way, and it exploded the vehicle. “Rifle!” Dave called.

In 512, Guru and Goalie heard that call. There were some tracers coming up, but they appeared to be machine guns at most. “SHACK!” Goalie called. “We got hits!”

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as he jinked again, and an SA-7 or -14 flew by, and the CO winced. Somebody was shooting too close for comfort.

“Got some!”

“Roger that!” Replied Guru as he headed for the Brazos.


“Two's in!” Kara called. She saw the CO make his run, and decided to take the assembly area to the southwest. She wasn't sure what was there, just armor or APCs, and it was just west of the High School. Hope nobody's in class, she thought as she went down on the armor. Kara, too, ignored the flak that was coming up, and this looked like 23-mm, for the tracers were like baseballs flying by. Nothing on the RWR, so it was unguided. She picked out some tanks in her pipper and lined them up. “Steady....And...Ready, ready...”HACK!” Kara hit her pickle button, sending her CBUs onto the Soviets below. She then pulled up and away, jinking to avoid flak as she did so, and hoping to pick up the CO as she egressed. “Two's off safe,” she called.

“DAMN!” The Colonel shouted. His command vehicle had taken a hit from a missile and exploded, but contacting Army was not on his mind at the moment. Where was the Air Force? The Colonel got out of the trench and ran towards another BTR-60 command vehicle, and an Air Force officer poked his head out. “Comrade Colonel?”

“Get some fighters here, now!” The Colonel demanded. “Did you hear me? NOW!”

“I'm trying, Comrade Colonel.”

“Keep trying,” the Colonel replied, then he ran back to the trench as another F-4 came in.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac yelled as 520 jinked to avoid some flak.

“How good?” Kara wanted to know as an SA-13 flew over her bird about fifty feet above.

“We've got secondaries!”

“I'll take those.” Kara said as she flew towards the Brazos.


“What in the...” the Colonel wondered as Kara's F-4 had made its run, this time, his Third Battalion had been the likely target. Several fireballs and smoke columns indicated that the American had found targets, and though the Regiment's air defenders were fighting back, no one had yet been shot down. The Colonel shook his head as another F-4 came in, then he ducked into the trench.

“Three's in hot!” That was Sweaty's call as she came in on her run. She decided to take the northwest assembly area, and the recon photos had shown tanks there. Sure enough, they were there as she made her run, and Sweaty put her pipper on a small cluster in the middle. That might just be the battalion's command group, she knew. She ignored the flak as Preacher called out altitude, and she centered the vehicles in her pipper. “Steady...and...and....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, releasing her Rockeyes onto the Soviet tank battalion, and then she pulled away, jinking to avoid the flak, which was wild, but inaccurate. Sweaty banked right and headed north, jinking as she did so, for there was still flak and missiles coming up. “Three's off,” she called.

“NYET!” The Colonel wasn't happy at seeing his link to the Air Force taken out, for one of the orbiting F-4s had fired a missile and taken out his Forward Air Controller. Shaking his head, the Colonel looked around, and saw plumes of smoke coming from three of his maneuver battalions' assembly areas. He started to get up when he froze, then got back into the trench. Another F-4 coming in....


“SHACK!” Preacher called as Sweaty pulled away. “You got secondaries!”

“How many?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid the flak, and she watched as an SA-13 flew down the right side of her aircraft.

“Got some!”

“I'll take some,” replied Sweaty as she headed for the Brazos.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He came down on the southeast assembly area, and noticed missile trails coming from that headed after his flight mates. Your turn, Hoser decided as he centered that area in his pipper. Again, there was flak coming up, but he and KT ignored it as Hoser came down on the target area. He could see that they might be APCs, and they didn't stand up to CBUs the way tanks could at times. “And...and....HACK!” Hoser called as he hit his pickle button, and released his dozen Rockeyes onto the Soviet battalion. He pulled up, and began jinking as he turned north for the Brazos, hoping to avoid the flak and any missiles. “Four's off target.”

“NYET!” The Colonel was apoplectic as he saw Hoser's F-4 make its run, release its CBUs, and in its wake, left several secondary explosions in its wake, which signaled strikes on armored vehicles. The Colonel knew that area was where his motor-rifle battalion had set up, and sighed. He got up out of the trench and had a look around. Several command vehicles or air-defense vehicles had been hit, and were blazing furiously. The Colonel waved, and his Regimental Command tank, a T-64BK, came up. At least he still had the radios there. He noticed the two orbiting F-4s make final missile runs, then they, too, headed north. Shaking his head, he gathered his staff around. This was shaping up to be a bitch of a morning, and the regiment hadn't even been committed into combat yet!

“GOOD HITS!” KT called from Hoser's back seat.

Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “How good?” He wanted to know, as he jinked to avoid flak and any missiles coming up.

“Got a few secondaries!”

“That's righteous, as Preacher would say.” Then Hoser picked up his element lead as he headed north.


“That's it,” Goalie said in 512's back seat. “Four in and out.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. “Still got a game on. Mustang, Corvette,” he called Dave Golen. “We're on our way out.”

“Roger,” Dave replied. “We are now Winchester. Mustangs coming out.”

“Copy that,” Guru said as he hit the Brazos River and crossed it north of Granbury. “Two, you with me?”

“Right with you,” Kara replied.

Guru took a look and 520 was right with him in Combat Spread. “Got you,” he replied. “Sweaty?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me.”

“Copy that,” Guru said.

“Two minutes to the fence,” Goalie called. That meant the I-20. Though they were in friendly territory now, over the 11th Airborne's sector, nobody considered themselves really out of enemy territory until crossing the I-20.

Guru did a quick check of his map. Just east of the Brazos, and thus the I-20 bridges. Those had an Army I-HAWK battery in attendance, and the Army air-defense pukes had a habit of shooting first and interrogating afterwards. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He reached down and turned on his IFF transponder. Then I-20 shot by below, and only then did the flight climb to altitude and head for the tanker track.

After the post-strike refueling, the six-ship headed back to Sheppard, and when they got there, the flight found the pattern crowded. Several Marine, Navy, and 335th flights were inbound, and several more were outbound. Once their turn came, the flight came in and landed, and as they did, a C-141B took off on an adjoining runway. “That the westbound -141?” Guru asked.

“Maybe,” Goalie said. “Corinne and her friends have a safe, but boring, trip back to Travis.”

“Then it's a 747 on the TransPac route to Okinawa and they do it all over again.”

“They do, but sometimes it's MAC. You still going to get her into the squadron?” Goalie asked.

“She's combat qualified and even if she never fired a shot, is a Day One vet,” Guru replied. “You bet I'm going to try.”

They taxied in, and as they did so, the TV crew was out again, filming, and this time, both General Olds and General Yeager were with them. “Want to bet that they're doing a piece on both of them?”

“No takers,” Guru replied. “That's a bet even Kara won't take.”

The flight reached the squadron's dispersal area and the planes taxied to their individual revetments. Guru taxied to 512's revetment, and after taxiing in, got the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief.
“Two and done for the morning,” he said after shutting down, and the ground crew put the chocks in around the wheels.

“And we do it again in the afternoon,” Goalie said. It wasn't a question. Unless it was CAS, they usually flew four sorties a day. Just like the guys who'd flown CAS in South Vietnam: they usually flew three or four missions a day. But they didn't have SAMs or heavy-caliber flak coming at them, nor MiGs....

“That we do. At least we're earning our flight pay,” replied Guru as they went through the post-flight checklist. As they did that, the ground crew came with the crew ladder. Then they climbed down from 512, and Sergeant Crowley, the CC, was waiting. “Sarge,”

“How'd it go, Major?” Crowley asked as the CO got down. “And Lieutenant?”

“Not bad, Sarge,” Guru replied as he did a quick walk-around with Goalie. “No damage we can see. Put the hurt on a regiment. Or some of 'em, anyway.”

“As long as they burn, bleed, and blow up, it's fine with me, sir,” Crowley said.

“Five-twelve's working like a champ, Sarge. Get some food inside you all, then get her ready for the next one.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “She'll be ready.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said.

“Keep it up, Sarge,” Goalie added.

“Yes, Ma'am!” Crowley said.

As pilot and GIB headed to the entrance of the revetment, Goalie asked Guru, “When's he up in the R&R Rotation?”

'I'll have to check. He did go on his last one,” Guru said. “I still may order him to take an early R&R, because he deserves it.”

“No argument there,” Goalie agreed.

When they got to the entrance, Kara and Brainiac were there, and Sweaty and Hoser, with Preacher and KT were coming up. Then Dave, Flossy, Breaker, and Jang followed. “Well?” Guru asked. “No Zoo-thirtys.”

“Didn't see any basketball-sized tracers,” Sweaty noted.

“All we saw were Shilkas,” Dave Golen said. “Killed a couple, and some SA-13 tracks.”

“And command tracks,” Flossy added.

Kara grinned. “And your phony 'Magnum' calls. Every radar shut down when we heard those.”

“For now,” KT said. “Want to bet they might catch on and just leave their radars on when nobody gets hit?”

“They might,” Dave noted. “Then again, how many of their SAMs have optical backups? SA-6, SA-8, SA-11, and the IR ones.”

Guru thought for a moment. “Well, their problem, because if they ignore those calls and real Weasels show up with real HARMs or Standard-ARMs?”

“Then they're back to Square One in that department,” Kara nodded. “They eat a few antiradar shots instead.”

“Good for them,” Hoser said. “Boss, did you notice we got the Bush hats?” Everyone in the flight was wearing one now.

“Sure did. Ross found some. Enough for every aircrew member in the squadron,” Guru said. “Nice little way to connect with the guys who flew in SEA.”

“It is that,” Sweaty nodded. “Now, what's Frank going to say?”

Guru shook his head. “Frank can suck an egg for all I care,” the CO replied. “Just hope he doesn't do something foolish when General Yeager tells him he's not going into the F-20.”

“He might,” Flossy warned. “Just hope he doesn't do something that gets one of us, or other friendlies, killed.”

“I know, Flossy,” Guru said. “I can't kick him out still because it's too soon after I took command, and the two of us have a history. He can go to JAG and claim retaliation.”

“Even if it's frivolous?” KT asked.

“Even if,” Guru said. “Okay, if and when Sundown Cunningham pays us a visit, problem solved.”

“Happy day,” Flossy grinned.

“It will be,” Guru said. “Okay, back to business. Let's debrief with Sin, and we all need something to eat. Check your desks, then in an hour, hour and a half, tops, we're back at it.”

Kara smiled. “Well, we do have to earn our flight pay,” she quipped.

“They pay us for this?” Hoser asked.

“Not enough,” Sweaty reminded everyone.

There were laughs all around, then Guru said, “Let's go. Debrief, eat, and get ready to do it all over again.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part XII: Doc tells the CO about the....relationships in the squadron, The F-20s get into a dogfight, and the "No Combat" order for General Yeager gets bent as far as possible without breaking it....



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


Major Matt Wiser was in his office, going over some paperwork. Though not as much as one may have expected in peacetime, or so Colonel Rivers had told him when he was Exec, there was enough to make him despise and loathe bureaucrats and anyone who thought they were a good thing. He had just cleared what was in his IN Box when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The door opened and the squadron's Flight Surgeon, Doc Waters, came in. “Major,” he said. No matter what, Doc was always formal when on the clock. “Got two or three things to talk about.”

“Go ahead,” the CO said. No matter what, Doc outranked everyone-including him-when it came to things medical.

“First of all, I'm extending Kicker's grounding for a full week. I know, he's got a mild case of the flu, but I want to be sure he's ready to go before I release him.”

Guru looked at his Flight Surgeon. “I thought you said it was the Twenty-four Hour kind of flu.”

“So did I, but he hasn't gotten better. He's stable, and should improve over the next couple of days,” Doc said.

“Noted, Doc,” replied Guru. “Well, that makes Fridge happy, because that gives him more time in the cockpit.” He was referring to Kicker's replacement in the Exec's back seat. “And what else?”

The doc looked at the CO. “I know you guys have been hitting it pretty hard, but try and find some time to spend in the fitness center.”

“Doc, sometimes the Reds have a say in that,” Guru reminded him. “Days like yesterday, we don't have much time.”

“I know, but still, make an effort, okay?” the medical officer asked. He had been a general surgeon in private practice and had been a Captain in the AF Reserve before he had been called to active duty. And he wondered if being a pediatrician was like this? Especially dealing with prima-donna fighter pilots and GIBs.

“I'll pass it on, Doc,” Guru said. Though he did know the sawbones was right. “Sometimes, it's only two or three times a week we can get that in.”

Doc nodded. “I know, just try, Major.”

“Will try, Doc,” the CO said. “Anything else?'

The Flight Surgeon grinned. “I know about you and Goalie.”

Guru stared at the Doc. “It took you how long?”

“Just haven't had time or reason to talk about it,” Doc replied. “It doesn't take much to figure out: you two going off with each other on nights prior to a stand-down, and sometimes on others. Not to mention passing by your tent on such nights, and hearing sounds of passion. High, loud, and repeatedly.”

“Oh, boy.....” Guru shook his head. “And we're not the only ones,” he said. It wasn't a question.

“You're right.”

“Okay, I do know Don and Sweaty are seeing each other. Kerry Collins and Ryan Blanchard are as well, and Flossy and Scorpion also. And this doesn't count Kara's one-night stands.”

“You're dead on,” Doc said. “And there's four or five couples in the enlisted folks. Before you ask, Chief Ross knows.”

Guru sighed, then nodded. “All right, then. Any problems?”

“Nothing so far, a couple breakups, but the parties involved were....amicable.”

“Good. FYI there's only been one breakup among the officers, and that was Kyle Radner and Ryan Blanchard. Two weeks after our R&R escapade, Kyle was shot down. He didn't get out.” Guru said. “She took it hard for a couple of weeks, then she bounced back and moved on.” Just like a lot of people, the CO thought to himself.

“Good to know. I'll be, well, talking to the other couples, unofficially, just to see how they're doing. Sort of off-the record counseling if they want it.” And an article in a journal postwar, Doc thought.

“All right. Now, Doc, what I'm going to tell you does not leave this room under any circumstances,” Guru said, pointing a finger at his Flight Surgeon.

“Doctor-patient privilege, in other words,” Doc replied. He knew full well how serious that was. “What's up?”

“You're one of Frank's few friends. Now, between you and me-and a few others in the squadron, he is not getting into the F-20 program. When he finds out, there's no telling how he'll react, so keep an eye on him.”

'You think he'll pop? Doc asked. That wasn't unusual.

“No idea, but just in case, watch him,” Guru ordered.

“Will do.”

“That's settled. Anything else?” Asked the CO.

“That's it.” Doc said.

“Okay, see you later, and enjoy lunch-other than the pork tri-tip.”

“I'll bring the antidote,” Doc joked, and both laughed.

“Do that.” Guru said as Doc headed on out.

Just as Doc left, Goalie came in. “Doc,” she said. She had two bags in hand and two cups full of liquid.

“Goalie,” he nodded politely, then he left.

Guru nodded as his GIB put lunch on his desk. “What have we got?”

'”Barbeque chicken, with Cole Slaw and French Fries,” she replied. “And lemonade. Now, what'd Doc want?”

Guru took one of the Styrofoam containers. “Three things. First, Kicker's grounded for a full week with the Flu. No improvement, but he should be getting better in a couple of days.”

“Good to know,” Goalie said. She was Senior WSO, even though there were several WSOs who did outrank her. “He the only one sick?”

“So far, and Doc would've told me if there were other cases,” Guru said. “Second? Doc wants us to try and get some more time in the Fitness Center.”

She looked at her pilot and lover. “He does know that sometimes, the Reds decide things like that?”

“He does, and I did remind him of that. Doc wants everybody to make the effort. We'll just have to try.”

“Swell,” said Goalie. “And what else did the sawbones have to say?”

“He knows about us,” Guru said.

“Great,” she shook her head. “And how?”

“Simple,” explained the CO. “He's been walking through Officer Country at night, usually the night before a stand-down, and he hears passionate sounds from my tent. And he knows about three other couples.”

“Let me guess: he knows about Don Van Loan and Sweaty, Ryan Blanchard and Kerry Collins, and he's also caught on to Flossy and Scorpion now dating.”

Guru nodded. “And he's also mentioned several couples among the enlisted people.”

“Swell.”

Then there was a knock at the door. “Yeah?” Guru said.

His staff sergeant secretary came in. “Major, got these for you,” she said, handing him two message forms.

“Thank you,” Guru said. After she left, the CO let out a smile. “The RAF will be here in five days.”

“When do Yeager and his people leave?” Goalie asked, in between bites of chicken.

“Day after tomorrow. And be glad for that, because Chuck Yeager and RAF guys do not get along much,” said Guru, who then finished off a chicken breast.

“Too many stiff upper lip types, or Colonel Blimps,” was Goalie's comment. By her tone of voice, it wasn't a question.

Guru nodded. “Something like that,” he said. “And the second? Formal notice of when the tech-reps will be here to tweak the EW gear.”

Goalie's eyes perked up at the news. “Good. Now we'll know when those guns are painting us, instead of waiting to see those damn basketball-sized tracers.” She paused, then asked. “When?”

“Two weeks. And we're not the only ones hollering for that,” Guru reminded his GIB.

“I know, but still...good to know.”

“It is,” Guru said. Then there was another knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

Kara came in. “Boss,” she said. “We got a mission coming up in thirty minutes.”

“No rest for the weary,” Guru said as he stood up.

“There's something else,” said Kara.

Guru took a look at his Assistant Ops Officer and wingmate. He could tell the expression on her face was serious. “What?”


Over Liberated Texas, near Wichita Falls, 1210 Hours Central War Time:


General Yeager was leading Showroom Flight, and this time, it was a flight of four. He was in his C model, as were Clancy and Pruitt, while Prada was in the D two-seater, and in the back seat was Capt. Don Van Loan, the 335th's Ops Officer. They had gone out on a demo flight, and had given Van Loan some DACT, and the Ops Officer was impressed.

“Prada, these birds might just have a use in this war. But, once it's over...” Van Loan said. “The guys at Nellis and their Navy counterparts might be the best you can shoot for. Maybe the Guard and Reserve, too.”

In the front seat, Prada smiled beneath her oxygen mask. “Well, we aim to please, and maybe we'll change some minds.”

“Doubt it,” Van Loan said. He had been in the Officer's Club when one of the F-20 drivers-either Clancy or Pruitt, had declared the F-20 the “Greatest thing since the P-51”, and that had made quite a few of the 335th's pilots and GIBs boiling. As in boiling mad. Though the F-20s had proven themselves in the air-to-ground arena since their arrival, there had been no encounters with Red aircraft. “You'd have to work on people with stars on their shoulders.”

“Flight, Lead,” Yeager called. “We're ten minutes from Bingo fuel, so form up and return to Home Plate.”

“Roger, Lead,” Clancy replied.

“Three copies,” Pruitt added.

“Four, roger,” Prada called.

The four F-20s had just joined up, when a call came from AWACS. “Showroom Lead, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing Two-six-zero for twenty-four, low. You are closing.”

“Lead, Four. Just a reminder; if we run into bandits, drop back and let us handle them,” Prada called. She was politely reminding General Yeager of the no-combat order. In a way, she was a mother hen-though Clancy and Pruitt probably wouldn't mind if the General got into a fight. If it was unavoidable, fine. If not....

“Copy that, Four,” Yeager replied.

Beneath his oxygen mask, Capt. Matt Clancy muttered, “Yes, mother.” Why couldn't the Air Force let the General, who was first and foremost, a fighter pilot, be one if necessary?

“Two, make that four, hits at Twelve O'clock,” Capt. Jeb Pruitt called.

“I have five,” Prada added. “That doesn't make sense.

In the D's back seat, Van Loan had been watching the radar display. “It does if it's a recon flight. Four escorts and a recon bird.”


To the south, Capt. Mark Ellis was leading his flight back to Sheppard. They had struck an ammo dump near Glen Rose, and were heading back. Then he got a call from AWACS.

“Cadillac Lead, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing Three-four-zero for fifty-five. Low, going away. Kill. Repeat: KILL. You are clear to arm, clear to fire.”

“Copy, Crystal Palace. Three-four-zero for fifty-five,” he replied. “Flight, Lead. Light'em up and follow me.” And four F-4Es headed in at full military power.


“Lead, Two,” Clancy called Yeager. “Now ten miles.” Just then, two of the bandits turned towards the F-20s. “ Picking up MiG-23 radars.” That meant MiG-23 Floggers with High Lark radar and AA-7 Apex radar-guided missiles.

“They've turned into us,” Pruitt called.

“Flight, Lead,” Yeager said. “Go get'em,” he called. Then he dropped back, flying wing to Prada. “Two, you and three take the lead.”

“Roger that,” Clancy replied. He called up an AIM-7M, and it didn't take long to get a lock. “And...FOX ONE!” He squeezed the trigger and sent a Sparrow missile after one of the MiGs.

“Three has one....FOX ONE!” Pruitt had locked up one of the MiGs and fired.

Clancy's first missile, though an AIM-7M, acted like an E, for it fired its warhead only halfway to the target. He cursed, then fired his second. “FOX ONE AGAIN!”


In the lead MiG-23, the commander of the Second Squadron, 905th IAP, was leading the escorts. He had decided to show the new pilots in the squadron how things were done, and went out leading an escort for a Yak-28R on a reconnaissance mission. Now, he had picked up hostile radars to his right, and had turned, along with his wingman, to face the threat. Then his Sirena-3 RWR indicated missile lock, and he began searching for crows, which, to a Soviet airman, meant enemy fighters. Then, as he closed, saw a missile track his wingman then it exploded well short. The Lieutenant Colonel swept the sky, trying to pick up visual contact, just as his RWR indicated another missile lock. Just at his Twelve-O'clock, he saw what looked like an F-5. F-5's didn't carry radar-guided missiles! Then a Sparrow missile speared his MiG, and he was engulfed in a fireball. The Colonel never had a chance to scream.

“SPLASH ONE!” Pruitt called. He had shot at the leading MiG.

“Good kill, Three,” said Yeager.

Then Clancy's second Sparrow found the MiG wingman. “SPLASH!” Clancy shouted as the MiG fireballed.

“Nice shooting, Two,” Yeager called.

In Four's back seat Don Van Loan was looking at one of the MFDs, and this one was showing the radar picture. Then he scowled. “Prada, if I read this radar right, we've got a problem.”

“What?” Prada asked. She was intent on protecting General Yeager.

“There's not one pair, but two, plus the recon bird.”

She checked her own radar display, then made visual. “Oh, shit! Lead, Four. We've got two pair left. Repeat, not one, TWO!” She then selected RADAR for a Sparrow, locked on one of the MiG-23s, then shot. “FOX ONE!”, Prada called, sending an AIM-7M on its way.

Yeager called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Showroom Lead. Need some help here.”


“Copy that, Showroom,” the controller replied. “Cadillac Flight inbound. Break, Cadillac Lead, Crystal Palace. Bandits on your nose, thirty-five and medium. Friendlies engaged, and they need some help. Go gate.” That meant afterburner.

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Ellis replied in Cadillac Two-one. “Flight, Lead. Go gate, NOW!” Cadillac Flight's four F-4Es went to afterburner. “One minute out.”


“Showroom Flight, Lead,” Yeager said. “Verify IFF is on, out.” He knew the F-4s might be taking BVR shots....

“Two, I need some help here,” Prada called.

“Little busy now,” Clancy replied. He and Pruitt had their hands full with two MiGs, and these were being flown by experts, or “Honchos” to use an old Korean War phrase. Clancy was in a vertical rolling scissors with one of the MiGs, and he thought, but wasn't sure, that he saw the Guards insignia on the side of the MiG. He was close enough to the driver that he could've picked him out of a police lineup, though all he saw was the white helmet with visor down, and the green flight suit.

Then the MiG pilot, thinking he was facing an F-5, got out a little too far ahead, and that was all Clancy needed. Too close for a Sidewinder, but not for guns. He squeezed the trigger, sending a hundred rounds of 20-mm from his two M39 cannon after the MiG. Most of the rounds flew up the MiG's exhaust, and the MiG-23 exploded in a fireball. To Clancy's surprise, the MiG pilot ejected from the fireball, and had a good chute. “SPLASH!”

Pruitt heard that call, just as he turned inside his MiG. Then this MiG pilot also made a mistake. He, too, thought he was facing an F-5, and he saw his leader explode. He reversed his turn, and Pruitt got on his tail. “And...FOX TWO!” Pruitt's AIM-9L flew right up the MiG's tailpipe and exploded the Flogger. As the MiG came apart, Pruitt saw the canopy come off, the seat fire, and quickly thereafter, there was a parachute. “Three has a splash!'

In the D, Prada cursed as her Sparrow missed, and the MiGs came into the merge. She and Yeager broke, and one of the MiGs turned for her. Prada lost sight of Yeager, but Van Loan didn't. He saw Yeager break low and to the right, then saw the second MiG turning towards them.

“Prada, break!” Van Loan called from the right seat.

She broke right, forcing the first MiG to overshoot, and Prada did a 180, went into the vertical, then rolled in behind the second MiG-23. She selected HEAT, and was quickly rewarded with the growl of a Sidewinder in her headset. The growl went loud. “FOX TWO!” She squeezed the trigger, sending an AIM-9L after the MiG.

In the MiG wingman's cockpit, a SAF Senior Lieutenant was looking around. He had lost sight of his element leader, as well as the American he had been chasing. Like the others, he thought he was facing F-5s at first, but he had picked up the warning on his Sirena-3 RWR, and knew this was something new. Cursing the poor rear visibility in the MiG-23, he was looking around when there was an explosion behind him, and every warning light came on in the cockpit. The Lieutenant shrugged, then jettisoned his canopy and fired his K-36 ejection seat. Hanging in his chute, he saw the American fly past. It looked like a two-seat F-5, and it blew past. Now, he was hoping the U.S. Army would find him before those bloodthirsty savages who called themselves the American Resistance did.

“SPLASH!” Prada called as the MiG pilot ejected. She had watched as the Sidewinder flew up the MiG's tail and exploded.

“Good kill!' Clancy shouted.

“Good one,” Van Loan said from the back seat.”Now, where's that other MiG, and where's General Yeager?”

The two scanned the sky, above and below, and didn't see the MiG leader. But they did see the recon bird, and an F-20 in pursuit. “I think I see him. He's right behind the recon bird,” Prada said. “Fuck me.”

“Is that an offer?”

“It might be, with the storm that'll come.”


General Yeager had lost sight of his wingmate, and he had picked up the recon bird. A Yak-28R, he saw, and it was approaching the Wichita Falls area, which included Sheppard. Can't have that, he thought, and he heard the radio calls of the others as they were engaged. Oh, well, can't be helped. He selected HEAT, then rolled in behind the Yak. He got good tone on a Sidewinder and shot. “FOX TWO!” Yeager called in his West Virginia twang.

“Oh, shit.” Pruitt said as he regained contact. He had been hoping to roll onto the recon bird.

Go, General, Clancy said to himself.

Yeager's Sidewinder flew true to the right engine, and exploded. The engine pod itself exploded, tearing most of the right wing off the aircraft. Still, the pilot tried to pitch up, to give the navigator a chance to use his downward firing ejection seat, and after the navigator went, the pilot ejected. Yeager saw the chutes, then watched as the Yak rolled inverted, then plunged into the ground. “Showroom Lead has a splash.”

“Lead, good kill!” Clancy shouted.

“Oh, shit,” Van Loan said in the D. “There's going to be a storm over this.”

“No kidding, Sherlock!” Prada shot back. “Where's the other MiG?”


“Cadillac Flight coming in,” Mark Ellis called. “Got a Flogger going south.” His temporary backseater, Fridge, locked him up. “FOX ONE!” Ellis sent two AIM-7Es towards the MiG, but the MiG-23 broke hard left, breaking missile lock, then he reversed. “Two-three, Two-four, take him.”

“Copy that,” Scorpion called in Two-three.”Where is he?” Scorpion asked his GIB, Judge.

“Three O'clock, going south,” Judge replied.

“Two-four has him.” That was Cosmo and Revlon. “Clear to engage?”

“Four, press to engage. I'll cover,” Scorpion called. He was element lead, but now, he was giving Cosmo the lead in the fight, and he would support her.

Cosmo grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Going heat,” she called. She called up a Sidewinder, and got good tone. “FOX TWO!” She squeezed the trigger, and an AIM-9P4 shot off the rail. The missile tracked right, then left, and flew up the MiG's tailpipe. Both pilot and GIB were rewarded with the sight of the MiG-23 exploding, and then cartwheeling all the way to the ground. “SPLASH! Two-four has a splash, and no chute.”

“Shit hot!” Revlon yelled from the back seat.

“Good kill, Four,” Scorpion called.

“Crystal Palace, Cadillac Lead. Say bogey dope.” Ellis called the AWACS.

“Cadillac Lead, Crystal Palace. Negative bogeys inbound.” Replied the AWACS controller.

“Roger that,” Ellis replied. “Flight, Lead. Form up and head for home.”


“Showroom Flight,” called Yeager. “Form up and head for home plate.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part XIII: Debriefing the F-20 fight, and informing the brass....


335th TFS CO's Office, 1215 Hours:


“Okay, Kara. Correct me if I'm wrong,” Major Wiser was saying. “They were coming back from Don's orientation flight, DACT and all, when they got jumped by MiGs escorting a recon bird?” He saw Kara nod, then continued. “General Yeager got separated from his wingmate, and he wound up splashing the recon bird?”

“That's about it,” Kara replied. “No friendlies lost. And Mark's people came in at the end. One of them splashed a MiG as well.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, before we go to the ramp, I need to call General Tanner.” He was referring to Major General Robert Tanner, the Commander of Tenth Air Force, which handled the air war from California to Central Texas. “If he finds out from me, it goes a whole lot easier than if he heard via message traffic.”

“And thus cools necessary tempers,” Goalie observed.

“It should,” Guru said as he made the call. “I have a direct number to him. Bypasses the ADC, Chief of Staff, any flunkies.” He waited as the phone rang on the other end. Then a female voice asked,

“General Tanner's office. May I ask who's calling?” It was the General's secretary.

“Major Wiser at the 335th TFS.” Guru said politely.

'One moment,” the secretary said. Then another ring, and a firm, male voice came over the line.

“Tanner.”

“Sir, this is Major Wiser at the 335th,” said Guru, trying to be calm himself.

In his office, Tanner was beaming. “Major! Heard some great things about your squadron from General Olds. What's up?”

“Sir, General Yeager and his people were returning from giving one of my pilots an orientation ride, when they got jumped by MiGs escorting a recon bird. No friendly losses, and a full report is being prepared for you on the incident. However, General Yeager got separated from his wingman, and wound up splashing the recon bird.”

There was silence on the other end, then Tanner asked, “You do have the directive from the Chief of Staff, Major?”

“I do, sir, and it's right in front of me,” said Major Wiser. “It says that they're not to initiate combat if they encounter the enemy, and the added restriction of no flying within thirty miles of the FLOT.”

“Where were they, Major?”

“Sir, my deputy Ops Officer says between Gainesville, Texas, and Ardmore, Oklahoma is where they went to. That's just about due east of here.”

“And right on the boundary between Ninth Air Force and Tenth,” Tanner noted. “So, they were on the way back to Sheppard when they ran into the bad guys.”

Major Wiser said, “Yes, sir. We should have a full report on this within the hour.”

“Good,” said Tanner. “I'll notify TAC HQ, and I do have a direct line to the Chief of Staff's office.” That meant General Michael Dugan, the AF Chief of Staff. “Get me that report by Fax, and I'll send it to him. He should have it within two hours.”

“Sir, we'll get that to you.”

“All right, Major. You' rode a storm like this when Colonel Rivers was killed, and came out fine. You'll do the same here. You've got news media there, right?”

Guru replied, “That we do, sir. The Aussie crew's still here.”

“Okay, they can prep whatever story they want, but tell them to hold off on sending it to CBS or Sydney until you hear from me. I'll send you a directive in writing via fax in case they squawk. This is something Air Force Headquarters is going to have to decide.” Tanner said, waving in his own Chief of Staff and PAO.

“Will do, sir.” Guru said.

“All right, Major. I'm glad you told me this way, instead of my finding out through message traffic. My reaction would be a lot less calm, if you get the idea,” said Tanner.

“I do, sir.”

Tanner said, “Major, I've got every confidence in you. I'll take care of the brass and the PAO side of this. You take care of the Russians. Get me that report, and then you get on with the war. Got it?”

'Yes, sir.” Major Wiser said.

“All right: I'll get that directive to you ASAP, and get me that report. Within two hours, I want it on General Dugan's desk.”

“Understood, sir.” said Guru.

“Get with it, Major, and then you get on with the war,” Tanner told Major Wiser. “I'll be in touch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good rest of the day, Major.” Tanner said.

“Sir.” Guru said, then he heard the CLICK as General Tanner hung up.


“Well?” Goalie asked.

Guru had a grim smile, then it improved. “Well, General Tanner was glad to hear from me, instead of via message traffic. His reaction would be less than calm, he said.”

“Good news,” Kara said. “Well, back to the old advancement-by-assassination plan, then.” She snapped her fingers at that.

“Yeah,” Goalie added. “So, what else?”

Guru looked at both of them. “After whatever celebration on the ramp, we need to debrief this. Request General Yeager's presence in the Main Briefing Room, along with everyone involved, in Fifteen. Because we need to debrief this, get a report prepped, and then faxed to General Tanner within the hour. In two hours, that report will be on the desk of the Chief of Staff himself, General Dugan.”

“Got you,” Kara said. “What else?”

“He said he'd take care of the brass and the PAO side. We take care of the Russians. But....Push our mission back by a half-hour. We go at 1330,” the CO told her. “This may take a while.”

The Assistant Ops Officer nodded. “Will do. They should be in the pattern anytime.”

Guru nodded, then got up from his desk. He went and grabbed his bush hat. “Then we have somewhere to be.”



When the CO, Kara, Goalie, and several others got to the ramp, they noticed General Olds was there, already watching. Clearly, he'd found out fast, and then Colonel Brady, the CO of MAG-11, arrived, along with Jana Wendt and her news crew. “General, Colonel,” Guru said, saluting. “Hell of a day.”

“It is that,” General Olds said. “Not every day a general officer scores a kill. Don't think this happened in WW II, though.”

“It may have, sir,” someone said, and people turned to see the despised and loathed Major Frank Carson there. “Jimmy Doolittle may have gotten one in WW II, and General Eisenhower wanted to possibly court-martial him for flying combat missions after being briefed on Ultra.”

“Really?” Olds said. This was a first for him, hearing about this.

“Yes, sir. He almost fired Doolittle for allowing his Ops Officer, a one-star by the name of Vanaman, I believe, fly combat missions after he got an Ultra brief. The fellow was shot down and captured by the Germans. Though Ultra wasn't compromised.” Carson said. “At the Academy, we explored this in a debate at the Academy, my third-class year. I thought Doolittle could have been court-martialed.”

Court-Martial Jimmy Doolittle? Olds wondered. “Well, Major, Ike didn't do it, and I think history has been the judge on that.”

“Yes, sir.” Carson replied.

General Olds slipped away to find Colonel Brady, Major Wiser, and several 335th and Marine officers watching as the F-20s and F-4s taxied in, canopies raised, and pilots showing fingers to signal kills. “Major, that snobby officer has book smarts, but can't translate them to real-world experience.”

“General,” Guru said. “With all due respect, you're not the first to say that. And General Tanner found out when he was here for Colonel Rivers' memorial service.”

Olds nodded. “If you can't send him packing, then General Cunningham might, if he comes by.”

“General, it'll be a happy day on this base when that skunk leaves,” said Colonel Brady as General Yeager's F-20 came in.

“Not just the F-20s,” Kara noted. “Cosmo and Revlon got a kill.”

“The 'unmanned' crew?” General Olds asked.

“One of two, sir,” Guru said. “Lieutenant Sandi Jenkins has a female GIB filling in for her regular one, who is grounded with a severe ankle sprain.”

Brady looked at the Major. “When those two make ace? Those newsies will be all over them.”

“Yes, sir. Speaking of which, I need to talk to Ms. Wendt.” Guru then went over to where Jana Wendt and her 9 News Australia crew were setting up. “Ms. Wendt?”

“Major?' Wendt asked. “What's your take on all this?”

Guru had a smile. “Not every day a general goes out and scores a kill. Something like this probably last happened in World War II. This isn't what I wanted to talk to you about. I have verbal orders from General Tanner at Tenth Air Force for you to hold the story on this. For twenty-four hours at least, more likely forty-eight.”

The reporter looked at him with an exasperated expression on her face. “What?”

“Not just the Russians we need to worry about here. Air Force brass as well. They need to find out, and digest this before we send it out. You'll still have the 'exclusive', but not right away.”

Ms. Wendt looked at Kodak Griffith, the Marine PAO, who nodded. “I see...oh, well. What's a day or two?”

“You can talk to Cosmo and Revlon some more,” Guru said. “They got a kill today, and might soon be aces. How's that for an exclusive? The first all-female ace team in the Air Force. I'll let you know when that happens.”

The reporter extended her hand. “Deal. But you still owe me a backseat ride in one of your Phantoms.”

Guru shook on it. “Okay, but there's someone ahead of you in that department.”

“Who?”

Guru let out a smile. “General Olds.”

“Rank has its privileges, then?” Ms. Wendt said, and Guru could tell she wasn't too happy with that.

“It does.”


Guru came over to the celebration, and found General Olds and Colonel Brady with General Yeager. “Chuck, “ Olds was saying, “I wish you'd taken me up this time.”

“Well, Robin,” Yeager replied. “Remember what you said to one of your flight leaders on BOLO?”

“What was that?” Olds wanted to know.

“Go find your own.” And that drew some laughter from General Olds.

“Now that's being selfish, Chuck,” Olds said, unconsciously saying what John B. Stone had thought when Olds had said the same thing on 2 January 1967.

Guru then came to General Yeager. “General, congratulations are in order. First flag officer to get a kill since WW II, I believe.”

“Thanks, Major. You still want a ride?” Yeager asked. “We'll be here tomorrow and the next day. Then we head on to our next stop.”

“Day after tomorrow? That'll be fine, sir,” Guru said. “Sir, we need to cut this short. A proper debrief is needed, so that a report can be faxed to General Tanner within the hour.”

“In ten, Major,” Yeager said. “I need to talk with the newsies.” He indicated Ms. Wendt and her crew.

“Yes, sir.”

Yeager went over to the news crew, and started to chat, while Guru went to General Olds.

“Major, I need a check ride with you guys. And I am well aware of the no-combat directive,” Olds told him.

“General,” Guru replied. “We'll find some time tomorrow, if that's all right with you, sir. I'll fly you in my back seat. If that's acceptable to the General.”

Olds smiled. “It is, Major.”

“Thank you, sir.” Guru turned to Kara. “Everything set?”

“Main Briefing Room's ready when you are.”

“In...”he checked his watch. “Eight minutes.”

“Got it,” Kara replied.

“And one other thing: I'm taking General Olds up on a 'check flight.' You're coming as my wingman.”

Kara's jaw dropped. “Thanks a heap! What'd I do?” She asked.

“Nothing,” said Guru. “Just that you are the best I've got, and want to show that to General Olds. Goalie?” His GIB turned to him. “On this 'check flight?' You fly back seat with Kara.”

Goalie had a grin from ear to ear. “Wouldn't miss this for the world.”

“Good.” Major Wiser turned to General Olds. “Sir, we need to get Cadillac and Showroom flights in the Main Briefing Room.”

“Understood, Major,” Olds said. “All right! Cadillac and Showroom Flights? Main Briefing Room, right now” He said in a voice of command that anyone would recognize.

With that, those involved, plus several others from the 335th, including the CO, along with General Olds and Colonel Brady, went to the 335th's Main Briefing Room to debrief the flight, then get the report prepped. The sooner that was done, the sooner they could get on with the war.



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1245 Hours Central War Time:


The main briefing room was busy as those involved in the F-20s vs. MiGs incident, along with General Olds, Colonel Brady, and Major Wiser-and several other 335th people, went over the encounter. The board at the front of the room was covered with a grease pencil diagram of the engagement, while a TV and VCR showed the gun-camera videos, and it was IDF Maj. Dave Golen, the Israeli AF “Observer” who spoke first.

“Clancy, you would be the hero of this engagement back home! You came back with a gunshot kill!” Everyone knew the Israelis prized gun kills over any other.

“Thanks, Major,” Clancy replied.

General Olds studied the diagram. “Well, in my professional opinion, General Yeager was the only one in position to take the Yak-28 recon bird,” he observed. “How close was he to the SAM envelope?” Olds was referring to the I-HAWK SAM sites the Marines operated to protect the Wichita Falls area.

“Twenty miles, at least,” Yeager said. “Didn't pick up the HAWKs on my EW.”

“Okay....so he couldn't let him go, and Pruitt there was out of position, but trying to roll in,” General Olds commented. “Chuck, you were closer, so he was all yours. Looks like you got a kill.”

“Thanks,” Yeager grinned.

“Sirs,” Capt. Darren Licon, the 335th's intel officer, said. “Based on all of this, all claims are valid. That makes Prada there-he nodded in her direction-an ace, and also gives Ops his seventh.” That meant her back seat passenger, the 335th's Ops Officer, had a kill on the flight.

“I'll take it,” Capt. Don Van Loan said. “Major, something jumps out at me on this.”

“What is it, Don?” Major Wiser asked.

“The radar display. Those MiGs were flying close together that they showed up as single targets until we got close enough to eyeball them. These guys were good.” Van Loan said.

“Not arguing that,” Prada nodded. “Any word on who they were?”

General Yeager said, “These guys weren't rookies, I'll give them that much.”

“Intel?” Colonel Brady asked Licon. “Anything?”

“Sir, I've got a query in with the Army. They've reported three captured. The crew from the Yak-28, plus a MiG driver. They're looking for at least two more,” Licon replied.

“General? Those guys better hope the Army finds 'em before the Resistance does,” Major Wiser noted. “Speaking from experience? Old habits die hard with those people, and sometimes when the Resistance brings a downed pilot to the Army? It's kinda hard to interrogate corpses.”

Heads nodded at that. Often, downed ComBloc pilots and aircrew who fell into Resistance hands were often lynched, or, at the very least, given a severe mauling. And not just from the Resistance, but also angry locals. “Anyone who expects otherwise from the Resistance is either naive or a fool,” Colonel Brady observed.

“No arguing that, Colonel,” Olds said. “We need to find those wrecks, and not just the recon Yak. I'd like to know who these MiGs were.”

“General,” Brady said. “MAG-11 Intelligence has a team ready to depart. They'll find the wrecks.”

“Do it, Colonel,” Olds said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no at that. “All right: Major,” Olds said, turning to Major Wiser. “Get this typed up and faxed to General Tanner.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru replied. “Sir, what about the gun-camera video?” He glanced at the F-20 drivers. “They're going to want to keep these, or copies.”

“I'll second the Major's comment,” Yeager said.

“Make whatever copies you need, and send the originals to General Tanner,” Olds ordered. “Let's get with it.”


The report was quickly typed up and prepared, and it was time to call General Tanner. Major Wiser made the call from his office, and General Olds, Colonel Brady, and the Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, were there. It didn't take but a minute, and then the General's voice came over the line. “Tanner.”

“General, we've got the report on the incident. We're faxing it to you now, sir.” Major Wiser said.

General Tanner's fax machine hummed, and the pages of the report came out. “Got it, Major. And I've got that directive for your media types. My PAO here recommends a seventy-two hour hold, and I'm agreeing with him. What did you tell them?”

“Sir, I told Ms. Wendt twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” replied the Major. And I know they're not going to like this, he said to himself.

“They won't like it, Major. I know, she interviewed me, but AF brass needs time to digest this and deal with the national media,” Tanner said. “Okay, we're going over your report. My Chief of Staff and Ops Officer are here. Where exactly did the fight take place?”

“Sir, twenty-five miles east of Wichita Falls proper,” reported Major Wiser. “On the Texas Side of the Red River.”

“Anyone going out to find wrecks?”

“Sir, Colonel Brady has an intel team going out to do just that. And the Army has three of the downed Soviet aircrew. They're looking for at least two more. If the Resistance doesn't get them first....”

General Tanner knew what the Major was talking about, and not just from his own E&E experience, but a number of others as well. The Resistance just didn't bother with prisoners, other than for interrogation. They couldn't house them, feed them, care for them. Nor could they release them, so it was no surprise that prisoners were disposed of after interrogation, or even upon capture. “I'll get on the horn to the ALO team at III Corps, Major. I'll take this from here, and handle the brass and the news media. You take care of the Russians. Clear?”

“Clear as a bell, sir.”

“Good. Any questions, Major?”

“General, what about the gun-camera tapes? General Yeager's people are making copies, and....” Major Wiser's voice dropped off.

“Hold a moment, Major,” Tanner said. He put Guru on hold, then came back a minute later. “Major, a C-21 Lear is leaving Nellis in thirty. It should be there in three hours or so. Get those tapes on that bird, Major.”

“Yes, sir!” Major Wiser replied. “If I'm in the air, then my Exec or Ops Officer will do so.”

“Very good, Major. That'll do. Like I said, I'll take care of things on this end. You take care of the Russians,” Tanner said.

“Will do, sir.”

With that, Tanner hung up, and after Major Wiser did the same, he turned to General Olds, Colonel Brady, and his own Exec and Ops Officer. “Well, that's that. General Tanner will send the report to General Dugan, General Cunningham, TAC HQ, and probably other interested parties,” Major Wiser said.

“What else, Major?” General Olds asked.

“Only that there's now a seventy-two hour news blackout on this,” replied the 335th CO. Just then, their own Fax Machine hummed, and out came a signed directive from General Tanner, imposing the blackout. The Major turned to his Exec. “Find the Newsies when we're done and give 'em this. They don't have to like it, but that's the way it is.”

Ellis nodded. “Will do, Major.”

“Okay, one other thing, and this concerns the gun-camera videos,” Major Wiser said. “There's a C-21 coming from Nellis to pick 'em up. Don?” He turned to his Ops Officer. “Box those tapes up, address to Commander Tenth AF, and get that box to the Lear when it arrives.”

“Got you,” Van Loan replied.

General Olds looked at the Major. “Anything else, Major?”

“Just that General Tanner said he'd handle the brass and the news media. And we're to take care of the Russians.”

“Sound advice, Major,” Olds said. “Colonel,” he turned to Colonel Brady. “I believe you all have missions scheduled?”

Brady nodded. “That we do, sir. Major? Time to get on with it.”

“Yes,sir,” Major Wiser said. “Okay, people! Let's get back in the groove. Just because we took a break doesn't mean the war did.”


As the crowd broke up, Kara came over to her CO. “Mission brief?”

“You got it,” Guru said. He turned to his GIB. “Goalie? You and Kara round our flight up. Don't know if Dave and Flossy are with us on this one.”

“When?” Goalie asked.

“In five,” the CO said. It was 1310 by the office clock.

Both crewers nodded. “On the way,” Kara said, and both went in search of the CO's flight. Once everyone had been notified, they all met in their usual briefing room. The CO, meanwhile, went to Ops and got his briefing packet, then went to the briefing room. He found their RAF Liaison Officer waiting.

“Guru,” Jack Lord said. “Mind if I sit in?”

“Not at all, Jack,” Guru replied. “Come on in.” They went into the briefing room and found the rest of the flight waiting. “All right, people, we had an extended break, but it's game time.”

“What's the mission?” Sweaty asked.

Guru opened the packet. “Chalk Mountain Missile Support Facility,” he said. “Eighteen miles southeast of Stephenville along U.S. 67.”

“East German sector,” Kara observed. “This'll be fun.”

“It should,” Guru said. “Okay, here's the deal. There's a ranch at the intersection of U.S. 67 and F.M. 196, just east of the State Route 220 junction. Either the Russians or East Germans are using it as a missile support facility. What kind of missiles, they're not sure. It could be SAMs, SCUDs, or FROG-7s. We make them go up-in pieces.” He indicated a spot on the map, just north of the intersection.”

“Visual landmarks?” Brainiac asked.

The CO nodded. “There's a hill just to the west, maybe a half-mile or so. That hill has a flak site on the imagery.” He passed around a recon photo, probably an SR-71 product. “Too big to be 57-mm, so it's either 37s or 23s.”

“Still can be trouble at low altitude,” Kara noted.

“They can. No flak suppressors or Weasels with us, so we go in low, pop up and release, then get back down low, and our asses to the Brazos,” Guru said.

“Ingress route?” Hoser asked.

Guru showed them on a TPC map. “Follow the Brazos to the Route 174 bridge north of Lake Whitney. Turn west to the town of Walnut Springs, then we turn north. IP is the F.M. 198-F.M. 105 intersection. The target is just north of U.S. 67. Have a look at the photos: there's a ranch house probably being used as offices and officer quarters. Two barns, and one of them is probably being used to billet the NCOs and enlisted-there's no sign of tents on the imagery.”

“Missiles in the other barn and storage buildings?” Goalie wanted to know.

“That, and have a look to the east of the ranch house. There's a bunch of crates on the ground, and missiles like the SA-8, -9, and -13 are issued as sealed rounds...”

“Looks like they just got a delivery,” Preacher said. “Threat at the target?”

“Just the flak site west, plus small-arms and MANPADS,” replied the CO. “This is the East German rear, so SA-4 is still possible from their Army-level SAMs, so be on the lookout. Weather is unchanged, and so is the MiG threat from this morning. Bailout areas are also the same: anyplace away from the roads. And be careful on the way out. Once clear, head northeast.”

“Back to the Brazos?” Kara asked.

“You got it. Those chumps we hit earlier today and yesterday are not expecting anyone coming from their rear. Still, avoid the likely FLOT. Once clear of the target, head northeast to Granbury, get across the river, then head for I-20,” Guru said.

Sweaty looked at her CO. “Ordnance loadout?”

“Full air-to-air, which means two AIM-7s and four AIM-9s. Air-to-ground is six Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117Rs. Snakeyes on inner wing stations, M-117s on centerline MER. Two wing tanks and ECM pods-the usual ALQ-119 for leads, -101s for wingies.”

“Got it,” Sweaty replied. “And MiGs?”

Guru nodded. “We might run into their CAS people-both fast-movers and helos, so be careful. If you come across some of those chumps, take a shot. If you're jumped by MiGs? Fight's on. Otherwise, don't go out of your way to get one. Flak traps are still possible, so if a chopper or fast-mover looks too good to be true....”

“He probably is,” Kara finished.

“You said it,” the CO smiled grimly. “Anything else?”

Hoser asked, “How many more after this?”

“Hopefully, just one,” Guru said. He turned to the RAF officer. “Any comments, Jack?”

The RAF Flight Lieutenant nodded. “Just one: you still going to do those phony 'Magnum' calls?”

“We just might,” Guru said, and he saw the rest of the flight grin. “It worked last time.”

“Quite.”

“All right, anything else?” Heads shook no. The CO nodded. “Then let's gear up, and I'll see you outside.”

After turning in the briefing material at Ops, Guru went to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. When he came out, Goalie was waiting, as usual.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Normally I'm asking you that,” Guru grinned. “Hope this afternoon's not as exciting as the morning.”

“To be wished for,” his GIB nodded.

Guru nodded back. “One way to find out.” When they left the squadron's offices, both had the bush hats on, and as they left, they ran into the loathed Major Frank Carson, who stared at both CO and GIB as if they'd grown two heads and four arms. “Frank,”

“Major,” Carson replied politely. “Bush hats?”

“Just a way of carrying on a SEA tradition,” Guru said. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“General Olds likes them,” Goalie added.

Guru smiled. “If he doesn't have a problem, nobody should,” said the CO. “Got that?”

“Perfectly, sir,” Carson said.

“I hope you do,” Guru said. He turned to Goalie. “Come on. We have someplace to be.”

“Gladly,” replied Goalie.


When Guru and Goalie got to 512, the rest of the flight was there. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Kara replied. “Usual procedures on the radio?”

Nodding, Guru replied, “You got it. Call signs between us, and mission code to AWACS and other parties.”

“What's with Frank?” Sweaty asked. “We saw you two talking.”

“He's just surprised at seeing people in SEA-style bush hats,” Guru said. “He seems to understand, but I doubt it.”

“And when does he get the bad news about not getting F-20s?” Kara asked.

“Maybe tomorrow night. If not, Yeager leaves an envelope on his desk. Then watch out.”

“He'll pop. Sooner or later,” Preacher observed.

“When it happens, we'll deal with it,” said Guru. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Then let's hit it.”

People headed to their revetments to mount their aircraft, and when Guru and Goalie entered 512's, the Crew Chief, Staff Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve is ready to go.” He said, saluting.

“Good work, Sarge,” Guru replied. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then they mounted the aircraft. After they strapped in, they went through their preflight checklist.

“Frank's going to freak out,” Goalie said as she went through the preflight. “He's going to pop. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours,” Guru replied. “And yeah. No telling what he'll do. Just hope nobody else gets hurt or killed. Arnie?” The CO meant the ARN-101 DMAS and the INS.

“Arnie and INS all set,” Goalie replied. “You're not the only one hoping that. Preflight checklist complete.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He gave a thumbs-up to his CC, and Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal. One, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running. Once the warm-up was finished, he called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Camaro Flight, Sheppard 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 is rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who motioned to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the landing gear, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, Crowley gave a perfect salute. Pilot and GIB returned it, and 512 taxied out.

When he got to the holding area, Guru saw a Marine F-4 flight and a Navy A-7 flight from VA-135 ahead of him. Once it was their turn, he taxied to the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower, Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-six for eight,” the controller replied. “Good luck.”

“Roger, Tower, and thank you,” Guru said. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A final cockpit check followed, then he and Goalie checked to the right. Kara and Brainiac were right there, in position. 520's crew gave a thumbs-up, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. Then it was time. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” Goalie said as she pulled her canopy down and locked it.

“Copy,” Guru replied as he did the same. A quick glance to the right showed Kara and Brainiac had also done it. It was time. He applied full power on the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air. 520 followed, and thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser's birds. They formed up at Flight Level 100 (10,000 feet) and headed south for the tanker track.

[Matt Wiser]

Part XIV: More strikes..

Over Central Texas: 1350 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was headed south, just east of the Brazos River, and just inside the Nicaraguan sector. They had passed the Granbury and Glen Rose bridges, and had only drawn flak at the Lake Granbury Dam, at least, that they could see. Though the aircrews expected the gunners to shoot after they had passed-at least, those on the west side, anyway, who were largely East Germans. Though the further south they went, those on the eastern side could be expected to shoot, for they were Libyans and not Nicaraguan.

“Past the dam,” Guru said as he picked up his visual scanning.

“Copy that,” replied Goalie. “Next up is the Brazospoint bridge.” That was a smaller bridge over the river, used by F.M. 1175. “Then we're in the Libyan AO.”

“Lovely.”

The four-ship flew past the bridge, and as they did, drew fire this time from both sides, much to their surprise. Unknown to the 335th or MAG-11, some Army AH-64s had flown a deep attack and shot up a convoy crossing the bridge, and now, the AAA gunners on both sides were jumpy.

“Those guys are shooting for once,” Guru noted as the 23-mm and 37-mm flak came up from the east side, though the F-4s were too fast for pure optical sights.

“Somebody hit them,” Goalie said. “There were wrecks on the bridge. One minute to the 174 Bridge.” The State Route 174 bridge was their next turn point.

“Roger that,” Guru called. He was keeping an eye out for threats, whether from the ground or the air, as he flew the aircraft, while Goalie concentrated on the navigation. But she, took had her eye out of the cockpit as well.

“Thirty seconds to turn,” she said. She glanced around and saw puffs of smoke. “Flak dead ahead.”

“I see it,” Guru replied.

'”Stand by to turn,” said Goalie. . “Five, four, three, two, one, and...TURN!”

Guru put 512 into a right turn, headed west, as flak puffs exploded around them, and tracers came up. A few seconds later, the strike flight flew past the AAA. “Those guys were on the ball.”

“They were. One minute thirty to Walnut Springs,” Goalie told him. The town of Walnut Springs on State Route 144 was their next turn point. And that was well in the East Germans' rear area.

“Copy.” Guru scanned ahead, then called the AWACS. “Warlock, Camaro One-one. Say threats.”

“Camaro One-one, Warlock. Threat bearing One-six-seven for fifty-nine. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-eight for seventy. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-two for seventy-five. Medium, going away.”

“Roger that, Warlock,” Guru said.

The ground flew past as the strike flight headed towards their turn point. It wasn't long until the small town of Walnut Springs appeared in front of them. “Stand by...” Goalie said. “And...turn.”


In Walnut Springs, things were tense. The garrison was a mix, with some East Germans from a mobilization-only regiment, the 42nd Security Rifle Regiment-raised from older reservists who had served in the Frontier Troops, tasked with rear-area security, Soviets from the same rear-area protection division that had been garrisoned there for some time, and the company of overage reservists from Minsk was content to stay in town and keep the roads open, which they did from the relative safety of the town, and a detachment from the Commandant's Service, who were Soviet Military Police, to direct traffic. They had been joined by a company of KGB troops that had arrived to control stragglers and “Combat panic-mongers, cowards, and deserters.” The KGB troops were well equipped, but had no armor. Although the company from the rear-area division had BTR-152 APCs and a platoon of T-10M tanks, the idea that they outgunned the KGB had not occurred to the company commander.

With such a hodge-podge of units, no one was really in overall command, though the East Germans and the Soviet Army troops got along all right, but the KGB got on everyone's nerves. The fact that they had arrived on the orders of the Chief of the Rear for the 4th Guards Tank Army did not help anyone's mood any, and the locals watched with amusement as arguments over who was in command and so on played out.

Such an argument had just ended at the Town Hall, where the garrison was headquartered, and both the Soviet and East German company commanders came out. Though both were Captains, the Russian was in his forties, having been pulled from a job as shift manager at one of Minsk's sewage treatment facilities, while the East German had been a platoon leader before the war, only to receive a promotion, a company, and this job. Both were talking about their common foe, the KGB, when cheers from some of the locals could be heard. Then they saw some of the civilians waving as four F-4 Phantoms flew over the town as they turned north. To their mutual amusement-and loathing-they noted some of the KGB troops, who had been manning a checkpoint, run for some nearby buildings which had storm shelters. The two officers looked at each other and just shook their heads.


“Next up is the IP,” Guru said as Walnut Springs passed below and he completed his turn.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. 'Thirty seconds to IP.”

Guru checked his EW display. Still clear. It was about time. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and get ready.” He then turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Two copies,” Kara replied.

“Roger, Lead,” Sweaty chimed in.

“Four, roger,” Hoser added.

In 512, Guru said, “Set 'em up.”

“Got it,” Goalie said as she worked the armament control panel. “All set. Everything in one go.”

“Good girl.”

“IP in ten...” she called. “Five, four, three, two, one...and PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick and as the big Phantom climbed, he saw first the hill, then U.S. 67, and then the ranch that was their target. “Flight, Lead. Target's in sight. Time to go to work.” Just then, several radars came up on the EW display, and some flak came from the hilltop.

Then Kara's voice came over the radio. “Michelob Lead. MAGNUM!” And two of the radars dropped off. But the Waco SA-2s to the east stayed up.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie

“All set.”

“Let's do it.”



Below, at the ranch in question, both Soviet and East German soldiers were busy. The original occupants had fled, and when the East Germans had arrived in this part of Texas after the retreat from Kansas and Oklahoma, this particular missile support battalion had set up shop, supporting the Army's divisions and their regimental and divisional level SAM systems. Then, a couple days earlier, a Soviet SAM support unit from 4th Guards Tank Army had arrived, doing the same thing for the Soviet forces supporting the East German “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxemburg.” The East Germans had resented the intrusion, but kept it to themselves, for American air activity had been heavy, and they knew their job was an important one.

An East German Army Major came out of the ranch house that doubled as headquarters, along with his Soviet counterpart. Both of them knew that they had to get along, for hopefully, their respective units would get orders to relocate, and they would be out of each other's hair. They were talking about the need to get their respective units more dispersed, when the Russian pointed to the south. The East German Major saw it. Smoke trails, and he knew right away what these were, for he'd been hit by American aircraft more than once. F-4 Phantoms coming in. “AIR RAID WARNING!” He shouted, then he and the Russian Major ran to a slit trench and jumped in.


“Lead in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in. He glanced at his EW and saw the two SA-2s still there, but no MISSILE LAUNCH indicator. Ignoring them, Guru concentrated on his bomb run, and he ignored the 23-mm flak coming from the hill to the west of the target. He noticed some trucks parked to the right of the house, and that was where SAM crates had been spotted on the recon imagery. You'll do, he thought to himself as he lined up several trucks in his pipper. “Steady....and.....and.....HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, sending his six Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117Rs down onto the bad guys below. He pulled wings level, then jinked first to the left, then pulled hard right, hoping to throw off any MANPADS shooters. A quick glance at the EW showed the SA-2s no longer there-he was probably too low by now. Guru pulled back to the left, then got on course for the Brazos. “Lead's off safe,” he called.


In their trench, the Russian and the East German heard Guru's F-4 fly overhead, then the crash and boom of explosions. The Russian poked his head out of the trench, and saw a number of supply trucks that had been either torn apart by bomb blasts, or had been tossed aside like roadside garbage. Worse, the missiles, a mix of Strela-10s (SA-13) Osas (SA-8) and Strela-3s (SA-14) had been hit, and some of them were now going off in either sympathetic detonations, or had just plain taken off on their own-flying in several directions. Then he ducked back into the trench, for he knew from experience that American aircraft didn't attack alone.

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

“How good?” Guru wanted to know. He had his eyes out for those basketball-sized tracers-or any others, for that matter.

“A few good ones!” Goalie called back. She, too, was now searching for any SAMs or AAA.

Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. “Good enough for me.” He then headed for the Brazos River.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she went down on the target. She, too, ignored the 23-mm flak coming from the hill, as well as the SA-2 indicators on her EW, and concentrated on her bomb run. Kara saw where the CO's bombs had landed, and not only were there secondaries, but even missiles taking off on their own, flying every which way but up. Couldn't happen to a nicer crowd, she thought as she lined up the ranch house in her pipper. Might as well get the HQ, she said to herself as release time approached. “And....steady....and....NOW!” Kara hit the pickle button, releasing her bombs onto the target. She, too, pulled wings level, jinking as she did so, hoping to throw off the aim of the flak gunners or any SA-7 shooters. “Two's off target.”

At the ranch, those in the trench huddled again as they heard Kara's F-4 fly overhead, then a dozen more bombs going off. The East German major lifted his head, only to see the ranch house reduced to splinters, and one of the barns blasted apart as well. Then someone-who he didn't know-pulled him back into the trench. More Imperialist aircraft coming in.

“SHACK!” Braniac called. “We got good hits!”

“Any secondaries?” Kara asked as she jinked, then turned to pick up the CO's bird. She saw his smoke trail and followed it. Just then, there was an SA-2 launch, and she got down a little lower. When the altimeter read 900 feet, she leveled out.

“Can't tell, but the buildings look gone.”

“I'll take that,” she said. Just then the missile appeared, and flew over 520 by at least a thousand feet, and after doing so, tracked down what looked like a Hind helicopter and exploded it. “Those chumps just blew away one of their own choppers.”

“Good for them.”


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She, too, ignored the flak, and almost aborted the run when the SA-2 launched, but she saw the missile, and noted it wasn't tracking her plane, so she continued with the bomb run. As she came in, Sweaty picked out the other barn and storage buildings, and chose those for her target. She lined them up in her pipper, ignoring the still-persistent 23-mm flak from the hill. “Steady.....steady.....NOW!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, releasing her bombs. She then pulled wings level, and as she cleared the target area, jinked to avoid the flak and any grunt Ivan or Franz with an SA-7. Then she called, “Three's off target.”


“Of all the..” the East German Major muttered-in German, as Sweaty's F-4 flew overhead. Then everyone in the trench felt the crash and boom of the bombs going off, and the shock waves overhead. He poked his head up this time, and saw the remaining barn and storage buildings had just been blown apart, and there were sympathetic detonations as some of the missiles stored in the buildings went off. Then he ducked back down, as the anti-aircraft gunners kept firing. Another Ami aircraft was coming.

“GOOD HITS!” Preacher yelled from Sweaty's back seat.

“Righteous ones?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid flak or SAMs. She then double-checked her altitude. 900 feet. Good. Too low for SA-2, she knew, but she also kept an eye out for those basketball-sized tracers.

“Very righteous!” The ex-seminary student called.

“Good enough for me,” Sweaty replied. She jinked right, left, then right again, picking up Kara's smoke trail as she set course for the Brazos. “Keep an eye out for those big tracers.”

“Eyes peeled.”


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he rolled in. He, too, had picked up the SA-2 signals, and saw the missile fly past. Then another came as he passed 1500 feet AGL, and it just flew by, which meant the ECM pods were doing their job. As he came down on the target, Hoser noted that it was covered with smoke, flame, and debris, and though it looked like it had been hit hard, he picked out the motor pool. Good enough, he said to himself as he lined the trucks up in his pipper. Not your day, Comrades.....”Steady, and...steady......HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, adding his bombs to the carnage below. He pulled wings level, jinking as he did so, for those 23-mm tracers were still coming. “Four's off target,” Hoser called.


“VERDAMNT!” The East German major yelled as Hoser's F-4 came by and released its bombs. Then everyone in the trench heard the bomb blasts, and only after the concussion stopped did anyone get out of the trench. The occupants looked around, and noticed every building on the ranch had been blown apart, the motor pool was a shambles at the very least,the outside missile storage was blazing, while the many of the wounded were shrieking. Some, though, were silent.....The Major shook his head, and saw his Soviet counterpart doing the same. The East German thought to himself, What are we doing here? We must be crazy. Shaking such thoughts from his mind, he called for his deputy, as the Russian did the same. Time to get this mess sorted out.

“SHACK!” KT called to Hoser. “We got good hits!”

“How good?” Hoser asked as he jinked to avoid the flak and any grunts with MANPADS.

“Good secondaries,” she replied as she, too, kept an eye out for any flak or missiles.

“I'll take that,” said Hoser as he picked up his element lead, and hastened to catch up with Sweaty.


“Four in, four out,” Goalie said in 512. “Still got a game going.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as he glanced north. The front lines were about fifteen miles to the north, as he picked up the town of Paluxy and the Comanche Creek nuclear plant. The strike birds were far enough away from the flak sites at the nuclear plant not to draw fire, much to Guru's relief. He glanced to his right, and saw Kara and Brainiac in 520, right in combat spread. “Two, I see you guys. Sweaty?”

“Right behind you, Boss, and I've got Hoser with me.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Warlock, Camaro Lead. Say threat.”

The AWACS controller came back at once. “Camaro Lead, Threat bearing One-seven-eight for forty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-niner-seven, for fifty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that. Can you get Eagles onto the bandits?” Guru asked as Granbury flew by below and to the right.

Aboard the AWACS, the controller grinned. “Copy that, Camaro. Break. Outlaw Three-one, Warlock. Threat bearing One-niner-two for sixty-five. Medium, closing. KILL. Repeat: KILL. You are cleared to arm, clear to fire.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Outlaw Three-one replied as four F-15Cs turned towards the threats.


“Two minutes to the fence,” Goalie said as the F-4s headed for the I-20.

“Copy,” Guru replied. Though they were past the nominal front lines, the interstate was considered the actual front line for flying purposes. And they were giving the I-20 bridges over the Brazos a decent berth, with two I-HAWK sites defending the bridges, the air-defense pukes were inclined to “Shoot them down and sort them out on the ground.”

“One minute,” Goalie called.

Guru called the AWACS. “Warlock, Camaro Lead. Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro, Warlock. Closest Bandits are Floggers. Second group are Fishbeds,” the controller told him.

“Copy.”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said from the back seat. “And...now!” The twin ribbons of concrete that were I-20 flew by below. And they were busy with military traffic. “We're clear of the fence.”

Just then, the F-15s appeared overhead. “Outlaw Flight engaging.” The F-15s then mixed it up with the MiG-23s, killing three, and as the surviving MiG ran south, four MiG-21s came in, and the Eagles splashed two, though one F-15 took an AA-8 Aphid missile hit and had to RTB with his wingman.

“Warlock, Camaro Flight is clear of the fence. We are headed for the tankers, then Home Plate,” Guru told the AWACS.

“Roger that, Camaro Lead. Have a nice day,” replied the controller.


Camaro Flight joined up and headed for the tanker track north of Mineral Wells for the post-strike refueling. After drinking enough fuel to get back to Sheppard, they headed for Home Plate. When they got to Sheppard, the flight was actually first into the pattern. They came in and landed, and as they taxied in, a C-130 and a C-141 came in and landed. And as usual by now, the news crew was filming as the CO's flight came in.

“With all that footage they've shot, we'll be famous after the war,” Goalie quipped. “How many documentaries are going to use their footage?”

“Too many,” Guru replied as he taxied to the squadron's dispersal. Then he found 512's revetment and taxied in. After getting the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief, Guru popped his canopy, and Goalie followed suit. Then he shut down. “Three and done.”

“And one more,” Goalie reminded him.

Pilot and GIB went through the post-flight checklist, while the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Then they climbed down from the aircraft, and Sergeant Crowley brought them bottles of water. “Sergeant,” Guru said as he took a bottle and began to down it.

“Major, Lieutenant,” Crowley said. “How'd it go out there?”

“Made some East Germans reconsider their choice of profession,” Guru said.

“And taught a lesson about staying home,” Goalie added.

“Good work, sir. And Ma'am,” Crowley nodded. “How's my bird?”

Guru knew that he and Goalie only “borrowed” 512, even though their names were on it. The Crew Chief really “owned” the aircraft, and the Crew Chief always made it a habit of reminding aircrews of that. “Five-twelve's humming right along. Get her ready for the next strike, Sergeant, because we've got time for one more.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “You heard the Major! Let's get this bird ready for one more mission.”

As the ground crew went to work, Guru and Goalie went to the entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac there. “How'd it go?” Guru asked his wingmate.

“Got some secondaries, and you did too,” Kara said.

Sweaty and Preacher came up, along with Hoser and KT. “Hey, did anybody notice a SAM launch?”

“Sure did,” Kara said. “SA-2, and it flew over us. Found a Hind instead and blew it away.”

“Their problem,” Guru said. “He might have been trying to get you or Sweaty, and locked up the chopper instead.”

Preacher grinned. “Well, Boss, somebody's going to get a bullet in the back of the head for that.”

“Or sent to a penal battalion,” KT added.

“Like the Boss said: their problem,” Hoser said.

“That it is,” said the CO. “All right, people. Let's get the debrief out of the way. Check your desks, and we've got time for one more. It's 1445. We should be going back in an hour.”

Kara shook her head. “No rest for the weary or the wicked.”

“No,” Goalie agreed. “We'll rest when the war's over.”

“Assuming we all live that long,” Brainiac said.

“One day at a time, folks,” Guru said. “Let's debrief, then get ready for one last run.”


335th TFS Office, Sheppard AFB, TX; 1515 Hours Central War Time:

Major Wiser was in his office, having finished the debrief, then he and several others had managed to get in their four-mile runs on the treadmills in the tent that was the base fitness center. After a quick shower, he'd come back to the office, and found some paperwork that required his attention. After taking care of it, he sat back in his office chair and read the latest Air Force Times. Well, last week's anyway, as the new one hadn't arrived yet. An op-ed by General Curtis LeMay, who was retired and living in Southern California, caught his attention. LeMay was writing about the state of the Air Force in the war when Guru's eyes widened. “The Air Force has to change with the circumstances it finds itself in. With this war, opportunities for women have opened up, much further than they would have been in peacetime, and we must adapt. Anyone who thinks the Air Force will 'turn back the clock' when the war is over is either living in a dream world or a fool.”

Bravo, General, Guru thought aloud, then another piece caught his attention. How it had cleared the censors he had no idea, but there he was, at “An undisclosed base in the Southwest”. Ex-Voyska PVO Senior Lieutenant Viktor Belenko was standing in front of a captured MiG-23, and he was wearing a USAF flight suit with a Major's oak leaves. Not only that, but another photo showed Belenko giving a lecture to what looked like a new class of pilots, given how young the faces on the men and women in the room looked. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come in!”

Goalie came in with a couple of papers. “Got some poop. First is from Doc.”

“Good news or bad?” The CO asked.

“Depends. The Navy doctors at MAG-11 have four cases of the flu,” his GIB reported. “Three Marines and one Navy, and one of the Marines had just come back from R&R. Get this: he was one of Kicker's table mates a few days ago-when General Olds was recalling his adventures.”

“That explains how Kicker got sick,” Guru said. “Any more cases?”

“None yet, but...” Goalie said. “I know, Mark usually handles this, but he's out, and so is Van Loan. Kara's busy in Ops...”

“Look at it this way,” Guru said. “Twenty years from now, you might have a squadron or better yet, a wing, and....”

“On-the-job training,” Goalie finished. “Assuming, of course, we all live that long.”

The CO nodded. “That little detail is always there. What else?”

“New PAO coming, and she should be here in a few days.” Goalie handed her pilot and lover a sheet of paper. “She's technically in the Reserve Pool, but since she was kicking her heels there, somebody had the idea to let her go on R&R. She's back East, visiting her folks.”

“And since we've got a temporary PAO, even if Kodak Griffith's a jarhead, that somebody decided she could finish her R&R. Well, I'm not complaining. These days, time with family is something to treasure,” Guru said firmly. “She should be here when the RAF comes?”

“About that time.”

“Fair enough,” the CO said. “Any word from Kara on a mission?”

“Not yet, but shouldn't be too long,” Goalie said.

“Okay.” Guru handed her the copy of Air Force Times. “Have a look at General LeMay's Op-Ed.”

She scanned it. “Last thing I thought I'd see from old Iron Ass himself. Then again, SAC probably keeps him in the loop, so to speak.”

“Wouldn't be surprised myself.”


A few minutes later, Kara came into the CO's office. “Boss, we've got a mission. Birds should be ready by now.”

“This a four- or six-ship?” Guru asked.

“Four. Dave and Flossy have their own tasking.”

The CO nodded, then turned to Goalie. “Round up the rest of our flight. Briefing Room in ten.”

“On my way,” Goalie said, then she headed out of the office.

Kara?” Guru asked his Assistant Ops Officer. “The Exec or Ops back?”

“Should be anytime,” Kara replied. “Let me guess: you want somebody you trust to run things, and not Frank.”

“You guessed right. We're not leaving until one or both of them is back.”

“I'll find out.”

Guru nodded. “Good girl. Go.”

“I'm gone.” Kara then headed back to the Ops Office.


Ten minutes later, the flight was in their briefing room. “All right, people!” Guru said. “Last one of the day, so let's get the show on the road.” He turned to Kara. “Exec or Ops in?”

“Mark's flight is in the pattern, and Van Loan's is ten minutes or so out,” Kara said. “So no Frank in charge.”

“Good,” Sweaty nodded.

“It is that,” the CO said. “Okay...” He opened the briefing packet. “We're headed back into the East German sector. Place called Eulogy, southwest of Brazospoint, and west of the river proper. It's not even a town, just a spot on the map where three of those F.M. Roads come together.”

“What's the target?” Hoser asked.

“Supply dump,” replied Guru. “No way to know whose, either Soviet, East German, or Libyan. Yeah, I now, this is the East German sector, but the Libyans are right across the river.”

“So they might get involved in this little fracas, then?” Goalie asked.

“They might,” Guru said. “Okay, the dump is on the Northwest side of the F.M. 56/F.M.2800/F.M. 2965 junction. Some what look like office trailers, and some tents for the personnel to sleep in on the imagery. Other than that? Just the dump itself and the motor pool-there's trucks there. Now, if you can't ID a drop point in the dump? In the Southeast corner of the intersection is a truck park. That's an alternate target, and Sweaty? Hoser? You guys may wind up dropping on that instead of the dump.”

“Either way, we make them go away,” Sweaty said, and Preacher nodded.

“Either way. Now, ordnance load is twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes each bird, plus the usual air-to-air of four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, and a full load of 20-milimeter. Two wing tanks, and the usual ECM pods: 119s for element leads, and 101s for the wingmen,” Guru said.

'”Ingress?” Kara asked.

“Simple: we follow the Brazos, and stay to the East, as that's the Nicaraguans as we all know and appreciate, since they rarely shoot at us. Follow that to the Route 174 Bridge, and turn west. We turn north at the F.M. 56/Route 174 junction, and head northwest. There's a small lake or large pond about five miles from the target. That's the only good visual landmark, other than a hill due south, and that hill has a flak battery. It's 37-mm, by the way.”

“Lovely, so we give the flak site a wide berth,” KT said.

“Right. Pop-up at that point, and it's a straight shot to the target area. Hit the target, and on your way out, there's a lake to the north of the target. Pick that up, turn right, and you'll be back at the Brazos. Stay on the East side if at all possible: the Nicaraguans won't shoot unless we're hitting them, but the East Germans and whoever's manning the flak at the Nuke plant north of Glen Rose will.”

“Defenses?” Preacher asked.

“At the target? Just 23-mm, plus MANPADS, small-arms fire, and machine guns,” Guru said. “We will be in the East German rear, so expect SA-4s. The Waco SA-2s are also a factor, as we found out on the last one, so stay low and use your ECM pods. Flak is still a threat at the bridges and around the nuclear plant.”

Kara asked, “MiGs?”

“Unchanged since this morning, and bailout areas, tanker track, and weather,also unchanged, before you ask.”

“Got it.”

“One last thing, people!” Guru said. “This may be the last one for today, but do NOT get complacent. That gets people killed, or worse, captured. We fly it like it's the first one out of the gate. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Major,” Sweaty said.


“Any other questions?”

'What the hell kind of town is Eulogy?” Kara deadpanned.

The CO nodded. “Well, maybe somebody like John Wesley Hardin or Clay Allison made sure somebody said an eulogy over one of their kills, back in the day.” There was some laughter at that. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Let's gear up. Meet at 512.”

The crews went to their respective locker rooms to gear up, and when Major Wiser came out of the Men's, Goalie was there, waiting as usual. “Ready?”

“IF this turns out to be the last one, then I'm more than ready.” she replied.

“Let's go.”



Guru and Goalie left the office, sporting their still-new bush hats, and found General Olds talking with Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs. “Major,” Olds said. “And Lieutenant. Just having a friendly chat with Major Golen about some of his experiences in '73.”

“That we have,” Golen said. “You people were probably envious of us in 1967.”

“We were,” Olds said. “Too bad Johnson and MacNamara wouldn't cut us loose like you guys. LBJ wasn't kidding when he openly said that we flew into North Vietnam with one hand tied behind our back.”

“General, maybe after the war, we can figure out if that kind of stupidity convinced the Russians we didn't have what it takes to win,” Guru noted.

Olds nodded. “You have no argument from me on that, Major. Major Golen? I'd like it if you shared my table tonight in the Club. We have some stories to swap. Have a look at Southeast Asia compared to Sinai '73.”

“It'd be an honor, General,” Golen said.

“Good. You all going back out?” Olds asked.

“Yes, sir,” Guru replied. “This should be the last one for the day.” Just then, the XO's flight taxied in, and Van Loan's came into the pattern. “Knock on wood, General.”

“There is that,” Olds said. “Good luck, all of you,”

“Sir,”

After General Olds went back into the office, Guru and Dave had a quick chat. “Where are you going?”

“West of Glen Rose,” Golen said. “You?”

“South of there,” Guru replied. “You still Mustang?”

“We are, and you're still Camaro?”

Guru nodded. “We are. If you hit trouble, holler. We'll be there.”

“Same for you,” Golen said with due seriousness.

“All right,” the CO replied. “Flossy? You and Jang take care of him. He's your older brother from another mother.”

Flossy nodded. “Always, Boss.”

“Good. You all be careful, and don't get complacent.”

“Got you,” Golen replied.

Guru put out his hand. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Golen said, shaking it.


When Guru and Goalie got to 512, the rest of the flight was there. “Saw you with General Olds and Dave Golen,” Kara said. “What's up?”

'Just that the General and Dave are going to be swapping stories tonight,” Guru said. “Yom Kippur War, Lebanon, versus Southeast Asia, I bet.”

“At least the Israelis had leaders who got out of the way of the folks fighting the war, unlike Landslide Lyndon and the Edsel Mechanic,” Goalie spat.

“They did,” Preacher said.

Guru nodded. “You're right, but save it for later. Now, usual procedures on the radio: call signs between us, mission code to AWACS and other parties.”

“Any weather coming in?” Kara asked.

“Other than those clouds?” Guru replied. “Forget it. Not for at least a week. I know, we can use a stand-down and get caught up on sleep, working out, and maintenance, in no particular order. Not for a while, though.”

“Too bad,” Hoser said.

“It is that. Anything else?” Guru asked. Heads shook no again. “All right, time to go. Let's hit it.”


The crews headed to their aircraft, and when Guru and Goalie entered the revetment, Sergeant Crowley was waiting, and as usual, he snapped a salute. “Major, Lieutenant. Five-twelve's ready to rock.”

“Good, Sergeant,” Guru replied, as he and Goalie returned the salute. “She's all set?”

“Ready to kick some Commie ass, sir,”

“Then let's get with it.” He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. As they went through their preflight checks, Guru said, “I'm going to see about getting your friend Corrine into the squadron.”

“Thanks,” Goalie replied. “She's tired of the ferry run. Arnie and INS all set.” That meant the ARN-101 DMAS and INS.

“Don't blame her for that. Copy on the Arnie and INS.”

“Ejection Seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Yours?” Guru replied.

“All set,” Goalie said. “Preflight complete. Time for engine start.”

“It is that.” Guru gave his Crew Chief a thumbs-up, and got the “Start Engines” signal in reply. First one, then both, J-79 engines were soon warming up. When the warmup was complete, he called the Tower. “Sheppard Tower, Camaro Flight with four, requesting clear to taxi.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Flight is rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to his CC, who then motioned for the ground crew to pull back the wheel chocks, Then came the “Taxi” signal, and Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment. When the big Phantom cleared the revetment, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. Guru taxied to Runway 33C, and the rest of the flight followed. They held prior to the Active so that the armorers could remove weapon safeties, while a Navy A-7 flight went ahead of them. Then a C-141B came in and landed after the A-7s launched, then it was their turn. “Tower, Camaro Flight requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.

“Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-two for six. Good luck.”

“Roger, Tower, and thank you.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. “All set?” He asked Goalie.

“All ready back here,” she replied. “Let's get it done.”

“Let's. Tower, Camaro Flight requesting clear for takeoff,” Guru called.

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

Guru looked at 520, and saw Kara and Brainiac signal ready. “Canopy coming down. He closed and locked his canopy, and Goalie did the same. A quick glance at their Five showed Kara and Brainiac had done the same. “Time to go.” He firewalled the throttle, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and then climbed into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser. They met up at FL 110, then headed south for the tanker track.

[Matt Wiser]

Part XV: Last run of the day, a 335th crew has a close call, and time to unwind in the O-Club:


Over Central Texas: 1555 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was headed south, just over the east side of the Brazos, in the Nicaraguan sector, but so far, so good. Though as they passed both Granbury and the Lake Granbury Dam, there had been flak, it had been from the East German side, and not the Nicaraguan. But, as they all knew, as they went further south, the Libyans would definitely shoot, and everyone was on their toes.

“Anything?” Guru asked Goalie as they headed south. Next up was the U.S. 67 bridge east of Glen Rose.

“Nada,” his GIB replied. “Maybe the Nicaraguans are taking a siesta,” she quipped.

“Maybe. Remember last time, they did shoot at us.”

“They did. Fifteen seconds to the bridge.”

“Got it.” Guru picked up the bridge, and sure enough, the East Germans on their side opened fire, while the Nicaraguan gunners stayed quiet. Then they overflew the town of Nemo, which was a collection of ruins more than anything else, and continued south.

Goalie called out, “Twenty seconds to the next bridge.” She meant a small bridge that seved a couple of F.M.-type roads, and yet, the bad guys used it-and defended it-as if it was a major crossing. “Arnie still on the ball,” meaning the ARN-101 DMAS system.

“Got it,” Guru said. Once again, a bridge came up, This time, there were tracers coming from the east side. The reason became clear as there were burning wrecks of vehicles on the bridge. “Somebody's been here.”

“And the bad guys on both sides are pissed,” Goalie replied. “More than a few wrecks there,” she observed as the big Phantom flew by, and the tracers came up. Again, the F-4s were too fast for the optically-aimed guns to adequately track. “And we're clear.”

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “What's into those guys?”

“Somebody paid 'em a visit,” Guru replied. Then he called the AWACS. “Warlock, Camaro Lead. Say threat?”

“Camaro Lead, Warlock. Threat bearing One-six-seven for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for seventy-two. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-niner-seven for eighty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that, Warlock.” Guru then switched to the ICS. “ETA to the 174 Bridge?” That was their next turn point.

“One minute twenty,” Goalie replied.

“Copy.”

The flight kept on south, picking up a bend in the Brazos River, which was a convenient visual navigation aid, for next up past that bend was the State Route 174 Bridge. They were at 450 feet AGL and doing 500 KIAS as they approached. “Bridge coming up,” Goalie called. “And flak dead ahead.”

“Roger that, and on both sides,” Guru noted. Sure enough, flak gunners on both sides of the river were shooting, a clear signal that the gunners on the east bank were now Libyans.

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

Guru put the F-4 into a hard right turn, and the rest of the flight followed. They were looking to pick up the Route 174/F.M. 56 intersection. As they turned, black puffs of 57-mm flak, along with tracers that signaled 23-mm, were all around the strike flight, but no one was hit. “Turn in when?” He asked his GIB.

“Fifteen seconds,” the call came back.

“Roger that. Armor and a supply column at the intersection.”

“Not their turn to die,” Goalie said. “Turn in five,four, three, two, one...MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into another right turn and headed northwest, lining up on the approach course to the IP. They didn't notice the small-arms and machine-gun fire that came up, along with some 23-mm from a couple of gun trucks.


At the crossroads, a Soviet supply column, complete with MVD troops as convoy escorts, had come across a battalion of tanks from the 82nd Guards Motor-rifle Regiment, 6th Guards Motor-rifle Division. The division had been ordered up from Waco on the orders of the 4th Guards Tank Army, ready to be committed to shore up the East Germans, if necessary, and the 82nd Guards MRR was in the division's lead, wth the reconnaissance company and the tank battalion up front. They had been using F.M. 56 for a very good reason: it was thought that a F.M. Route was not being observed, either from American Special Forces, the bandits who called themselves the Resistance, and American aircraft on armed reconnaissance missions.

Now, the Colonel in command of the 82nd GMRR came forward in his command BTR-70, and he was in a foul mood. He got out of his vehicle and stormed up to where the regiment's advanced guard was held up, a company each of T-72M1 tanks, BTR-70 APCs, along with the regimental reconnaissance company in the lead. The Colonel found the Captain who commanded the tank company arguing with the Convoy Commander, an MVD Captain, and the traffic regulators. The MVD insisted that the convoy go through, while the Colonel jumped in, demanding that his regiment, which had a full division behind it, have priority. All were still arguing when shouts behind them of “Aircraft alarm!” came, then four F-4 Phantoms flew overhead, headed to the northwest. The MVD Captain turned pale, the Colonel noticed, then yielded to his regiment. Good. Just as long as they got out the way, and maybe they'd draw the attention of American aircraft than his regiment. But where was his regiment's air defense battery? The ZSU-23-4s and Strela-10s (SA-13s) should have gone into action.


“How long to IP?” Guru asked.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied.

'Roger that. Set' em up.”

“Copy,” she said while working the armament switches. “You're all set. All in one go.”

“Good girl,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and let's go.” That call meant to arm weapons and turn on their ECM pods.

“Roger that, Lead.” Kara said.

“Three copies,” Sweaty.

“Four, roger,” Hoser.

“IP dead ahead,” Goalie said in 512's back seat. “There's the lake.”

“And the hill,” Guru said. “Steady, steady....and PULL!” He pulled 512 into a climb, just as the gunners at the flak site realized what was happening and ran to their 37-mm guns. But it was too late. “Target in sight. All set?'

“Ready back here,” said Goalie.

“Then let's go,” Guru said as he picked out the supply dump that was their target. “Rolling in.” And 512 began to go in on its attack run.


At the supply dump, a Soviet Rear-Services Major was not in a good mood. He reported to the Chief of the Rear for the 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division, and though he was in touch with the Rear Command Post, he wasn't hearing much back, other than that things were not going well. What was going on? He had the fuel and ammunition to send forward, along with the other essential supplied the division needed, but in God's name (he hoped the Zampolit wouldn't hear him) was happening up front? The only news he'd been told was that American air activity was heavy, and that the division was taking more losses than expected. If the Yankees' aircraft were that active, some extra precautions were definitely in order. He called his Sergeant-Major over to get the men to digging additional trenches and holes in case of air attack. The Ukrainian saluted, then found some soldiers who were clearly slacking off, and kicked them-literally-into action. The Major was watching this when his deputy came running up to him and pointed south. Smoke trails in the air, and specks growing larger. “AIR ALARM!” The Major shouted, then he ran for a trench dug the previous day, and jumped in.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his bomb run. As he came down onto the target, he noticed some softball-sized tracers coming up, and that meant 23-mm. Some of these guys are definitely on the ball, he thought as he lined up part of the supply dump in his pipper. He ignored an SA-7 type missile that flew past 512's left side as he lined up the target. Your turn, Ivan, he thought as he lined up several stacks of supplies. “Steady...Steady......HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, and released a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes onto the target. He pulled wings level and away, ignoring more 23-mm tracers as he did so. “Lead's off target,” Guru called as he jinked to avoid flak, then headed for the Brazos.

“Bozhe Moi!” The Soviet Major had never been in combat before, and this air raid was the first time he'd been under fire of any kind. He heard Guru's F-4 come over, then ground shook as he and several other officers and soldiers huddled in the trench as bombs exploded, then he heard additional explosions-the bastards had either hit some of the ammunition storage, or fuel. The Major poked his head out of the trench, but only saw dust and smoke, then someone pulled him down as he heard the roar of another aircraft coming over.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from her backseater's position. “You got secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Guru asked as he jinked to avoid possible flak.

“Big ones!”

“Bigger the better,” said Guru as he picked up the Brazos River.


“Two in hot!” Kara called as 520 went down onto the target. She saw the CO's bird pulling away, with some of the tracers following, but then they turned to face her. No way, Ivan, she thought as she lined up an undamaged part of the dump in her pipper. There were secondaries still going off, and Guru had torn up a good part of that dump. Tracers still came up as Kara lined up some supply trucks and some of their material. “And...Steady....Steady.....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, sending her Mark-82s down onto the dump. Kara pulled up, avoiding the 23-mm fire that came her way, and not even seeing an SA-7 that flew below 520 on the way out. She, too, jinked to avoid flak, and called, “Two's off target.”


“What the...” the Soviet Major yelled as Kara's F-4 came over, and then a dozen more explosions followed in its' wake. Again, those inside the trench shook as the bombs went off, and again, there were more explosions that followed. The Major took a quick look out of the trench, and saw where a number of his supply trucks had been parked. Several of them had been blown apart by bomb blasts, while others had been tossed around like toys, and were burning brightly. Some of his men were trying to put out fires, and he was starting to climb out to take charge when someone pulled him back in. Before he could reprimand whoever it was, another F-4 came over.


“SHACK!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat. “Good secondaries!”

“How good?” Kara asked as she jinked to avoid flak, and this time, she did see an SA-7 fly by. Some Ivan down there was shooting good, she thought.

“Really good!”

“I'll take a few of those,” said Kara as she picked up the CO's trail, then had a visual on 512.


“Three's in!” That was Sweaty's call as she came in on her bomb run. As she came in, Sweaty could see that some of the dump hadn't been hit, and she adjusted her course, lining up the northwestern part of the dump. Like the CO and Kara, she attracted the attention of the flak gunners, and softball-sized tracers came up after her, but Sweaty ignored them as she concentrated on the bomb run. “Steady...” She muttered. “And...And.....HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and walked a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes across the dump. She pulled up and away, jinking as she did so, and called out, “Three off safe.”


“DAMN IT!” The Soviet Major shouted as Sweaty's F-4 came over, and once again, those in the trench huddled as bombs exploded. Unknown to him, a Mark-82 had landed near the trench, but hadn't gone off. He got up to take a look, and saw the bomb right in his face. Just as his jaw dropped, he realized that this bomb could go off any moment, and ordered everyone out to a roadside drainage ditch. He and the other officers and soldiers in the trench ran as fast as they could, and jumped in just as the bomb went off. If they had been there.....The Major glanced up as another F-4 came in.


“GOOD HITS!” Preacher shouted as Sweaty pulled away. “You've got secondaries!”

“Righteous ones?” Sweaty asked the ex-seminary student turned GIB, as she jinked to avoid flak. Somebody down there was shooting good, as tracers flew past the aircraft.

“Very righteous!”

“Then I'll take those,” replied Sweaty as she headed for the Brazos.


Hoser rolled in on his run. “Four's in hot!” he called. Again, 23-mm flak came up, and Hoser noted that the dump had been pretty well worked over. He recalled the secondary target, and lined up the truck park southeast of the supply dump, and picked that out. There were a number of trucks there, and they could go away, he knew. He lined the truck park in his pipper, and said, “And...And...And...NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button, sending his Mark-82s into the truck park, then he pulled up and away. Like the others, he jinked to avoid flak, and made his post-strike call. “Four's off target.”


The Soviet Major heard Hoser's F-4 fly over, and wondered what the American had hit, before the explosions across the road reminded him. Some of his supply trucks were parked there, and the maintenance men had been going over them, and now....he took a quick look across the road, and saw the truck park had been hit. Several trucks were burning furiously, while others had been blasted apart or had been tossed around like toys. The Major stood up, and noticed the anti-aircraft gunners had ceased fire. Shaking his head, he began to shout orders. As his officers began to regain some order, he noticed stretcher bearers bringing a maimed officer to the first-aid point. No great loss, for the man missing a leg was his Political Officer. Good. Maybe the Americans did something good for him today, despite the carnage.

“SHACK!” KT called. “You got some good hits!”

“How good?”

“Got a few secondaries,” KT replied as an SA-7 flew by their aircraft. “That was close.”

“Too close,” Hoser admitted as he kept jinking. Then he picked up Sweaty and followed her out.


“Four in, four out,” Guru said. “But we still got a game going.” They were approaching the Brazos River. Once they were clear of the target, they weren't flying for God or Country, but for themselves. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Eyes out of the cockpit.” She had her head on a swivel, watching out for threats.

“Two, where are you?” Guru called Kara.

“Right with you,” his wingmate replied.

A quick glance to the right showed 520 right with the leader in Combat Spread. “Copy. Sweaty?”

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

“Camaro Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS called. “Threat bearing One-six-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-niner-two for seventy-five. Medium, going away.

“Roger that, Warlock,” Guru replied.

Goalie added, “Two minutes to the Fence.” That meant the I-20.

“Warlock, Camaro Lead. Any Eagles around?”

“That's affirmative, Camaro,” the controller said. “Rustler Two-one, Warlock. Bandits bearing One-seven-five for fifty-five. Clear to arm, clear to fire. KILL. Repeat: KILL.”

“Rustler Two-one copies,” the F-15 flight lead called. Four F-15Cs went after the bandits.

“One minute,” Goalie called.

“Copy, Warlock, Camaro Lead,” Guru called. “Say bogey dope.”

“Camaro Lead, Warlock. First threats are Floggers, second threats are Fishbeds,” the AWACS replied. “First threat now Bearing One-six-five for forty. Medium, closing.”

“Thirty seconds to the Fence,” Goalie said from the back seat.

At 500 feet and 550 KIAS, the F-4s were too fast for the MiGs, but best not to take any chances. Then the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared, full of military traffic, and the Army air-defense people at the Brazos River bridges staying quiet. Then the F-15s got into the MiGs, killing two MiG-23s and, as the MiG-21s came in, three of those as well.

“Warlock, Camaro Lead. Clear of the Fence. We are headed for tankers and then Home Plate.” Guru told the AWACS.

“Copy that, Camaro,” the controller said.


Camaro Flight then made the tanker track, and after the post-strike refueling, headed back to Sheppard. When they got there, Camaro Flight was third in line, but there were still strikes that were still out. As the crews taxied in and popped their canopies, they noticed a lot of attention around one of the revetments. “What the hell?” Guru asked as they passed by the revetment in question.

“Couldn't tell,” Goalie said. “But no ambulance, so that's good.”

“Always,” Guru replied as he found 512's revetment and taxied in. After he got the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief, both pilot and GIB went through the post-flight checklist, then the ground crew brought the crew ladder. “Over and done.”

“For today,” Goalie reminded him. “For Menana, we do it all over again.”

“Don't remind me.” Guru said, then he stood up in the cockpit. He took off his helmet and mask, then tossed them to Sergeant Crowley. “Five-twelve's still truckin', Sergeant. Do what you need to do, and get her ready for tomorrow.”

“How'd it go, Major?” Crowley asked.

“Made a supply dump go up,” Guru replied as a ground crewer handed him a bottle of water, then he downed half of it.

“And they came down in pieces,” Goalie added as she took a water bottle.

Guru looked at the attention. “What happened, Sergeant?”

“Captain Collins came back sir, and he was pretty shot up,” the Crew Chief replied. “You're going to want to see that bird.” Capt. Kerry Collins was the ordnance officer, and he led a flight of his own.

Guru nodded. “Okay, Sergeant,” he said. “Get the post-flight done, then have her ready for the morning.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said.


Guru and Goalie then headed for the entrance to their revetment, and found Kara and Brainiac there already. “Well, Boss? That was a good one. And you got some secondaries.”

“That we did,” Guru said, taking another drink.

“Who got shot up?” Sweaty asked as she, Preacher, Hoser, and KT came over.

“Kerry,” Guru said. “Let's get over there.”


When the CO's flight got to the revetment in question, there was quite a crowd, Most of the 335th's aircrews and ground officers were there, along with the news crew. Not to mention both Generals Olds and Yeager, and Yeager's people. All were focused on the tail area of Collins' aircraft. And the first person the CO found was the Exec. “Mark, what the hell happened?”

“Flak,” Capt. Mark Ellis replied. “Might have been a ZSU-30.”

Guru shook his head. “Where's Kerry?”

“Right here, Boss,” Collins said, a cup of “Medicinal” brandy from Doc Waters in hand. “God, I don't want that to happen again.”

“What happened, Kerry?” Guru asked. He took a look at 1438, and saw a hole in the radome, a graze on the GIB's canopy, and several jagged holes in the rudder and both horizontal stabilizers. Then the CO shook his head.

“Down by Star Hollow Lake. Went after what they said was a helo dispersal site. Hips and Hinds. Hit the target, and we missed the choppers, but tore up their equipment. Next thing we know, those tracers are all around us,” Collins said, then he took a drink from the cup.

“Nothing on the EW gear?” The CO asked.

Collins shook his head. “Nada, Boss.”

ZSU-30, Guru thought. “Anyone check for unexploded rounds?”

“EOD was here, Major,” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, the Maintenance Officer, said. “They found an unexploded round stuck in the rudder. It was 30-mm, no doubt about it.”

“Your GIB okay?” The CO asked Collins.

Collins nodded. “Pat's okay.” He meant 1st Lt. Pat McCorkle, his GIB. “That grazing shot scared him, though.”

“No kidding!” McCorkle shot back, a similar cup in hand.

General Olds came over. “Major, this looks familiar. Saw a few birds shot up by flak or MiGs,” he said.

“Yes, sir. And this means we need those EW systems tweaked sooner rather than later,” Major Wiser said.

“Understood, Major,” said Olds. “I'll see if I can get General Tanner to do something about that.”

“Thank you, sir.” Guru turned back to Kev O'Donnell. “Kev? How long a repair job?”

“A patch on the radome, new rear-seat canopy, new rudder-and we'll have to check the rudder controls as well, and two new stabilizers....” O'Donnell was doing the calculations in his head. “Three days.”

“And if we don't....it'll take longer,” Guru nodded. He turned to his Exec. “See if Supply can get us what we need. If they're flat on their asses as they usually are, though? Find Chief Ross. Tell him what we need, and turn the scroungers loose.”

Ellis nodded. “Got you.”

Then Sin Licon, the 335th Intelligence Officer came over. He whistled at the sight of what the ZSU-30 could do. “Major, those things are fucking dangerous.”

“You noticed,” Collins shot back.

The CO separated both of them. “Easy, both of you. Sin's just passing on what he's been told, Kerry. So take it easy.”

Collins nodded. “I know, Boss. Just...”

“You're angry, and so is your Crew Chief. He's pissed at Ivan, and at you, for bringing back a plane that's shot up.” It was common that the Crew Chiefs “owned” the aircraft and the aircrews only borrowed them. “Tonight in the Club? Get drunk before Twelve-hour. That's an order.”

“Our pleasure, Major,” Pat McCorkle said.

Guru nodded, then noticed a folder in Sin Licon's hand. “What's in the folder?”

The Intel showed its contents to the CO. “Where's Prada, Boss? She has a right to know this.”

“Over there, by the tail, with General Yeager, Clancy, and Pruitt. But this may not be the best place to tell her. I'll take care of this. Show it to General Yeager tonight, and we both show it to her.”

Licon nodded. “Yes, sir. Major, we need to debrief.”

“My flight and who else's?” Guru asked.

“Ops, sir.”

Guru nodded as he noticed the squadron's photographer, a Senior Airman who sent his material to Airman magazine, at work. “All right. My flight and the Ops Officer's? We need to debrief. Get on over to the squadron office and get that taken care of.”

Those involved headed on over to the office, and Goalie came over to her pilot. “What's in the folder? Or do I need to know?”

Guru showed his GIB the folder's contents. “She has a right to know, but right next to a shot-up bird is not the place or the time. They're looking at damage that would send them skydiving in an F-20.”

“That little detail is there,” Goalie said. “And maybe those guys will shut up about the F-20 being the greatest since the P-51.”

“Maybe. I'll show this to General Yeager, then we show it to her tonight,” the CO replied. “As for the two young pups? I doubt they'll sober up.”

“They will when they see one of theirs barely make it back,” Kara said as she came up.

The CO thought for a moment. “Hopefully. Now, we need to debrief, and everybody needs to check their desks. Then we'll be off the clock.”

“Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow,we do it all over again.”

“Something like that,” Sweaty said as she and Preacher came up to the CO.

“Or it's 'tomorrow, they may not separate us from the rest of the aircraft,” Hoser added.

Guru nodded. “Either one is applicable.”


335th TFS Offices, 1650 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was in his office, going over some last-minute paperwork before going to the Officer's Club. Nothing major, he was glad to see, though he did wish that the elves would take care of it while he was out. He'd learned in his tenure as XO that the paper warriors could not be ignored, despite what one wished, and though they were not as numerous as they were in peacetime, that species of pest was still a problem. Colonel Rivers, rest his soul, had taught him some ways of dealing with bureaucrats, though no doubt every squadron and wing commander had the same attitude that he had: yank those pests from behind their desks, transfer them to the Army, give them rifles, and send them to the front lines. Or, if that wasn't possible, have them shoveling snow at someplace like Loring or Goose Bay. Ah, well, one could dream, he thought.

He'd finished with what was in his IN box and then went to work on something that had just come up, when there was a knock on the office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself.”

Capt. Mark Ellis, the Exec, came in with a clipboard. “Boss, got a few things here.”

“What have we got?” Guru asked, looking up from a paper he had just filled out.

“Aircraft status report. We'll have twenty for the morning. And before you ask, Don's bird needs a hundred-hour check.”

The CO nodded. “Okay.....yours and Frank's just got out of that, right?”

“Right on that, Boss,” Ellis replied.

Guru thought for a moment. “All right, then. You get your bird back, and give the one you flew today to Kerry. Frank gets his back, and Don takes the other Euro One bird.”

“I'll let Don know, and he'll take care of that.”

“Good. What else have you got?”

“Supply requesitions,” the XO said. “The stuff we need to get Kerry's bird back in the air.”

Guru signed the forms. “Gladly. Now, get Ross to turn the scroungers loose. Give them the same list Supply's getting, and they have a hunting license. If the clowns in Supply deliver, well and good. If not...”

“Got you. And the usual rules apply.”

“They do. No felony arrests, no one gets hurt, and best of all, nobody gets caught.”

Ellis nodded. “I'll get him going.”

“Good.” the CO said. He put the papers he had been working on into an envelope and sealed it. “This goes out to Tenth Air Force in tomorrow's mail. DFC citations for Kerry and Pat for bringing their bird back.”

“They deserve it,” Ellis nodded. “Speaking of Tenth Air Force, that C-21 came in. Don took the gun-camera tapes and gave it to the crew. They stayed long enough to refuel, then took off back to Nellis.”

“Those were the originals, right?” Guru asked, and he saw Ellis nod. “Okay, so Yeager's people made copies. Our newsies get the word about the blackout being official?”

“Kodak Griffith said they did. Weren't too happy, but Ms. Wendt went to do a sit-down with General Yeager. I'll bet you the minute that blackout expires, they send the story to Sydney.”

“And L.A.,” Guru reminded him. “They also send stuff to CBS, remember?”

“Forgot about that,” Ellis said. “And the weather update. No change for at least five days.”

Guru read the sheet. “Swell. Forget about any stand-down for at least that long.”

“Too bad.”

“Some things you have to live with,” Guru said as he stood up. He glanced at the office clock. 1705. “Now we're off the clock.” He picked up the folder Sin Licon had given him. “Let's hit the Club. I need a cold one, and food.”

“And we get to watch Kerry and Pat get drunk, while they try and forget about nearly getting killed today,” the Exec said. By the tone of his voice, it wasn't a question.

“Something like that.”

“And you don't have to write any letters today.”

“That, I'll gladly drink to.”


When the CO and XO got to the Club, they found Colonel Brady already at the bar, and keeping an eye not only on several of his Marines, but also Kerry Collins and Pat McCorkle. “Colonel,” Guru said with a nod.

“Major,” Brady replied. “The Mess people won't be too long, which is a good thing. Right now, five of my Marines and your two are racing each other to get drunk. Seems your guys weren't alone in getting shot up today.”

Guru and Mark looked at each other. “Colonel, may I ask where?” Guru asked.

“Same area: Star Hollow Lake. They're protecting something important.”

“Or someone-sir.” Ellis said. “Could be an Army Commander.”

“That's what my intel thinks,” Brady said. “Anyway, that's for tomorrow. What's in the folder?”

Guru opened the folder and showed him. “I could have shown her on the ramp, but next to a shot-up bird was not the time or place.”

“Good thinking, Major,” Brady said as General Olds came in, and he was talking with several 335th aircrew. “What are you going to say?”

“First, sir, I need to talk with General Yeager,” Guru said as the barkeep came over. “Smitty, any Sam Adams come in?”

“Sorry, Major,” Smitty replied. “Only two bottles left.”

“Then Bud,” Guru said. “And one for the Exec.”

Smitty nodded, and produced the bottles. “Here you go, Major.'

“Thanks,” Guru said. He paid the barkeep, then glanced over at his two people. “How many have they had?”

“Working on their second already, Major,” Smitty said. “Each.”

“No more until they get something to eat,” Guru said firmly. He turned to Collins and McCorkle. “Hear that?”

“Loud and clear, Major,” Collins said, Capt. Ryan Blanchard, the OINC of their Combat Security Police detachment, nodded agreement. She was his girlfriend, and she would watch him like a hawk.

McCorkle grumbled, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Guru said as General Yeager and his people came in, with the news crew following. “Those guys are still the stars today.”

Ellis nodded. “Well, Boss, maybe we can get Ms. Wendt to talk to Kerry and Pat-that is, before they get too drunk.”

“Or when they're sober,” Guru said. He noticed that Goalie, Kara, and the rest of his flight had gotten a table. “Colonel, if you'll excuse me, I need to get started on my own 'Stress reduction.' It's been a hell of a day.”

Brady nodded. “It has been that, Major.”


Guru went over to the table and sat down. “Well, don't know whether to be pissed or be thankful. Or both.”

“Why's that, Boss?” Kara asked as she got started on her first beer.

“Pissed that General Yeager and his people got into a fight, or thankful that General Dugan hasn't called.”

“Better if it's both,” Hoser said. “Uh, Boss.”

“I'll drink to that,” Goalie said, and she poked her pilot in the arm.

“Guess I will,” Guru said. “Hell of a day.” Then he started on his beer. “Any newspapers come in on the C-141?”

Sweaty nodded, then produced the papers. “USA Today, Stars and Stripes, L.A. Times, take your pick.”

Guru and Goalie shared the L.A., and passed the sports page to Hoser. “Anything in USA Today that leaps out?”

“More protests in West Germany,” Kara said. “They had 100,000 in Dusseldorf.”

“Same thing here,” Guru said. “100,000 also in Munich.”

Heads nodded at that. “Good,” Dave Golen said from the table next to the CO's. “Only a matter of time.” And General Olds, who was sitting with Dave, nodded his agreement.

“Hear, hear,” several people said.

Just then, the mess people arrived. “People, we've got either grilled pork chops or Salisbury Steak, with all the fixn's,” one of the local restaurateurs turned Marine Mess Officer said. “Come and get it.”

After people got what they wanted, the CBS Evening News came on. Unlike the previous day, this was a slow news day, even with the war going on, though coverage of the protests in West Germany-and now in Belgium and Holland as well, led the news coming from overseas. And the brewing affair in Philly over Senator Proxmire's aides finding themselves in very hot water over back-channel contacts with the Cuban Embassy in Paris.

“How long until Proxcreep gets the heave-ho?” Cosmo asked from a table where she and Revlon were talking with Ms. Wendt and her crew.

“Hope he gets the message,” said Don Van Loan. “Time for him to take a hike.”

“I'll drink to that,” Cosmo said. As an astronomy major, she had very good reason to loathe the Senator' who had a fondness for cutting NASA budgets, while others despised him for his anti-military attitude.

“Same here,” Kara said.

After Walter Cronkite signed off, the bartender turned the TV to ESPN, where a rerun of ABC's Wide World of Sports was playing. “Well, that's that,” Goalie said. “Slow day in the big picture.”

“But not for us,” Guru nodded.


A few minutes later, as the clock wound towards 1800, Colonel Brady went to the bar and rang the bell. “People, we've got exactly one hour left before the twelve-hour rule kicks in, and there are a few people here who have a right to get happily loaded. First, several folks from either the Marines or the 335th came back with shot-up birds, and well, you people have a right to get sloppy drunk. You've got an hour left, so make the most of it!” The tent roared with laughter. “Major Wiser? You've got some Air Force business, I believe?”

Guru nodded, then went to the bar. “Thank you, sir. Well, Kerry, Pat? You guys did good, bringing your bird back after some kasha-eating son of a bitch put a few flak holes in it. And take my advice, from someone who's been there, done that? Be glad you're not camping with the Resistance. Or, worse, holed up somewhere, waiting for Jolly Green to get you, evading, or a lot worse, behind barbed wire, eating Kasha and Borscht. So drink up!”

“Glad to, Major,” Collins said.

“Just remember: you're on the flight schedule in the morning. So remember twelve-hour, and hit the sack when Doc calls curfew.”

“Will do, Boss,” Pat McCorkle grinned.

Guru nodded, then turned to where General Yeager and his people were seated. “General? Your young pups proved themselves in the air-to-ground arena, and today? They showed us what they can do air-to-air. And sir, you may have set a record for the longest gap between kills. Because, people? He got a Yak-28 recon bird in that little furball. So, General? Here's to number 12.5.” Guru raised his beer bottle.

“Just in the right place at the right time, Major,” Yeager replied in his West Virginia drawl. “You're probably glad the Chief of Staff hasn't chewed your ass over the phone.”

“Chewed his ass yet.” Sweaty muttered.

Preacher nodded, then said, “There's always tomorrow.”

Kara shook her head. “Remember, guys, it's Frank we want packing for Goose Bay.”

“We know that,” Sweaty shot back. “It's just, well....surprising the Boss hasn't gotten an over-the-phone ass-chewing.”

“Maybe General Tanner calmed him down,” Goalie ventured.

Guru went on. “General, one of your pups made ace today. Prada? Stand up and be recognized.” Prada did, and Guru said, “You got number five today, and no matter what happens from now on, you're a certified, card-carrying aerial assassin, and for damn sure, no one can take that away from you!”

“Thanks, Major,” Prada said to the roar of the crowd.

“Enjoy the moment, Captain,” Guru said. “Now, some 335th business. Cosmo? Revlon? Stand up.”

“Uh-oh,” several people muttered.

“You two splashed the only MiG to get away from the F-20 furball,” Guru said, and there was some applause at that. “Now, that gives you two three kills. Two more and not only do you two make ace, but you'll be the only all-female ace team not just in the 335th, but hell, probably the whole Air Force for all we know. This place will rock when that happens. But one piece of advice: when you get to number four? No trolling for MiGs! You might just run into somebody looking for his fifth. So be careful, you two.”

The two looked at each other and grinned. “Noted, Major,” Cosmo said.

“That's good. Colonel?” Guru said, yielding the floor to Colonel Brady.

“Thanks, Major. Now, people, in case anyone's curious, no bad weather for a week. So we''ll be hitting things pretty hard until then. You've got fifty minutes until twelve-hour, so drink up!”


Major Wiser went and got another beer, then went back to his table. “Need to talk to General Yeager, then Prada.” He picked up the folder.

“What's in the folder?” Brainiac asked.

Goalie knew, but said nothing. “Be glad you don't know. Yet.” That answer made everyone at the table curious.

The CO nodded. “You'll find out when I get back.” He went over to General Yeager's table, where the news crew had finished talking to his people. “General,”

“Major,” Yeager nodded.

“General, right now, I'm glad I haven't gotten an angry phone call from either General Dugan or General Cunningham.”

“For his exploit today?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Something like that,” Guru said. “General, I need to show you something,” He indicated the folder. “Privately, sir.”

Yeager nodded, and the two went to the bar and found a couple of empty stools. “Major?”

“Sir, my Intel was going to show Prada this on the ramp, but next to a shot-up bird was not a good time or place,” Guru said. He opened the folder.

Yeager studied the contents, then frowned. “She needs to see this. Now.”

“Sir, may I suggest having Colonel Brady here? He's been there.”

“You mean Hanoi?” Yeager asked, and he saw Guru nod. “Good idea, Major.”

Guru went and talked to Colonel Brady for a moment, then the two went back to the bar. Then General Yeager brought Prada over. “What's this about, sir?” She asked.

“This,” Guru said as he opened the folder.

Prada looked at the folder's contents. A brief cover letter from DIA, then a copy of an article from a Cuban propaganda magazine. It showed two female American POWs, one brown-haired, the other blonde. Both had bruising on their faces, and were wearing long sleeved prison pajamas. And both were familiar to her, the brown-haired one very much so. “Daria.....she's alive.” Prada looked at the date on the article. April, 1987. “Seven months ago..”

“Your sister's alive, Captain,” Brady said. “Now you know. My family didn't know I was alive until Christmas, 1970, when the Viets let me write my first letter home.” He looked at the photo again. “Who's the other one?”

“Jane, her WSO,” Prada replied. “God...right now I don't know whether to be happy or worried.”

Brady knew what his family had gone through from January, '68 until March 14, 1973, when he had been released in the third increment of POWs from Hanoi. “Either one can be graded as correct.”

“Long pajama sleeves,” Guru noted. “Trying to hide the scars.”

“You picked that up, Major,” Yeager said.

“Read a few books on the subject, sir,” Guru replied. “And from SERE.”

Prada nodded as she scanned the photo and the accompanying article, which had been translated. “Says here they 'confessed' to attacking civilian targets, My ass.”

“Look, Prada,” Yeager said. “Your sister's had SERE training, and she'll get through this.” And so have you, he said to himself. “And there's this: you might qualify for a transfer under the 'Lone Survivor' rule. Your sister's a POW, and you're flying combat. If you get captured, they might put two and two together...”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I can have orders cut transferring you out of the 479th and sending you to Edwards to be an F-20 IP. You're a combat veteran, a fighter ace, and you've done your bit for God and Country. I'd like to meet your parents one day, but I sure as hell don't want to do it handing them a flag.”

Prada nodded. “General, I don't know what to say.....I need to think about it, and if I can, talk with my folks.”

Guru wondered, “Red Cross can arrange that, can't they?”

“They should,” Brady said. “I'll check with the Red Cross office on the base. They opened a week after we got here.”

“Prada, I know you want to get back into the fight, but a year away from the war zone as an IP means you'll be passing on your experience, and making sure people know how to fly and fight in the F-20,” Yeager said. “When you do come back, you won't have missed a damn thing, because chances are, this war won't be over this time next year. Chances are, we'll be on the Rio Grande, with next stop Mexico City, and there'll still be plenty to do.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Can I wait until we get back to California? I need to think it over, and talk with my folks, if that's possible.”

“Your call,” Yeager nodded. He understood what she was thinking, and knew that some time away from the war zone would probably be best. IP duty wasn't exactly safe, with the potential for accidents, but it was safer than combat.

“Thank you, sir,” Prada smiled. “Now, if you'll excuse me,” she waved to Smitty. “I need to get slightly drunk.”

The three senior officers looked at each other, then at her. “Understandable, Captain,” Yeager said. “You've got forty-five minutes before twelve-hour.”

Prada smiled. “Then, sir, I need to get started.”


Guru went back to his flight's table, and sat back down. “First time,”

“What?” Kara asked.

“Telling someone their MIA loved one is a POW. Quinn's sister is in the Caribbean version of the Hanoi Hilton,” Guru spat. “Shot down over Cuba, and was MIA until recently.”

“So that's what was in the folder,” Sweaty nodded.

Guru nodded back as he finished his beer. “Yep. The good thing: her sister's alive. The bad? She's a 'guest' of Fidel.”

“And we've all got friends POW or MIA,” Goalie reminded them.

The CO grimaced. “That we do.”

Kara then got up and went back to the bar. She got another beer, then went to the pool table. She laid down her money, and the Marine who was there laid down his. It didn't take long for her skills to show, and the Marine wound up paying.

“I see the Queen of the pool tables is holding court,” Ms. Wendt said as she came over. “Might just challenge her one of these days.”

“Your money,” Guru reminded her. “You've been warned previously.”

“I know, Major. But still....”

General Olds stood up. “I'll give her another crack at me.”

“Oh, shit,” Guru said as the General went over to the pool table. He showed his money, Kara showed hers, then both went at it. This time, as with the previous occasion, General Olds' skills were superior, and after Kara paid him, she came back to the table in a fit of the sulks.

“Well?” Sweaty asked.

Kara shook her head. “I have got to beat him before he leaves.” she grumbled.

“Like I said, Kara. Go to the bar, get yourself another beer, then come back and try again,” Guru told her.

“Gladly.” She then went to the bar, got another beer, and downed half of it before she returned to the pool table. General Olds had returned to his table, and Kara proceeded to defeat another Marine. Then a male AF Major wearing MAC insignia on his flight suit challenged her, and came away with his wallet lightened by $50.00. “Next!”

“She always like this?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Only after she loses,” Goalie said. “Which ain't often.”

Guru looked around, and saw that Prada's friends had joined her at the bar. One of them, Clancy, he thought, was going through Pepsi like it was nothing. Only when Smitty told him they didn't have much left did he lay off. While Pruitt and Prada were talking, and he gave her a hug. Guru then turned, and found General Olds and Dave Golen engaged in a serious conversation, with much hand-waving. SEA against the Yom Kippur War, he knew. Then the bar bell rang.

“Twelve-Hour now in effect!” Doc Waters said.

People flying the next morning turned in their drinks and got something nonalcoholic, and kept things going until 2100, when one of the Navy flight surgeons with MAG-11 rang the bell. “Aircrew Curfew, people!”

Those on the flight schedule the next morning got up and headed off to their billets to get some sleep. It wouldn't be long until Zero-dark-thirty, and another day of flying.

[jemhouston]

Too bad Olds couldn't get another kill.

[Matt Wiser]

Part XVI: The next day comes, and everyone's waiting to see if there's DACT between the 335th and the F-20 demo people...While a Soviet Air-Assault Officer and his command team get a rude welcome to the USA:


335th TFS Offices, 0535 Hours Central War Time; 12 November, 1987:


Major Matt Wiser went towards the squadron's office, and, glancing around, saw the first light coming from the east. A few bright stars were still visible, and the sky was clear. Another good flying day, he thought to himself as he went into the office. As he went in, rock music was coming from an office radio, and that meant Wolfman Jack's show was going strong. The NDO, Hacksaw, noticed him and came over. “Major.”

“Hacksaw,” Major Wiser replied. “How's the cold?”

Almost on cue, Hacksaw sneezed. “Damn cold and damn pills. I don't know which is worse.”

“Feeling better?”

Hacksaw nodded. “Doc says I may be flying again in three or four days. Five at the most.”

“Listen to him,” the CO said. “He outranks all of us-even me-when it comes to anything medical. So listen to him, do as he says, and you'll be flying again in no time.”

The SDO grinned. “Right, Boss. The XO's in. He's waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” Major Wiser nodded. He had a few words with the admin folks on the night shift, then he went into his office and found the Exec waiting. “Mark.”

“Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis nodded. He had a clipboard with some papers, and handed his CO a Styrofoam cup. “Got your morning admin stuff, and your cocoa.”

“Good,” the CO nodded. “Usual admin stuff?”

“Morning report for MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force,” Ellis said. The CO signed the papers. “And Supply came through-partially.”

“Parts for Kerry's bird?” Guru asked. They had a bird take flak damage the previous day, and he was anxious to get the bird back in the air.

The Exec nodded. “Got a rudder, rudder actuator, TIESO-”

Guru looked at his XO. “TIESO?”

“Yep,” said the Exec. “Took a 30-mm round right through it. They also have a new radome, canopy frame, and canopy.”

“No horizontal stabilizers?” Asked the CO.

“Still looking.”

Guru thought for a minute. “Okay. Ross on it?”

“He and the scroungers are on it. He's running down a few leads.”

“Remind him that those stabilizers are Priority One,” Guru told the Exec. “And have him touch base with our F-20 visitors. They may have run across F-4 parts during their own horse-trading or moonlight requesitioning expeditions.”

“Will do.”

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

Goalie came in, and she had two more cups, one in each hand. “Morning, guys,” she said. “Hot Chocolate for both of us.” She handed one cup to her pilot and boyfriend, and kept one for herself.

“Have a good night?” Guru asked.

“Slept like a baby, and ready to get on with earning my flight pay.”

“Of which forty-five cents goes back to the Government on April 15,” Mark Ellis joked.

“Something like that,” Guru said. “Ready to fly with Kara today?”

“Boss?” Ellis asked.

Guru smiled. “We're taking General Olds up on a check ride after the second run of the day. And before you ask, no, we're not going anywhere near the front lines. The old Scud Boxes from last summer will do.”

The XO stared at the CO. “For what?”

“Just some ACM,” replied Guru. “We show him what we're doing, vaguely recall peacetime ACM rules, and just have at it. And before you ask, yeah, we'll be armed, but we sure as hell won't be trolling for MiGs.”

Ellis let out a sigh of relief. “That's good to hear. Last thing I want is an angry phone call from General Dugan asking what got an AF legend killed. Then packing for Loring or Gander.”

“That's for Frank, and we all know it,” the CO laughed. “I'm taking General Olds, and Goalie flies with Kara.”

“And you'll just have a couple Sidewinders for self-defense.” Ellis nodded.

Guru shook his head. “No. Full air-to-air load. You never know, Mark.”

The XO nodded. He understood what the CO meant. “And what about Frank? He'll flip when he hears you're taking General Olds up.”

“Because in Frank's egotistical mind, he thinks an Academy grad should be taking General Olds-who is a West Pointer, up,” Guru said. It wasn't a question. “In that case, Frank can go suck an egg for all I care.”

“Don't blame you for that,” Ellis said. “Oh, forgot. Weather.” He handed Guru a paper. “No real change for at least five days. That storm that went through Colorado is now in Kansas and Nebraska, but some down into Oklahoma. Just a few high clouds, temps drop a degree or two, and that's it.”

“Okay.” Said the CO. “Anything in the regs about enlisting Buddy?” He was referring to the squadron's Golden Lab mascot.

“Nothing that I could find.”

“Hey, I got a better idea,” Goalie said. “I remember an Academy lecture where a Thud driver was telling us about Roscoe, the 388th's Mascot at Korat. He came to Korat in the back seat of an F-105F, late '65 or early '66. When his master was shot down over North Vietnam, the whole wing adopted him. Made him an honorary Colonel, club card for the O-Club, even let him sit in on mission briefs. They say that if he slept through a brief? It would be an easy ride. If he woke up, or paid attention? You were in for a bear.”

Both CO and XO were intrigued. “What happened to him?” Guru asked.

“He died in '75, a few weeks before the 388th left Korat,” Goalie said. “They buried him with full honors next to the O-Club. His master never did come back-still MIA last I heard.”

“Hmm..” Guru said. Both XO and GIB noticed he was in thought. “Okay, we can either enlist him, or make him an honorary Captain. In that case, he can go into the O-Club. I'll talk it over with the General, and go from there. Anything else?”

“That's it,” Ellis said.

“Check ride aside, we got a busy day coming. Let's go eat.”


When Guru, Goalie, and the Exec got to the Officer's Mess Tent, they found the usual crowd gathered, waiting. They noticed General Olds talking with Colonel Brady.. General Olds noticed the three, and waved them over. “Major,” Olds said.

“Good morning, sir,” Guru replied.

“Ready to get back at it?”

“Yes, sir.” Guru looked around. “Where's General Yeager and his people?”

“Early-bird,” Brady said. “They're wheels-up at 0630, and have a full day.”

“Some more of my people, no doubt,” Guru said. “As long as those young pups don't wrangle another trip down to the front lines.”

General Olds nodded. “You're not the only one thinking that, Major. So I told him to go west, to the old Scud Boxes from last Summer.”

“General, that's good to hear,” Guru said. “And FYI, sir, that's where we're going this morning for your, uh, 'check ride.'”

“He's flying with you, Major?” Brady asked.

“Yes, sir, he is,” Guru said. “Captain Thrace-” he gestured to where Kara was talking with Sweaty, KT, Flossy, and Jang-will be flying as number two, with Lieutenant Eichhorn in the backseat.”

Hearing that, Goalie grinned. “Wouldn't miss this for the world, General.”

“And if we run into the F-20s?” Olds asked.

“Then, General, we have some DACT and teach those young hotheads a lesson,” said Guru. “Maybe. Those F-20s are small and nimble, like the F-5. These guys might give us a good run.”

“Well, we'll find out, won't we, Major?” Olds grinned. He had an idea that this might turn out to be a mini-Red Flag.

Guru nodded. “We will, sir.”

The Marine Mess Officer came out of the tent and flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chowtime, people!”


After breakfast, Guru went to the Ops Office to get his mission briefing packet. His Ops Officer was waiting for him. “Don,” he nodded. “What have you got for me this morning?”

Capt. Don Van Loan handed him a briefing packet. “Going down to a Soviet-held sector,” he told the CO. Right next to the East Germans.” That meant the East German sector's western flank, held by the Soviet 32nd Army.

Guru scanned the material. “Sector boundaries are usually good defense-wise. Notice I said, usually.”

“But going out....” Van Loan said. He, like the CO, knew from experience that things could be nasty going out right over a division.

“At least it'll be from the rear, and they may not have any warning,” Guru said. “Okay, we getting Weasels?”

“No, but two VA-135 A-7s are coming with you. I sent them on ahead to your briefing room.”

“Two targets?” Guru said as he scanned the mission summary. “Fuel dump and a suspected C3 site?”

“Yep. They want both hit if you can,” Van Loan told the CO.

Guru frowned, then reluctantly nodded. “Do what we can. All right, then.” He gathered the material. “Don? You have a good one.”

“You too, Boss. Don't want to be Exec just yet.”

“And Kara doesn't want to be Ops,” the CO laughed. “Just be careful out there.”

Van Loan nodded. “Same to you, Boss.”


Guru went to the Briefing Room his flight used, and found the two A-7 drivers waiting outside. “Major?” A brown-haired, tough-looking fellow in a Navy flight suit with the gold leaves of a Lieutenant Commander asked. “Steve Kearny. I'm your IRON HAND lead.”

The CO nodded. He'd heard of the IRON HAND people: just like their AF Wild Weasel counterparts, they went in ahead of a strike to kill SAMs and AAA sites. But unlike the AF, the Navy had no specialized squadrons, just pilots within an attack squadron who drew that assignment. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking hands. “And your wingie?” He gestured to a blonde woman with cropped hair who had a silver bar on her flight suit, and that meant a Lieutenant (junior grade).

“Lynda Patrick,” she replied, shaking the CO's hand. “In case you're wondering, I've been in combat since May.”

“PRAIRIE FIRE,” Commander Kearny said. “She joined us just in time to kick that off.”

“And you, Commander?” Guru asked.

“Been with the squadron since we were formed up in March '86. Got to combat in September, and been there since. And we're either lucky or blessed. We still have half of our original pilots.”

“You're better off in that department than the 335th is,” Guru said as he opened the door. “Shall we?”

The rest of the flight was in the room, chatting when Guru came in. “Okay, people! Time to get serious and back to work. This time, we're going in with Navy help.” He introduced the two A-7 drivers. “And this time, we're going to a Soviet sector.” He took out the briefing materials and found a TPC and JOG chart. “Here's our two targets.”

“Targets?” Kara asked.

“Targets,” Guru said. “Here, southeast of Comanche, at the Route 36/F.M. 1476 intersection. On the Northwest side of the intersection, there's a fuel dump. Southeast, is a suspected C3 site. They don't know what exactly it is, but those trucks with van bodies behind the cab? That usually means a command post, com relay, or a SIGINT outfit.”

Sweaty asked, “Who gets what?”

“Kara and I will take the fuel dump,” Guru said. “You and Hoser have the C3 site.”

“And if it's not there, Boss?” Hoser asked.

“Good question. We don't get paid for bringing ordnance home. If it's not there, I'll call it out-or Kara will,” and he saw his wingmate nod. “In that case? Drop on the dump.”

“Got it,” Sweaty nodded.

“MiG threat?” Brainiac asked. He was hoping he and Kara would be able to add to their tally.

“Brownwood Regional is the closest,” Guru said. “MiG-21s and -23s. The former are East German, the latter, Soviet. San Angelo has -23s, and so does Grey AAF at Fort Hood. MiG-29s are there as well, and at Bergstrom. Which, by the way, has Flankers.”

Heads nodded at that. Nothing new there. “Defenses?” Goalie asked.

“Getting to that. There was an SA-2 there, but it's not listed as operational, but don't take that to the bank,” Guru told the crews. “This is a divisional rear area, so expect SA-6 or -8, plus either -9s or -13s as we head on out. MANPADS and 23-mm at the target as well. There's at least two 57-mm sites near the targets, so our Navy brethren? Take your antiradar shots, then kill the flak sites.”

“We'll take them out,” Commander Kearny said. “We're packing two Shrikes and four Rockeyes each bird.”

“They -45Cs?” the CO asked. Kearny nodded back. “Good. Now, as for us? Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes each bird, and the centerline MERs have the Daisy Cutter fuze extensions. Other than that, the usual air-to-air: Four Sidewinders, two Sparrows, full 20-Mike-mike, two wing tanks, and ALQ-119s for the leads, -101s for the wingies.”

“Got it,” Kara said. “Ingress?'

Guru traced the ingress route on the JOG chart. “We come in over Lake Comfort, and follow the Soviet-East German boundary. Past Dublin, and south to the town of Lamkin, on Route 36.” He passed the INS coordinates around. “Then we go south to the town of Pottsville, turn west to the town of Indian Gap. Ten seconds after the town, we turn north. No visual checkpoint for our pop-up point, so it's all INS. Make your runs, then get your asses down low and headed north.” He surveyed his crews. “Any other questions?”

“Bailout areas?” KT asked.

“Down there? Anywhere away from the roads,” replied Guru. “Weather is pretty much unchanged, in case you're wondering.”

'It had occurred to some of us,” Sweaty nodded.

“I'll bet. Okay, first run of the day, and for Sweaty's element, and Brainiac? That's all. Kara and I are taking General Olds to one of the Scud Boxes we prowled last summer. Have some ACM, and maybe we'll run into those F-20 hotheads and teach them a lesson or two.”

Hearing that, Kara grinned. “It'll be a pleasure.”

“Hopefully,” Guru reminded her. “Okay, Commander? You guys meet us at ten grand overhead. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Then let's gear up.”

The crews went to their locker rooms to change, with the Navy people heading off to their aircraft. Guru came out of the Men's Locker Room and found Goalie waiting, as usual.”Ready?” He asked.

“Let's get going,” his GIB replied.

Pilot and GIB went outside, and headed to the squadron's dispersal area. The sky was brighter, they noticed, and the sun had just risen. When they got to the revetment holding his bird, 512, they found the rest of their flight waiting for his final instructions. “Ready?”

“Time to make some Russians think they should've stayed home,” Preacher said.

KT nodded. “The ones who are still alive, that is.”

“It is that,” Guru said. “Okay, we're Corvette Flight for at least this one. Now, usual procedures on the radio. Call signs between us, and mission code to AWACS and other parties.”

“Any word on who these Russians are?” Sweaty asked.

“No info,” Guru said. “You know as much as I do.” He looked at his crews. “Anything else?”

Heads shook no, then Kara said, “Guess that's it.”

Guru nodded. “All right: time to mount up. Let's hit it.”

The crews broke up and headed to their aircraft. When Guru and Goalie went into their revetment, Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting with the ground crew. “Major, Lieutenant?” Crowley said as he snapped a salute. “Five-twelve's locked and cocked. She's ready to go kick some Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said as he and Goalie returned the salute. They did their usual preflight walk-around, then he signed for the aircraft. That done, pilot and GIB mounted the aircraft, put on their helmets, and got strapped in. Then they went through their cockpit checks.

“Back to a Soviet sector,” Guru said as they went through the preflight. “Got used to East Germans, Nicaraguans, or Libyans.”

“Same here,” Goalie replied. “But we're going back to Public Enemy Number One,” she reminded him. 'Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom,” said Guru. “Check yours. And nothing wrong with that. Arnie?”

Goalie replied, “Arnie and INS all set.” That meant the ARN-101 DMAS and the INS. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

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

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Flight rolling,” Guru replied. He gave another thumbs-up to his CC, who motioned to the ground crew. They pulled the chocks away from the landing gear, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal. Guru released the brakes, and began taxiing out. He headed towards the runway, and the rest of the flight followed.

When the flight got to the holding area, they waited while a Marine flight of F-4s went ahead of them. As the Marines took off, Corvette Flight taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are calm,” the controller replied.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru called back. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and took a quick glance to his right. Kara and Brainiac in 520 were there in his Five O'clock, as they should be. They gave a thumbs-up, and both he and Goalie returned it. Then it was time. “Tower, Corvette 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,” Goalie said, and Guru did the same. He glanced to his right again, and saw 520's crew had done the same. “Ready?”

“Time to fly,” Goalie replied.

“Let's go.” Guru put the throttles forward, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty's element, and after takeoff, all four joined up with the A-7s at Flight Level 100, and they headed south for the tankers.



Over West-Central Texas: 0745 Hours Central War Time:



Corvette Flight headed south, having had their pre-strike refueling and after dropping to low level, cleared the FLOT. Unlike strikes flown on the east side of the East German sector, where the Nicaraguan gunners were not that excited about shooting at them, this time, the East Germans had the Soviet 32nd Army on their western flank, and both sides would be alert and ready to shoot. The ingress route Guru had planned out took the flight along the boundary between the East Germans and the Soviets, where one side might not know what the other was doing. So far, it looked like things were quiet.

In 512, Guru kept his head on a swivel, checking his instruments, the radar repeater, the EW display, as well as having his eyes out of the cockpit, checking for threats. While in the back seat, Goalie was concentrated on the navigation, but also keeping her eyes out visually for threats as well. “So far, so good,” she said. “They still asleep?”

“Maybe they're having a unit inspection or an ORI,” Guru jokingly replied. “Dublin off at One O'Clock.”

“Got it,” Goalie replied. “Stay on this heading. Two minutes to the turn point.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. He glanced at his EW display. Clear so far.


On the outskirts of Dublin, the commander of the 374th MRR, 155th Motor-rifle Division, was watching one of his battalions as it went through some training. The Americans to the north were quiet, and the Regiment needed some quiet time to absorb some personnel and equipment replacements that had recently arrived. Though he was surprised at how young some of the men were: a replacement draft had arrived, and with a few exceptions, all were barely eighteen, despite having had six months' training prior to shipping out. He turned to the battalion commander, a young Major who had been promoted after taking the job due to casualties, and the Colonel saw the man simply shrug his shoulders. The Colonel knew what the Major was thinking: if the Americans came at them now, they'd be in for it, as he doubted many of these replacements would make it through their first battle. Then the sight of jets and the scream of jet engines came, as two A-7 Corsairs and four F-4 Phantoms flew by very close. Some of the young soliders stared at the aircraft, and were promptly kicked-literally-back into their duties by their sergeants. The Colonel and the Major shook their heads, and then went back to work.


“Lamkin coming up,” Guru said.

“Copy. One minute to the nav point,” Goalie replied. “EW still clear.”

“Got it,” replied Guru. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

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

“Roger that.” Guru checked his own radar. Clear for now. “Coming up on the turn?”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied.

Then the small town of Lamkin appeared Just a collection of houses on the south side of State Route 36, it was useful as a navigation checkpoint from their point of view, it went by in a blur. Guru waggled his wings in case there were civilians down there, then he turned slightly right to pick up the heading for the next turn point, the town of Pottsville. “How long until the next turn?

“Two minutes,” Goalie replied. She glanced around, then at her own EW display. “EW still clear...wait: looks like an air-search radar due south.”

“Probably a Mainstay,” Guru said, referring to the Mainstay AWACS aircraft. “Still...Flight, Lead. Music on.” That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

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


Corvette Flight continued south, then they picked up a small hill, and just past that, Pottsville, which was their turn point. Guru put 512 into a right turn, and picked up the heading to the next turn, the small town of Indian Gap, which was more of a spot on the map than a town. After steadying on the new heading, two-six-five, he asked, “Turn in when?”

“Fifteen seconds,,” Goalie replied.

“Got it,” Again, this was more a spot on the map than a town, and he banked right and came onto the new course. “How long until IP?”

“One minute thirty.”

Corvette Flight headed north, generally following F.M. 1476, and though there were some small rolling hills, there were none that stood out, and thus no landmark that could be used as an IP. Guru scanned for threats, and spotted the town of Gustine off in the distance at his One O'clock. Good. “Set 'em up,” Guru told Goalie.

She worked the armament control panel, and replied. “You're set.”

“Roger that, Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by to pull. Puncher 304, time for you to go to work.”

“Roger, Lead,” Commander Kearny replied as the two A-7s climbed, then they began shooting their Shrike missiles.

“Got some radars,” Goalie said.

'Too late,” Guru replied

“Stand by....and PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and the Phantom climbed for altitude. He leveled off, and went into a shallow dive. Guru was able to pick out the fuel dump that was their target, but saw the area where the suspected C3 site was supposed to be was empty. “Flight, Lead. Primary target in sight, secondary is gone.”

“Copy,” Sweaty replied. That meant that she and Hoser would drop on the dump.

“Ready back here,” Goalie called.

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


East of the supply dump, just west of the town of Gustine, the 801st Independent Air Assault Battalion was resting after conducting an assault exercise against the town. The battalion had fought in America since 1986, and had taken the casualties to show for it, for they were now on their fourth commander. Though new to America, Lieutenant Colonel Gordunov was a decorated veteran of Afghanistan, fighting at Herat and Kandahar, and was a Hero of the Soviet Union twice over. He had brought several other officers with him, all Afghan vets but one, to rebuild the battalion. As part of the rebuilding process, he had personally led his First Company in an assault exercise on the town's garrison. The garrison, a motor-rifle battalion from the 366th Guards Independent Tank Regiment, which was itself rebuilding, had done well in the exercise, but the umpires from Front Headquarters had ruled that the air-assault troops had taken the town.

Now, Gordunov and his comanders were going over the exercise over a late breakfast. He had listened to the veteran officers he had inherited upon assuming command, and had been reminded that “Motor-rifle blockheads are one thing. Americans are totally different.” Gordunov had also wondered who had been watching the exercise; though the local inhabitants were indoors as per the curfew, no one could miss the noise of the exercise, and his intelligence officer was now wondering how long until word of their unit's presence would be in the U.S. Sixth Army's hands. Then there was Captain Levin, his Zampolit. The man came across to Gordunov as someone who volunteered for the assignment, and as a sincere and idealistic Communist. The truth about what kind of war he'd landed in was likely to shock the young Zampolit, and Gordunov was right. Still, Levin had the makings of a good solider, and the exercise had shown that. But he was surprised when the Zampolit pointed to the southwest. “What is it, Levin?”

“Air raid, Comrade Commander,” Levin replied calmly.

“What are you babbling-” Gordunov said, then he froze as he recognized the aircraft. F-4 Phantoms coming in. “TAKE COVER! And get the air defenders up!” The officers scattered as they ran for foxholes or a dry creekbed.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in. The A-7s had gone to work, killing a nearby 57-mm site, and had shot at least two Shrikes, forcing the AAA radars off the air, and maybe any SAMs, too. He easily recognized the fuel dump and the motor pool next to it. Selecting the center of the dump, he lined up several large fuel tanks in his pipper, and ignored some light flak, probably 23-mm, that was coming up. Barbeque time,Ivan.... “And...Steady...Steady....HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing his Mark-82s down on the dump. He pulled up and leveled off, heading north and jinking to avoid flak as he did so. “Lead off safe,” Guru called.


“What the...” Gordunov said as he heard Guru's F-4 fly past, and then the bombs went off. The fuel dump had been one of the targets of their exercise, and the seemingly lax security had made their task an easy one. Now, a number of secondary explosions followed in the F-4's wake, and he knew what the target was. He had never been under air attack before, and this was a new experience. He poked his head up, only to have Levin pull him back. He started to demand why, then the Zampolit pointed. Another F-4 was coming in.


“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries, and they're big ones!”

“How big?” Guru asked as a shoulder-fired missile flew a few hundred feet ahead of his nose, and another one flew over the top of the aircraft.

“Big enough!”

“We'll take those, don't you think?” Guru said as he headed north.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she rolled 520 in on the target. She saw the secondaries left in the CO's wake, and picked out some revetments on the east side of the dump that had fuel bladders or simply piles of drums. Kara, too, drew some light flak as she came in, and even a SA-7, but she ignored it. Ready to fry, Ivan? She lined up the revetments in her pipper. “And...And.....HACK!” Hitting the pickle button, Kara sent her dozen Mark-82s down on the fuel depot. She pulled up and away, jinking as she did so. “Two's off target,” she called.


In the foxhole, Colonel Gordunov heard Kara's F-4, then he-and presumably Levin-heard the bombs going off, and felt the concussion. He poked his head up out of the hole to see several large explosions left in the fighter's wake. Cursing, he looked around, and saw several of his soldiers with Strela-3 missiles on their shoulders fire, and then they watched helplessly as their missiles fell short. Then he noticed the Lieutenant who commanded the air defense platoon point to the south. That had to mean more American aircraft coming, and he dropped back into the hole.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted. “Got some secondaries, and they're big ones!

“How big?” Kara asked as she jinked, and saw a missile fly past their left wing.

“Texas sized.”

“That's good enough,” she replied as she turned north, picking up the CO as she did so.


“Three in hot!” Sweaty called as she rolled in. She saw that the secondary target was indeed gone, and adjusted her course slightly to aim for the fuel dump. Both the CO and Kara had left an inferno in their wake, but she saw several fuel tanks that had escaped the carnage, and selected those as her target. Hope you enjoy a Texas barbeque, Sweaty thought as she lined up the tanks in her pipper. Ignoring the 23-mm flak, she drew closer. “Steady....And...And....HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and released her bombs onto the dump. Sweaty pulled wings level and away, accelerating as she did so, and jinking to avoid flak or SAMs. “Three's off safe,” she called.


“What the...” Gordunov said as Sweaty's Phantom came past, and once again, the Americans left explosions in their wake. He poked his head up again, and noticed Levin doing the same thing, and what they saw....the fuel depot was blazing furiously, and the occasional sympathetic detonation of fuel drums or tanks told them that putting that inferno out was going to be a job. How that was done wasn't his problem, but still....Then Levin pointed to the south again. Another American Phantom was coming down. Gordunov didn't need to be told twice, for he ducked back into the hole.


“GOOD HITS!” Preacher shouted from Sweaty's back seat. “Righteous ones!”

Beneath her oxygen mask, Sweaty grinned. “How righteous?” She, too, had a shoulder-fired missile fly past the aircraft, this time on the right side.

“Large and righteous!”

“If it pleases the guy upstairs,” quipped Sweaty as she turned north, picking up Kara's bird as she did.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he rolled in. The other three birds hadn't left much for him to hit, but he didn't get paid for bringing back ordnance. As he came down, he noticed the supply dump's motor pool hadn't been hit, and he lined that area up in his pipper. Even with all the fires and explosions, the flak gunners below hadn't abandoned their posts, for 23-mm fire still came up. Not your day, Ivan., he muttered as the motor pool grew larger in the pipper. “And.....NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button, releasing his Mark-82s. He then pulled up and away, jinking like the others to avoid any flak. “Four off target.”

“Sookin sin...” Son of a bitch, Gordonov muttered as Hoser's F-4 came by, the closest of the four. The bombs went off in the plane's wake, followed by some sympathetic explosions, and this time, he felt some of the heat wash over, even though the depot was several hundred meters away. Was it just thinking it did? No matter. He got up, and Levin came with him.Gordunov surveyed the scene, and saw several trucks in the depot's motor pool had been tossed aside like toys, and were now blackened skeletons. And several human torches came staggering out of the flames, only to collapse on the ground. He turned to Levin, who was clearly shocked by the sight. Then he remembered that the Political Officer had never been in combat before. “Well, Levin?”

“Comrade Commander.....” Levin replied. “Is it always like this?”

“I wouldn't know,” Gordunov said as he shook his head at the destruction. 'The Dushmani don't have an air force.” This had been his first time under air attack. “So, Levin, what do we do now?” He asked, wondering if he'd get some Party blather.

“We can only do our duty, Comrade Commander,” the Zampolit replied.

Gordunov was surprised, but then again, he had an idea that Levin would make a good soldier. “That's all we can do.” He waved his Chief of Staff, Major Dukohnin, over. “Any casualties?”

“None, Comrade Commander, but if those planes return....” said Dukohnin. No more need be said.

“We won't be here. Get the battalion ready to move. And as for those poor bastards,” Gordunov motioned to the inferno. “Tell the garrison in town that's their problem.”

“Right away, Comrade Commander.”


“SHACK!” KT hollered from the back seat. “We got some good hits!”

“How good?” Hoser asked, wincing as a shoulder-fired missile flew by on the right side.

“Good secondaries.”

“Have to take 'em,” Hoser replied as he headed north, and then he picked up his element lead.


Guru heard the call. “All four off target,” he said. “Puncher 304, Corvette Lead. We're headed out.”

“Roger that, Corvette,” Commander Kearny replied, then he calmly added, “I'm hit.”

“Puncher, can you make the Fence?” Guru asked. That meant the FLOT, and also I-20.

“Negative,” Kearny said. “I'm getting out. See you all later.”

Guru and Goalie scanned around, but it was Kara who made the call. “Got him, and there's a chute.”

Then Puncher 307 came up. “Crystal Palace, Puncher 307. Puncher 304 is down, four miles north of the target. Have a visual on a chute.”

“Roger, 307. Will notify Jolly Greens,” the controller replied.

“Puncher 307, Corvette Lead. Join up with us. Nothing you can do for him,” Guru called Lieutenant Patrick.

In her A-7, Patrick didn't want to leave her element lead, but knew that Air Force flight lead was right. Besides, she had no bombs or Shrikes left, and only had 20-mm. “Copy. Puncher 304, this is 307. Can't stay, and good luck.” Then she reluctantly turned north, following the F-4s on their way out.


“That sucks,” Goalie said as the A-7 joined up on the F-4s.

“Always,” Guru replied. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

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

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied as the A-7 joined up with the strike flight. “How long to the Fence?”

“Two minutes,” Goalie called as Proctor Lake flew by on their left.

“Good,” Guru said. Then he did some calculations in his head. Two minutes to the Fence, and the I-20. No way those MiGs would catch them. Then another call came from the AWACS.

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-six-zero for forty. Medium, closing.”

“Copy,” Guru said. “Say bogey dope.”

“Corvette, Crystal Palace. Bandits are Floggers. That meant MiG-23s. “Threat now One-five-five for thirty-five. Stand by....bandits now turning. And going away.”

Guess they don't want a wall of Eagles this morning, Guru thought. “Copy.”

“One minute,” Goalie called. It wasn't long until the twin ribbons of concrete that were I-20 appeared. “And...now.”

“Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” Guru called. Now that they were over friendly territory, having their IFF on was a must. Given how the Army and Marine air-defense pukes acted on occasion.....”Shoot them down and sort them out on the ground,” was their motto.

Once they cleared the Fence, the flight went to the tanker track, and their post-strike refueling. One thing the fighter crews had learned from talking to tanker people, was that it was a heartbreaker sometimes for them to refuel a flight going in, then when that same flight came out, minus one or two aircraft.....and they never asked what happened to the missing birds. It was a cardinal rule, and strictly enforced.

The flight then headed to Sheppard, and got into the traffic pattern. Once the outbound strike birds had cleared, and two inbound ones had gone before them, and then the morning C-141, it was Corvette Flight's turn. After they landed, the crews taxied to their respective dispersals, and as the F-4s taxied, canopies popped, the crews saw the news crew filming, as usual. “Well, no surprise there,” Guru said.

“She upset you're flying General Olds before her?”

“Kinda,” Guru replied. “But Kara's actually taking her up. I'll have the cameraman.”

Goalie grinned in the back seat, oxygen mask off. “Kara going to get her airsick?”

“That's the idea.”

Then the Phantoms got to the dispersal, and found their revetments. After taxiing into his, Guru got the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief, and the ground crew put the wheel chocks into place. He shut down the engines, then he and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist. The ground crew brought the crew ladder, and both pilot and GIB took off their helmets and climbed down. “One and done,” Guru said.

“And three more, plus our ride with General Olds,” Goalie nodded as a ground crewer brought her and Guru bottles of water.

“That's about it,” Guru replied as he took his bottle and promptly drained half of it.

“Sir?” Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, asked. “How's my bird, and how'd you guys do?”

“Five-twelve's working like a champ,” the CO said. “Whatever you're doing, don't change it.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley was beaming at that.

“And the fuel dump we hit?” Goalie added. “Went sky-high.”

“Good to hear that, Lieutenant,” Crowley said. “Major, we'll get her ready for the next one.”

The CO nodded. “Good man, Sergeant. Get her ready to go.”

Crowley smiled. “You got it, Major! All right, you heard the man! Let's get this bird ready for the next one.”

Guru and Goalie nodded, then headed to the revetment entrance. Kara and Brainiac were there already, waiting. “Well, how'd you guys do?” Guru asked.

“Big secondaries, and you had some,” Kara said, and Brainiac nodded.

“What happened to that A-7? Goalie asked.

“Good question,” Sweaty said as she came up with Preacher, with Hoser and KT right behind them. “No radar warning.”

“I'd like to know myself,” Guru said as Sin Licon, the SIO, came over. “Sin,”

“Major,” Licon said. “Heard about the A-7. VA-135's Intel is talking with the wingmate right now. She doesn't know what happened.”

Guru shook his head. “And we don't either. No indication on the RWR, nada. And no basketball-sized tracers, in case you're wondering.”

The intel nodded. “Could be anything, Major. Shoulder-fired missile, heavy SAM with optical backup, IR missile from a vehicle-like an SA-9 or -13....”

“Or flak,” Kara said.

“Or flak.”

“Okay,” Guru said, getting back to business. “Debrief in when?”

“Fifteen, sir. Have to talk to the XO's flight first. They got in ahead of you.”

“All right, then. Get out of your gear, and briefing room in fifteen. We debrief, then check your desks, because in an hour, we're back at it,” Guru said.

Kara nodded, then a grin came over her. “Then we fly with General Olds.”

“That we do,” Goalie said.

“Boss, can we come with you?” Sweaty asked, and Hoser, Preacher, and KT nodded. 'If you run into those F-20 guys, it's more of a fair fight.”

“She's right,” Kara pointed out.

Guru thought for a moment, then nodded, and he had a grin come over his face. “I like it. You guys can tag along, and if we do run into those F-20 jocks? We all get to teach them a thing or two.”

“Love to,” Sweaty grinned.

“First things first,” Guru reminded them. “Let's debrief, then get ready for the next one.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part XVII: The next mission, and the 335th people get set to crash the F-20s (they hope)...


335th TFS: 0850 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser was in his office, and was glad to see one particlular item of paperwork cross his desk. Supply had come through-for once, and the two horizontal stabilizers for Kerry Collins' shot-up bird would be arriving tomorrow. Good: the sooner that bird was fixed, the squadron would have twenty-two birds flying, and he'd finally be able to form two new crews with the extra people he already had. The CO was mentally deciding on some tentative crew assignments when there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come in!”

Jana Wendt, the reporter attached to the squadron, came in. '”Bad time, Major?”

“Not at all,” Guru said. “Always time for the Fourth Estate. What can I do for you?” He was recalling the directives from Tenth Air Force about dealing with the news media, and one of those said, “Be polite and reasonable.”

“Just letting you know: your interview airs in Sydney tomorrow night, Texas time, and the following night? On CBS.”

“Took long enough,” the CO said. “Network being slow?”

The reporter shrugged. “They didn't tell me, Though they were more interested in the report we did during that air raid,” Wendt said, referring to a Soviet air strike on Sheppard, when the reporter and crew had disdained the shelters, and had caught some of the raid on tape.

“And let me guess: you were upset you weren't live?”

“You're right, Major. I did go on the air about an hour later, but they wanted a full report on the raid. Apart from some submarine activity, and Spetsnatz?”

Guru nodded. “That's the term. Soviet Special Forces. They're the meanest and toughest killers Ivan has.”

“Okay, thanks. Apart from that, and the subs, Australia hasn't seen much of the war. Just what we see on the news,” Wendt said. “Same for New Zealand.”

The CO understood. “Just as long as they liked the show.”

“They did,” Ms. Wendt grinned. “So, you getting ready for another go?”

“Almost time,” Guru said. “Southeast Asia wasn't like this, they say. One, maybe two missions 'Up North', a day. If you were in South Vietnam? You might get three or four.”

Wendt nodded. “And from what General Olds told me in his interview? Hanoi was the most heavily defended airspace in history, even more than Berlin was, and he says this can be as bad.”

'In some areas, yeah. But talk to the guys who fly for SAC into Russia. At least here? If we go down, we have a chance either for a rescue or joining up with the Resistance. There? If you go down, you are either dead or in a Gulag,” Guru reminded the reporter.

“I may just do that, when my time here's done,” Ms. Wendt said. “If, that is, they'll let them talk to the media.”

Guru knew what she was talking about. SAC did publicize its missions into Russia, but it was still cautious about what it let the crews discuss with the media. “For good reason.” Then there was another knock. '”Yeah?”

Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, the Squadron Maintenance Officer, came in. “Boss, we're getting to work on Kerry's bird. All we're missing is the two stabilizers.”

“Get what you can done. Because those stabilizers are due in tomorrow. And yeah, I know, it's a three-day job,” Guru said, handing the maintenance officer the paper he had scanned. “Ms. Wendt, you didn't hear that.”

“Hear what?” She replied, and the two officers grinned.

“Good to know you can be deaf when necessary,” Guru said, and the trio laughed.


After the reporter and the Maintenance Officer had left, the Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss,”

“Mark,” Guru said, “Whatcha got for me?”

“First, Ross came through on the stabilizers,” the Exec said.

Guru handed him the paper he'd shown Kerry Collins. “Supply, for once, beat him to it. Be here tomorrow.”

“Must be our lucky day,” Ellis replied. “Supply on their tails for once.”

“Just hope that when I kick Frank out of the squadron, he doesn't wind up there,” the CO reminded the Exec. “That's the only problem with transferring him out: I'd be inflicting him on a fellow officer who'd be wondering what he'd done to deserve Frank showing up.”

“Collateral damage, I'd say.”

“General Olds said the exact same thing,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, speaking of Frank, he's filed another complaint. Seems he overheard some of us talking about either enlisting our mascot or making him an honorary Captain.” Ellis handed the CO a paper. “As if he's got other things to worry about.”

“Like SA-11s or MiG-29s showing up,” deadpanned Guru. “You know where to put that BS,” He nodded towards the office shredder.

Ellis took the paper and fed it into the office shredder. “What'd the reporter want to know?”

“Just letting me know that the interview that she did with me and Goalie airs in Sydney tomorrow, our time, and on CBS the day after that.”

“Well, now, looks like you two get your fifteen minutes of fame on two continents,” the XO said.

“And the GRU adds that to the files they have on the two of us in Moscow,” Guru reminded him. “Every officer commissioned prewar has a file on them at GRU headquarters, in all likelihood. And that includes you.”

“It does.”

“Okay, anything else?”

The XO shook his head. “That's it.”

Just then, Kara came in. “Boss, we've got a mission.”

Guru stood up. “And we have someplace to be. Round everybody up. Briefing Room in ten.”

“I'm gone,” Kara replied. She ran out the office door.

“Good luck, Boss,” Ellis said. “Not ready to be CO yet.”

“And I'm not ready to break in Don as Exec.”


The CO went to the Ops Office, and found the Ops Officer waiting. “Major,” Capt. Don Van Loan said.

“Don,” Guru replied. “What have you got for me?”

Van Loan handed the CO a briefing packet. “Going back to the East German sector. Stephenville Municipal Airport. Not only is it supporting chopper and transport ops, but Su-25s are staging through it again.”

Guru scanned the summary. “We've hit this place before.”

“Yeah, and so have the A-6s and F-111s. They keep bringing it back online. You're going as a four-ship, and no Weasels.”

“Let me guess: the Weasels are all busy.” It wasn't a question from the CO's viewpoint.

“Right you are, Boss.” Van Loan replied.

Guru nodded. “Okay, Don. Oh, I need to file a flight plan with MAG-11 Ops.” Van Loan handed the CO the form, and he quickly filled out the form. “Right after we get back from this one. I want my flight turned around-fuel and any air-to-air ordnance expended replaced. We're taking General Olds on his 'Check ride.'”

“Going to hassle with those F-20s?”

“Something like that,” the CO grinned. “Teach those young punks a lesson.”

Van Loan winced at that. “Well, I've flown with those 'young punks.' They're good. Remember what you keep saying about overconfidence?”

“I know. But, when one of those young punks-either Clancy or Pruitt-declares the F-20 'Greatest since the P-51'?” Asked the CO. “Somebody's got to teach them a lesson on overconfidence.”

“And it might just as well be you and General Olds.”

“You got it.” Guru let out an evil-looking grin.

“Well, good luck on the mission, and the, uh, 'check ride,” Said van Loan.

“Thanks.”


Guru went to his flight's briefing room, and found Buddy there, sitting by the door. The CO opened the door, and the dog went in ahead of him. Then he entered, and found the rest of his flight there. “Folks, we've got a visitor,” he nodded to the dog. “And we've got a mission.”

“Where to?” Sweaty asked.

“Someplace we've been before. Stephenville Municipal Airport,” Guru said. “We've hit it a couple of times, and the F-111s or A-6s have as well. But the East Germans are tough, because they keep getting it back operational.”

Kara nodded. “So what's flying from there?” She wanted to know, and others nodded as well.

“Choppers, for one thing, along with light transports like the An-24 or -26, and the L-410. And Su-25s have been staging through there,” replied the CO. “So we get to put it out of action for a couple of days.”

“Ingress route?” Goalie asked. Since she was the lead navigator, it was a natural question to ask.

Guru showed the route, using a TPC chart and a JOG map. “We follow the Brazos River, staying in the Nicaraguan sector until we hit Lake Whitney. Turn west, and pass the town of Meridan, here,” the CO said, tapping with a pen. “Go west to Hico, then turn north and follow U.S. 281. Pop-up point is five miles south of town. We pull up, hit the target, then get your asses north as quick as you can.”

“Sounds good,” Hoser said. “Defenses?”

“Two 57-mm batteries, and those have been hit by CBUs, so they may, and I do emphasize may, not have a full compliment of guns. There's also two 23-mm batteries, and MANPADS. This is also in the East German Army-level formation's rear, so SA-4s are around.”

There were several scowls at that. “Nice, Boss,” KT said. “We getting any Weasels?”

“Nope, just us,” Guru said. “We stay low, use our ECM pods, and that should take care of Mr. SA-4. The MiG threat is still the same from this morning, by the way.”

“Just about to ask,” Kara said. “But you did mention helos?”

The CO nodded. “Hips and possible Hinds.”

“A kill's a kill,” Brainiac, Kara's WSO, said, grinning. They were always looking to add to their kill sheet.

“Don't go out of your way, though,” the CO said firmly. “Remember what I said about flak traps.”

“Got it,” Kara said.

“Good,” the CO said. “Make sure you do. Now, ordnance load and specific aimpoints. Element leads get a dozen Rockeye CBUs. Wingmates get a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes. I'll take the northern ramp area, Sweaty? You take the south.”

Sweaty nodded. “We'll get 'em, Boss.”

“Do that. Kara? You walk your bombs across the hangars. I know, they got taken out last time, but Ivan or Franz just cleared the wreckage, put new frames up, and lined them with corrugated metal. And bingo! Instant hangar.”

Brainiac looked at Kara, who nodded. “We'll take them out.”

“Okay, Hoser? I hate to leave a runway intact, but what good's a working runway if there's no fuel?” He tapped on a photo of the target. “Fuel dump's to the east of the runway. It's yours.”

Hoser and KT looked at each other and nodded. “Will do, Boss,”

“All right. We'll have the usual air-to-air load: four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, and we are getting Fs next week, by the way. Two wing tanks, full cannon load, and ALQ-119 pods for the leads, and -101s for the wingies,” Guru said. “Bailout areas: same as usual. Anywhere rural and away from roads.”

Kara nodded. “And after that, we take General Olds up on his 'Check ride.'”

“We do. We'll do a quick debrief and a combat turnaround, get the General geared up and ready, then we go.”

“Sounds good,” Sweaty grinned.

“One mission at a time, people!” The CO reminded them. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Then let's gear up. We all have somewhere to be.” As he gathered the briefing materials, Guru noticed the dog, curled up on the floor and fast asleep. “Let's hope he's like Roscoe.”

“What do you mean by that?” KT asked.

Goalie explained the story of Roscoe, the Korat mascot during the long war in SEA. “They said that if he slept through a briefing, it was an easy ride. If he woke up or paid attention? It was going to be a bad one.”

After turning in the briefing material, Guru went to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. When he came out, Goalie was there, geared up and ready. “You ready?”

“Time to fly,” she grinned. “And let's hope Buddy's the same as Roscoe.”

“You, me, and everyone else,” the CO said.

As Pilot and GIB left the office, the dog followed, but when they left the lawn, the dog sat down, as if waiting. “Good omen?” Guru asked.

“Ought to be,” Goalie replied.


CO and GIB walked to the dispersal area, and found the rest of the flight waiting at the revetment for the CO's bird, 512. “Okay, gather 'round,” Guru said. He was giving his final instructions.

“Usual procedures on the radio,” Kara said. It wasn't a question.

“Right you are.” That meant mission code to AWACS and other interested parties, but call signs between them.

“So, after this one, we get to eat some Tigersharks,” Hoser asked.

The CO frowned, then said, “One mission at a time, and remember about complacency,” he reminded them. “But.....when someone like Clancy or Pruitt-or both-declares the F-20 'Greatest since the P-51', then they need to be cut down to size.”

Kara grinned. “And we're the ones to do that.”

“Exactly,” Guru replied. “Focus on what's next, then we teach those young punks a lesson. Anything else?” Heads shook no. The CO clapped his hands. “All right! Let's go get 'em. Meet at ten grand overhead. Time to hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and found 512's Crew Chief, Staff Sergeant Crowley, waiting. “Major, Lieutenant?” Crowley asked, snapping a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said, returning the salute, as did Goalie. Pilot and GIB did their walk-around, then the CO signed for the aircraft. Then they mounted the aircraft, and the ground crew helped them get strapped in, while the crew donned their helmets and plugged in their oxygen masks and radio headsets. Then it was time for the preflight checklist.

As they went through it, Goalie said, “This one reminds me of what they told us at the Academy about strikes like ROLLING THUNDER. Hit a target, then you find out the Viets went out and repaired it, and a few days later, you hit it again.”

“Cycle repeats,” Guru acknowledged. He'd heard the same thing in OTS and in fighter training.

“It does,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours. Arnie and INS?”

“All set,” replied Goalie. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

Guru replied, “Roger that.” He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave him the “Start Engines” signal in return. Guru hit the engine starters, and first, one, then two, J-79 engines were up and running. When the warm-up was complete, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Flight rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who signaled to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the wheels. Then Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal, and Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment. Once clear, Crowley snapped a salute, then gave another thumbs-up.

Pilot and GIB returned the salute, then Guru taxied to the runway, with the rest of the flight following. When they got to the holding area, there was a Marine F-4 flight and a Navy A-7 flight ahead of them. But before the Marines could taxi, four F-20s came in to land. “Yeager's people coming back.”

“Remind me to find out when they leave,” Guru said. “I have an idea about maybe running them out of gas, or jumping them just before they're BINGO on fuel.”

In the back seat, Goalie grinned. “You can be a sneaky bastard.”

“Got to be one when I was Exec.” Guru said as he watched the F-20s taxi off, then the Marines taxied onto the runway, then they took off. Then the Navy A-7As went, then it was their turn. In the holding area, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, and that meant their ordnance was now live. Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting clear for taxi and takeoff.”

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

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A final cockpit check, then a glance at Kara and Brainiac in their Five O'clock. They gave a thumbs-up to 512's crew, and it was returned. Time. “Tower, Corvette 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,” Goalie said as she closed and locked her canopy.

“Got it,” Guru replied, pulling his own canopy down and locked. A quick glance at 520 showed Kara's bird ready. “All set?”

“Let's go,” Goalie replied.

“Then let's do it,” Guru said. He firewalled the throttles forward, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty's element. The flight met up at FL 100, then headed south for the tanker track.


Over Central Texas: 1015 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was headed south, following the Brazos River, in the Nicaraguan sector. One thing that everyone noticed was that this time, the Nicaraguan AAA gunners on the east side of the river were more active than usual. This morning, instead of not shooting at all as the strike flight passed the first bridge at Granbury, the Nicaraguan gunners had opened fire, but only after the F-4s had passed the bridge. Something had stirred them up, and the crews were wondering what had happened. “Something's got them fired up-pardon the pun-this morning,” Guru said after passing the Granbury bridge.

“Yeah, and I'd like to know what,” Goalie replied. “Thirty seconds to Lake Granbury Dam. One minute to the U.S. 67 bridge.”

“Got it,” said Guru. “Flight, Lead. Watch for flak at the dam up ahead.” He then added, “Music on.” That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

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

“Dam ahead,” Goalie called, and sure enough, the dam appeared, with bursts of flak coming. With the windy path of the Brazos, staying on the East side wasn't always possible, and ironically, the easiest way to avoid the AAA was to cut across a point where the river went to the east,and then turned back, which meant the East German sector. Despite the flak, the strike flight cleared the dam, then got back into the Nicaraguan sector. “Dam's clear.”

“Roger that!” Guru snapped.

“Thirty seconds to U.S. 67,” Goalie called.

“Got it.” Guru glanced at his RWR. Still clear. “Bridge in sight.” Again, puffs of flak-both 37-mm and 57-mm, appeared, and as the flight flew past, there was a convoy on the bridge. “One reason they're shooting.”

Goalie nodded in the back seat. “Looks that way,” she observed. “Fifteen seconds to the Brazospoint Bridge, then one minute to the Route 174 Bridge.”

“Copy.” Guru had his head on a swivel, keeping his eyes peeled for threats, checking his instruments, and doing the same with his RWR. “And Brazospoint coming up.”

It may have been a small bridge, but it was still defended, and the flak gunners opened up as the strike birds flew by. As 512 flew on, Goalie glanced back, and saw the gunners still shooting. That meant they were now in the Libyan AOR. “One minute to 174, and those are Libyans down there.”

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

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-six-five for sixty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-two, for seventy-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-nine-one for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru called. “ETA to the 174 Bridge?”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied. “Watch for the Libyans shooting.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Bridge in sight. And they're shooting from both sides,” he calmly added.

As the strike flight overflew the bridge, not only did the AAA open up, but the crews noticed a convoy of trucks and some APCs crossing the bridge. And those on the bridge opened up as well with machine guns and small arms.

“Libyans being Libyans,” Goalie noted.

“As usual,” Guru replied. He was referring to the Libyan habit of shooting at anything that flew, and the gunners acted as if someone would outlaw the practice in the next ten minutes. Fortunately, the strike flight flew past, and as GIBs glanced backwards, the flak was still coming up. “Next turn point?”

“Over the lake. One minute,” Goalie called. She was not only using the ARN-101 DMAS, but also the INS, as well as old-fashioned dead reckoning.

“Copy,” Guru said.

The strike flight headed south, and quickly the Brazos River became Lake Whitney. Unknown to the aircrews, there were locals fishing the lake, hoping to catch some fish to supplement what the occupiers' ration quota allowed. And several of the fishermen and -women waved to the F-4s as they flew by.

“Turn point in fifteen,” Goalie called from the back seat. “And ten....five, four, three, two, one, NOW!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, which put him and the rest of the flight headed for the town of Meridian. “Meridan next stop.”

“One minute thirty,” Goalie said.

Guru nodded in his cockpit, then glanced at his RWR. A search radar to the south was up and looking for them. Probably a Red AWACS. “Flight, lead. Verify you've got Music on.” He checked his ECM pod and saw that it was going.

“Two, on,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

“Meridian coming up,” called Goalie.”Thirty seconds.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. Then the town appeared. “No flak,”

Goalie reminded him with the operative word. “Yet.”

In Meridian, the local garrison, which was Nicaraguan in this case, had been reinforced with a detachment of Soviet MVD troops. Ostensibly for rear-area security, the MVD was also watching the watchers, as some of the locals wryly observed. Relations between the two allies were tense, with the Nicaraguans content to leave the locals alone, as long as no one from the garrison was wounded or killed, while the Soviets-mainly Uzbeks and Tartars from Central Asia were more eager to show who was boss, and not just to the local population, but also the Nicaraguans' garrison.

At the City Hall, a Nicaraguan Major came out of the Mayor's office, and he was not in a good mood. The Soviets were a big problem, and there was word that regular Soviet Army units were on their way, with everything that entailed, including KGB troops for traffic control. Then the local PSD officer was insistent that the Major round up several civilians for suspected “Counterrevolutionary Activity,” and the Major was reluctant to do so. He argued that doing such things would stir up Resistance activities, and so far, things were quiet. The Major then went down to the ground floor and went outside to get a breath of fresh air. A University professor in civilian life, he wondered what he was doing in this place called Texas. Of course, Nicaragua had to mobilize to fend off what the President said was a threatened Yanqui invasion, and then to help their Mexican brothers throw off the PRI yoke and bring about socialism, but going to war with America? No doubt, some of his former students had been called to the colors, and were either fighting at the front, wounded, dead, or in some American POW Camp, and the thought of those who enjoyed English Literature either in a grave on foreign soil or in a hospital back home, maimed, disturbed him.

His thoughts were interrupted when there was cheering from the civilians on the streets, as four F-4 Phantoms came over. Some of the civilians waved to the aircraft, and they waggled their wings in return. That PSD swine would probably want some of those who had cheered or waved shot, and he was not going to allow that. Shaking his head, he went back into the City Hall, and waved for a Captain and two soldiers to follow. Maybe an “accidental discharge of a weapon” into that PSD man was a good idea.


“That's Meridian,” Guru said after waggling his wings. “Hico next?”

“Affirmative,” Goalie replied. “One minute twenty-five,” she added.

“Copy that.” Guru looked at his RWR display. That Red AWACS was still there. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say closest threat.”

The reply came back at once. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing Two-zero-two for fifty-eight. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied. “Say Bogey Dope?”

“Corvette, bandits are Fishbeds.” That meant MiG-21s. And probably East Germans, too.

“Copy.”

Goalie chimed in. “Forty-five seconds.” That meant the town of Hico and their next turn point.

“Got it.”

The hills and plains flew past as the strike flight headed west, generally following State Route 6. It wasn't long until they got to Hico. “Hico coming up,” Goalie advised.

“Got it. Turn in when?” Guru asked as the town got closer.

“Five, four, three, two, one, and MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a hard right turn, then headed north, and the rest of the flight followed.


In Hico, an East German supply convoy was just entering the town. It had been a long trip from the Port of Corpus Christi, and though there had been warnings of activity from either the counterrevolutionary bandits who called themselves the American Resistance, or from the Imperialists' own Special Forces, there had been no serious incidents-and the convoy commander was glad to be nearing his destination was few casualties or lost cargoes. the convoy approached the town called Hico, along Route 281, there was a sight that brought a chill to the East German Major. For four Ami F-4 Phantoms overflew the town, then turned north towards Stephenville. In his truck, the Major looked at his driver, who shrugged. At least we're not being attacked, the Major thought.

“Time to target?” Guru asked Goalie.

“One minute,” she replied. “Set 'em up?”

“Good girl,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, forty-five seconds to pull.”

The others acknowledged, then Goalie came back on the IC. “All set. We're good to go.”

“Roger that,' Guru acknowledged. “Call time to pull.”

“Thirty seconds.””

Stephenville grew closer in the windscreen. A quick glance at the RWR display showed the SA-4s still quiet. And the Soviet-manned SA-2 site was still off the air. Hopefully. “Target coming up.”

“Pull in ten,” Goalie said. “And, five, four, three, two....And....PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and climbed. Their navigation had been right on the ball, for there was the airport, below and to the right. As he climbed, the radars-both gun and missle-came up. Guru then decided to play a trick. “Coors One-Four, MAGNUM”! A few seconds later, the radars all dropped off.
He turned and lined up on the target. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight, and let's go in.”

“All set back here,” Goalie said on the IC.

“Good girl,” Guru replied. “Hold on and let's go.” He rolled in on his run.

At Stephenville City Hall, the garrison commander had actually been breathing a sigh of relief. General Metzler, the Commander of the “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxumbourg”, had gone forward to the front, and had taken the insufferable Party man with him. Though the general was respected as a combat commander, the Political Officer was only good for spouting the latest Party line from East Berlin and not much else, and the Colonel who was now in command wasn't alone in feeling that way. Then the attitude of the local population was also an issue, as any fool could see that the fighting to the north was going bad for the Socialist Forces, and it was evident to anyone but said fool that the local population was waiting eagerly for the U.S. Army's return. It didn't help matters that the local PSD representative was now the fourth man to hold the position, as his three predecessors had met unpleasant ends (one had been shot in his car, another's home had a bomb planted inside, and the third was killed when his car ran over a roadside bomb), and the man was getting on everyone's nerves, even the garrison-who were recalled Frontier Troops, and many were hoping that the PSD swine would meet a violent end himself.

Now, in his office, the Colonel was talking with the Mayor, and it was an open secret in the town that the man was working for the Resistance. Thus far, there had been very little activity by the counterrevolutionary bandits, and both the Colonel and the Mayor wanted to keep things calm. However, the Colonel didn't know that the Mayor was biding his time, and waiting. They were discussing a plan to increase food rations for the Americans' Thanksgiving Holiday and Christmas when the air raid sirens began sounding. Both the Colonel and the Mayor went to the office window and saw the first anti-aircraft fire. “What in Himmel....”

“Looks like the Air Force is coming in again,” the Mayor observed.

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called He ignored the flak coming up, and was glad to see that the SAM radars that had come up had gone off when he gave his phony “Magnum” call. Good. And if you catch on and a real Weasel's around? You'll eat a HARM....Guru lined up the northern ramp in his pipper and watched it grow as he approached his release point. He lined up a couple of Mi-8 helos and what looked like a Let-410 transport in the pipper. You'll do, Franz.....A SA-7 type missile flew past, but Guru ignored it, as he got ready. “Steady...Steady...And....NOW!” He hit the pickle button, releasing his Rockeye CBUs onto the ramp area. He pulled up and leveled off, jinking as he did so to avoid flak and any missiles. “Lead's off target.”

Both the Colonel and the Mayor watched as Guru's F-4 made its run, and they saw the CBUs going off To the Colonel, it looked like a thousand firecrackers going off on the ground, then there were three larger explosions as clearly, some of those bomblets had found targets. But what happened at the airport wasn't his responsibility, as the Air Force was in charge there. Then a second F-4 came in.

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

“How many?” Guru asked as 23-mm tracers flew past the aircraft, as did a MANPADS. Somebody's pissed off, he thought.

“Three big ones,” she replied.

That meant those two helos and the transport. Good. “Three ground kills. Time to boogie out of here.” He set course due north for the I-20.

“Two in hot!” Kara called as she went on her run. The hangars were her target, and she saw the CO go on his run, and the secondaries that followed. Good job, Boss, she thought as she lined up the southern hangars in her pipper, intending to walk her dozen Mark-82s across all three hangars. Ignoring the 23-mm and 57-mm flak coming up, she centered the pipper on the hangar in question and noted what looked like a Hind helicopter parked in front of one, and its rotors had just started turning. Your turn, she said to herself. “Steady....And....And....HACK!” Kara hit her pickle button, walking her Mark-82s across the hangar area. She pulled up and level, jinking to avoid the flak. “Two's off safe.”

“DAMMT!” The Colonel said as Kara's F-4 flew past, leaving explosions and pieces of hangars flying in its wake. He looked out around the building, and saw that many of the locals were on the streets, watching and cheering. He turned to the Mayor, who shrugged. Then the Colonel noticed a third Phantom coming in.

“SHACK!” Yelled Brainiac from 520's back seat. “Got some secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Kara asked as a large missile, an SA-4 most likely was fired, but the big missile flew over the aircraft by at least a hundred feet and much to her relief, it didn't go off. Probably too close to the launcher....

“Big and good!” Brainiac called. He, too, had noticed the missile, and breathed a sigh of relief as the SA-4 kept on going.

“I'll take those.” Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask as she picked up first the CO's smoke trail, then his bird.


Three's in!” Sweaty called as she rolled in on her run. She saw the results of Kara's run, and even saw the Hind blowing up. There were still a couple of helos on the ramp, and what looked like a pair of Su-25s. Good, she thought, even though one of the Frogfoots began to move. Not your day, Ivan or Franz....Ignoring the flak, she lined up the southern ramp in her pipper, centering one of the Frogfoots. “And...Steady....And....HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, releasing her dozen Rockeye CBUs onto the ramp area. She, too, pulled up and away, jinking to avoid the flak as she did. “Three's off target,” she called.

At City Hall, the Colonel shook his head. “Of all the....” he muttered as Sweaty's F-4 made its run, leaving the CBUs going off in its wake, and at least one larger explosion as well. And both he and the Mayor could hear the cheering as that fireball climbed. Then he glanced to the south, and saw another F-4 coming in....Please, let this one be the last.

“SHACK!” Preacher shouted in the back seat.

“Good hits?” Sweaty asked as a line of 23-mm tracers passed above the aircraft.

“Great ones!” The ex-seminary student said. “You might have gotten that Frogfoot.”

“I'll take a ground kill if you will,” joked Sweaty as she headed north.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in for his run. He saw the explosions at the ramp area, and noticed one Su-25 burning, but that a second one had taxied clear and was going for the runway. If only Dave and Flossy were with us, he thought as he lined up the fuel dump in his pipper. Hoser, too, ignored the flak as the fuel dump grew larger in his pipper. A quick glance at the runway showed the Su-25 getting ready to take off. He closed off that thought as he concentrated on the bomb run. “And....Steady....And....HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button and sent his twelve Mark-82s against the fuel dump. He pulled up and away, and like the others, jinking to avoid the flak and any SAMs. “Four's off target,” Hoser called.

“GOTT IN HIMMEL!” Shouted the Colonel as Hoser's F-4 finished its run, and the resulting explosions showed what the target had been, for several fuel-fed explosions followed in the Phantom's wake. He turned to the Mayor, who was trying to conceal a smile, and he heard the cheering outside his office window. And deep down, he didn't blame these people for doing so. Shaking his head, the Colonel and the Mayor resumed their conversation.

“GREAT HITS!” KT shouted. “You got the fuel dump!”

“How many secondaries?” Hoser asked as some 23-mm tracers flew by harmlessly.

KT was grinning beneath her oxygen mask. “How many do you want?”

“Too many to count's good enough,” replied Hoser. He glanced back and saw the Su-25 just climbing out from the runway. No way, Ivan. He turned north, picking up Sweaty's bird and following his element lead out.

“Whoo-hoo!” Guru said as he took a quick glance to the rear. He could see the fuel dump going up.

“Fuel dump?” Goalie asked.

“Hoser got it,” Guru replied. Now, they weren't flying for Uncle Sam, they were flying for themselves. “Time to I-20?”

“One minute forty-five,” was the reply.

“Lead, Four,” Hoser called. “A Frogfoot got off after I made my run. Can't see him.”

“Roger that, Four,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Pick up your visual scanning. See if he's behind us.” Even a ground-attack bird like the Su-25 could ruin your day, for they carried AA-8 Aphid AAMs for self-defense, and still had two 30-mm cannon. Not good under the right circumstances. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threat.”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-nine-one for thirty. Medium, closing. Second threat...stand by one.” The controller paused, then picked up. “Second threat bearing one-eight-zero for ten. Low, steady.”

“That'll be the Frogfoot,” Goalie commented.

“It would,” Guru said. And he knew they could outrun him. “Crystal Palace, can you have a reception committee if he gets closer?”

“Copy that, Corvette,” the controller replied. “Bandits at One-nine-one for twenty-five. Medium, closing. Bandits are Fishbeds.”

“Copy,” Guru said.

“One minute to I-20,” Goalie added.

The AWACS called up a flight of F-16s. “Puncher Three-one, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-seven-eight for thirty. Medium, closing. Kill. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm, clear to fire.”

“Roger that!” A female voice came over the frequency. “Puncher Three-one copies.”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. That meant the I-20. Just then, the F-4 crews saw four F-16s pass overhead, heading south.

“Go get some,” Kara muttered in her cockpit. Oh, for another dogfight and another Red Star on the side of 520. Maybe next time, she knew.

Goalie checked her navigation in 512's rear seat. “Thirty seconds,” she called.

“Got it,” Guru replied. Then the F-16s came over the radio as they waded into the MiG-21s. Two of the East Germans went down, then one of the F-16s, then one more East German, with the surviving MiG running for his base.

“Puncher Three-four is down,” Three-one called. “Good chute.”

“Roger, Puncher Three-one,” AWACS called. “Will notify Jollys.” That meant the Jolly Greens, the CSAR choppers.

“Damn it,” Guru growled as he heard the fight.

“Can't win them all,” Goalie reminded him. “I-20 dead ahead.”

The twin ribbons of Interstate appeared, with Army supply convoys moving in both directions, and this time, the strike flight's egress route was away from the I-20 bridges over the Brazos, with their attendant I-HAWK SAM sites. And those pukes, everyone knew, had the “shoot them down and sort them out on the ground later,” attitude. “Crossing the Fence,” Guru called. “We're clear.”

“Good,” Goalie said. Then she gave the course for the tanker track over Mineral Wells.

The flight formed up and headed for the tankers, with both KC-10s and KC-135s in their orbits, and protected by F-15s and F-16s. Ivan had tried on numerous occasions to get at the tankers, and had failed for the most part. Though every once in a while, someone got lucky, and a KC-135 became a very big fireball.

After the refueling, the flight headed back to Sheppard. When they got into the pattern, it was full, as both outbound and inbound flights were making the base very busy. Guru checked the outbound flights to see if the F-20s were among them, and he was disappointed that they were not. After landing, they taxied in, and as usual, the news crew was filming. “Don't they ever stop?” Guru asked.

“You must be joking,” Goalie said.

“Somebody will use the footage, I guess,” Guru replied. Then they taxied into the squadron's dispersal, and found the F-20s still in their revetments. But everyone noticed the ground crews beginning to clear, and it was obvious: the F-20s were getting ready to depart. Good. Then the flight found their own revetments and taxied in. When Guru taxied 512 into its revetment and shut down, he let out a sigh of relief. “That's done.”

“And we're going after the F-20s next,” Goalie reminded him.

“That we are,” Guru said as he popped his canopy and Goalie did the same. “Business before pleasure, though.” They went through the post-flight checklist, then the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Pilot and GIB stood in their cockpits and stretched, then climbed down. A ground crewmember offered both bottles of water, and they gratefully accepted.

“Major, my bird come back without a scratch?” Sergeant Crowley asked. Crew Chiefs never hesitated to remind crews that the crew chief “owned” the aircraft, and the crew merely borrowed it.

“She's doing fine, Sergeant,” said Guru. The CO did a quick walk-around, then nodded. “You do know about the, uh, 'Check ride” for General Olds?”

His Crew Chief nodded back. “Yes, sir. Captain Van Loan told me and the other Chiefs. Fifteen minute turnaround, Major.”

“Don't waste anymore time, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Let's get her ready to skin those Tigersharks.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley beamed. “All right, people! Get the CO's bird ready to fly.”

Pilot and GIB walked to the entrance of the revetment, and found a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup there, with not just Sin Licon, the SIO, but also Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, and General Olds with Chief Ross and the news crew. And the mascot, Buddy. They noticed that General Olds was already in full flight gear. “General,” Guru said. “Guess you're ready to go.”

“I am, Major,” Olds said as the rest of the flight came over. “First things first, though: your Intel wants a debrief,”

“Then let's get it over with,” Guru said as Kara came up.

“Boss, I think you got a couple of helos and a Let-410 on your run,” she said. “Saw the secondaries as we rolled in.”

“I think everybody got a ground kill or two on this one,” Sweaty chimed in. “All but Hoser, that is.”

Hoser and KT shrugged. “Better luck next time,” Hoser said.

“Let's get this done, please,” said Licon. They went over the mission, and just as they were wrapping up, the F-20s began taxiing out.

Guru noticed that, and checked his watch. He hit the stopwatch function. “Okay, they've got forty-five minutes' endurance from wheels up. I want to catch them when they're maybe two, three minutes shy of Ms. Betty bitching 'Bingo fuel.'”

Olds knew the tactic. “Major, you want to teach them something about fuel management, among other things, I take it?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” replied the CO. “People, treat these guys like they're MiG-21s. Keep the fight in the vertical if at all possible. Don't turn with them.”

The rest of the crews recognized that at once. “Keep it in the vertical,” Kara said. It wasn't a question.”

General Olds nodded. “You're right on that, Captain. Go high, go low, but do not turn with them. Keep things in the vertical if at all possible.”

“They've also got all-aspect Sidewinders,” Van Loan reminded them. “Keep that in mind as you go.”

“Noted, Don,” Guru said. “Did they join with a tanker when you were with them?”

The Ops Officer shook his head. “Negative on that, Boss. Tankers were all busy.”

“Okay...” the CO thought aloud. “I'll talk to the AWACS. See if those punks did ask for a vector to a tanker. If they did, we wait a few, then go in. If not...”

Kara grinned. “Ducks on the pond.”

“Be careful, Captain,” Olds said. “Overconfidence, even in DACT, is a bad thing, Be aware of that.”

“Yes, sir,”

Guru turned to his Ops Officer. “Don, who's in Prada's back seat?”

“Dave Golen,” Van Loan replied. Their IDF “Observer” would be making a report back to Tel Aviv on the F-20, and that would no doubt make Northrop very happy about a possible sale to the Israeli AF after the war.

Then they heard the rumble of the F-20s' F404 engines as they rolled down the runway into the air. “Starting the clock,” Guru said. “Best I can figure, they've got twenty minutes' playtime in the old Scud Box before they head back.”

“Ten minutes to get there, ten back with a five minute reserve,” Brainiac noted.

“So when do we go?” Sweaty asked.

Guru did some quick calculations in his head. “General, how does ten minutes from now sound?”

“Sounds good to me, Major,” said Olds. “I'm riding with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru replied. “Goalie's with Kara on this one,” said the CO. “Sorry, Brainiac, you're odd man out this time.”

“Oh, well,” Kara's GIB shrugged. “Somebody has to.”

“What's the rules, Major?” Olds asked.

“Sir, I'm glad you asked. Keep things above five grand AGL and everything's copectic. Five seconds' lock with whatever weapon you're calling is enough for a kill. And be careful, people! Paint transfer at altitude is bad news, okay?”

“What about Party Crashers?” Goalie asked.

“If they've got red stars on their tails, fight's on,” Guru nodded. “That satisfies the no-combat directive.”

General Olds nodded. “That's how I read it, Major.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Guru. “Anything else?”

Kara spoke up. “Who's buying tonight?”

“Losers,” Sweaty replied.

“Hopefully, they will,” KT added.

Major Wiser let out a grin. “That's the idea, folks. Anything else?” Heads shook no. He turned to General Olds, who nodded. “Then let's hit it, people. And teach those young punks a thing or two.”

“Let's go and do it, Major,” Hoser said.

Guru nodded. “Yeah, let's. Meet at ten grand overhead. Time to fly.”

“Hey, look at Buddy,” Preacher said. The dog had not slept during the brief, and was paying attention. “It may be a friendly round, but some of us may be 'killed.'”

“Hope not,” Goalie said.

“Same here,” the CO said. “Let's go.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, the news crew following the CO and General Olds as they went to 512. And Sergeant Crowley was surprised to see a Two-star General coming to fly on “his” aircraft. “General,” he said as he snapped a salute. “Major. Five-twelve's ready to go.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” General Olds said. He turned to the CO. “Major, you're still the AC. I'm just along for the ride.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. He and Olds did a quick preflight walk-around, and then Crowley helped him get General Olds in the back seat.

“Anything special, Major?” Olds asked.

“Sir, there's only three things I may need from you. One and two happen to be turning the radar on and off. The third would be going boresight on the radar so I can get a quick system lock.”

“Understood, Major,” Olds replied.

Guru nodded, hopped down, then mounted his own cockpit. The two went through the preflight as if it was for a prewar incentive ride, then it was time for engine start. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. One, then two, J-79 engines were soon up and running.

“How's that feel, sir?” Guru asked the General.

“Major, it may be twenty-five years since my last flight in a fighter, but you never forget. It feels good back here,” Olds replied.

“General, if you're pleased, then so am I,” replied the CO. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower,” Guru said. He gave another thumbs-up to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. They pulled the chocks away from the landing gear, then Crowley gave the “taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, and taxied out of the revetment. As 512 cleared the revetment, Sergeant Crowley snapped a perfect salute, which Guru and General Olds returned. Then the CO taxied to the runway, with the other three F-4s following.

When the flight got to the holding area, there was a Marine Hornet flight ahead of them. After the Marines took off, it was their turn to taxi to the holding area. Guru taxied to the holding area, and the armorers removed the weapon safeties. They had four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, a full load of 20-mm, and the appropriate ECM pod for leaders and wingmates. Not that they hoped to use any, but General Yeager's encounter with a recon flight the previous day showed that combat could happen anywhere. Unlike a regular combat mission, the wing tanks were left off, for all they would do in this case was provide drag. Then it was time to taxi for takeoff. “Tower, Corvette Lead with four, requesting clear to taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-eight for ten. Good luck, General,” added the controller.

“Roger that, Tower,” Olds handled the reply. “And thank you.”

Guru taxied onto the runway, and then Kara and Goalie taxied 520 onto their right wing. Guru glanced over, as did the General, and they saw both Kara and Goalie give a thumbs-up. They returned it, then after a quick check, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Ready, sir?” Guru asked his VIP (Very Important Passenger).

“Ready back here, Major,” Olds responded. “Canopy coming down.”

Both closed and locked their canopies, and a quick glance at 520 showed Kara and Goalie had done the same. Then Guru went to full throttle, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right alongside. Sweaty and Hoser followed thirty seconds later, then they met at FL 100 and headed west, towards the old Scud Box.

[Matt Wiser]

Part 18: the DACT... And both sides have reason to be upset.


Over Northern Texas, near Childress, 1100 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight approached the old Scud Box, intent on finding the F-20s. Due to traffic headed to and from Amarillo-the two full F-4 Wings in Tenth AF were based there-the actual area in the box that was open for any kind of DACT was limited. Still, Guru wanted to know where the F-20s were, and instead of calling the AWACS, which, he knew, the F-20s would be listening in, called up a couple of F-4 flights headed to or from Amarillo to see if they had noticed the Tigersharks. The two flights in question hadn't, but one of the flight leaders, an ex-IIAF Major in the 306th TFS, thought he might know someone who had, and called up another flight that was inbound. Sure enough, word got to Corvette Flight that the F-20s were in the central part of the Box, and had been aggressively playing not just with each other, but had challenged some of the ex-IIAF guys to fights-and the F-20s had won, much to the regret of the 306th. One of the Iranians told Guru to “Uphold the honor of the F-4,” and Guru had said he'd try.


Now, Corvette Flight was headed south, towards the center of the old box, and only one radar was on: Kara's. “Two, Lead,” Guru said over the radio. “You find 'em for us. Call out when you have bogeys.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara replied. In 520's back seat, Goalie turned on the APQ-120 radar and began searching for targets. Though the radar could generally detect a bomber-sized target up to 40 miles away, going after fighters meant about half that. Still.....

“Nothing yet,” Goalie called. One feature of the F-4 was that, originally, there had been two rated pilots in the aircraft, and the backseater had full radio controls. She was now the eyes of the flight.

Sweaty got on the radio. “Lead, Three,” she called. “Any ideas?”

“Flight, Lead.” Guru responded. “They can see us before we see them, no thanks to these engines. Try and stay up-sun if you can.”

In 512's back seat, General Olds recalled an old WW II adage: “Beware the Hun in the Sun.” “Just like in Europe, Major.”

“Yes, sir. Still applies today,” Guru noted. Then he had an idea. Maybe the AWACS would tell, and remind the F-20 guys that peacetime DACT rules applied. “Warlock, Corvette Lead.”

“Corvette Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS controller replied. “Go.”

“Warlock, any Tigersharks around?” The way he put the question, it would be clear to the controller that Guru was looking for a pickup DACT session.

“Affirmative, Corvette. On your nose, thirty-five miles, Medium.”

“Roger that, Warlock. If they call, remind them peacetime rules apply.”

“Copy, Corvette,” replied the controller.

In the E-3B, the controller turned to the Senior Controller, an ex-F-4 driver who had a serious back injury from a prewar ejection and that had meant he could never fly an ejection seat aircraft again. “These F-4s are looking for Yeager's people.”

“Five bucks says they get the drop on them,” the Major replied.

“You're on.”


“Sweaty, Guru. You and Hoser go high. I'll take Kara and go low. People, if they try and lock you up, do a Doppler Break, then turn into 'em.”

“Roger, Lead,” Sweaty called. “Hoser, on me.” The two F-4s climbed, while the lead element went low. With both searching for targets, either with the radar, TIESO, or visually with the Mark-one eyeball.


To the south, the F-20s had been doing ACT with each other.

In Prada's bird, the two-seat D, IDF Major Dave Golen was very impressed with the aircraft. “You know, Goria Epstein would love this plane.”

In the front seat, Prada asked, “Who's he?”

“Just our top ace from the Six-Day War, War of Attrition, and the Yom Kippur War, with seventeen kills. All in Mirages or Neshers. But some of your guys have passed his total,” Golen said. He checked the radar display and wondered what “Hawkeye” as Espstein was known, would think of the F-20. Maybe after the war, Northrop could send a demonstration flight to Israel.....

“This is a pure dogfighter, I'll admit,” Prada said. “Not much capacity for air-to-ground ordnance, though we've done that a lot. We've got short legs, but we've done well so far.”

Golen nodded in the back seat. “And your impressions of Clancy and Pruitt?” He, too, like some of Major Wiser's people, wondered just how old they were. Then again, the CO pointed out that some people held their age pretty well.

“They're good at what they do. Their antics over Altus as PRAIRIE FIRE pushed south, making ace in a day, prove that. Both know how to use their aircraft, but they do like to take risks.” She paused for a moment, then went on, watching the objects of their conversation do some ACT with General Yeager watching from above. “Honestly, though, with the losses the 479h has taken, they've climbed the ladder a little too fast for my taste.”

“Worried?”

“Can't say I'm thrilled, but not surprised they took with Yeager when he asked for both of them to come to this detail.”

Golen had a chuckle. “Leaving you behind?”

“No,” she replied. “Well, just a little. The brass has a very good reason for the no-combat order, though. The Yak, though, was unavoidable. The General should be in another two-seater, but he has the rank, and Clancy and Pruitt have the experience.”

Then the AWACS controller came on the radio. “Showroom Flight, Warlock. A flight of Foxtrot-Fours is transiting the area.”

In his F-20C, Clancy laughed. “So the Phantom Phanatics want to play?”

“Careful,” Yeager warned. “Say your fuel state.” Yeager checked his own fuel, and saw he only had four or five minutes' fuel left.

“Got five minutes,” Clancy replied.

“Same here,” Pruitt added.

“Four,” Prada chimed in.

“Warlock, Showroom Lead. Say composition?” Yeager asked.

“Showroom, Corvette Flight is inbound with four. Two radar, four heat, and full gun,” the Controller replied.

“Warlock, can you vector us onto them?”

“Negative. Peacetime rules apply.” This was from the senior controller himself.


In 512, Guru was listening in on the AWACS frequency. So, if that's your game.....”Showroom Lead, Corvette Lead. Five seconds' lock with whatever weapon you're calling is a kill. Keep everything above five grand AGL and everything's copectic.”

“Prada?” Yeager called. “You want to do the honors?”

“My pleasure, Lead,” she replied. Then she called the F-4s. “Screw you, flyboy, and flygirl, if Starbuck's with you.”

“You're not my type,” Kara shot back, and Goalie laughed. Then she got serious.

“Twelve miles.”

“Your choice,” Guru added. “Fight's on!”

“Let's go get 'em,” Clancy said.


“Sweaty,” Guru called. “You and Hoser stay high, Kara? On me.” He went down low, pulling up just before 5,000 and leveling off at 5050 feet.

“Roger that,” Sweaty replied. “They're trying to lock me up!” Then she remembered the Doppler Break, going hard left, and Hoser went with her.

“Four hits on scope,” Goalie called from 520. “Two at Twelve, two at One.”

“Twelve will be Yeager and his wingman,” General Olds said.

“General,” Guru said, “Can you get the radar on, and once it's on, go boresight?”

“My pleasure, Major.” Olds worked the controls, and by God, it did come back. “Radar on, and you're boresighted.”

“Thanks, General,” replied Guru. He turned on the auto-acquisition, hoping to lock the nearest F-20 up....


“Two, you and three break left,” Yeager told Clancy. “Prada, with me.” He broke right, with Prada right with him. “Prada, go active on radar, and pick them out.”

“Roger that,” Prada replied. She called up the radar on her MFD and began scanning. “Two at Twelve, two at Eleven. One pair high, one low.”

“Got one,” Clancy called. He called up his radar missiles and tried to lock up one of the F-4s. Then he saw both of them do a hard break, and recognized the tactic at once. “They're doing a Doppler Break!”

“Steady, Two,” Pruitt called. “I got one.....” He locked up the trailing F-4 in that element. “And...FOX ONE on the trailer.”

In their bird, Hoser and KT unclipped their oxygen masks. “Damn it!” he called. “Four's been splashed. And under the rules, he had to leave the area for two minutes before coming back in. “We're on our way out.


“Shit!” Sweaty called over the radio. “I need some help here.”

“On our way,” Guru called. Both he and General Olds had their eyes out of the cockpit, swiveling around. “Starbuck, got tally?”

“No joy,” she replied.

“General, could you go boresight, if you would?” Guru asked. The request was a polite order.

“Gladly,” Olds replied. “You're set.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru said as he scanned the sky. “Tally two at One, low.”

In 520, Kara grinned. “That'll be Clancy and Pruitt,” she said.

“Watch it,” Goalie replied. She was keeping her own head on a swivel, trying to check six.

“Sweaty, where are you?” Guru asked as he rolled in on the two F-20s.

Sweaty was above, making some S-turns and jinking, trying to run Yeager out of fuel, as he was closing in. “Got some trouble here, but I can handle it.” She then pulled back on the stick and pulled up into a Vector Roll to the right, hoping to turn the tables on her attacker.

“Copy that,” Guru said as he rolled in on the two. “I got the one on the right.” That meant Pruitt.

“I got the other one,” Kara said. You are mine, she said to herself as the two F-20s broke.


Clancy swore. These F-4 guys were good. And all of them, pilots and GIBs, were aces. “Break!” he called to Pruitt. And both F-20s broke, Clancy left, and Pruitt right.

“I got him,” Guru called as he went to RADAR and tried to lock Pruitt up. And the tone signaled in his headset. “Fox One on Pruitt.”

Pruitt cursed aloud. “Shit!” He, too, had to leave the area. He checked his fuel. Maybe time for one pass on the way back.....

“Got him!”

“Lead, Break!” Sweaty called. “Prada's on you!”

Unknown to either him or General Olds, Prada had snuck in while Guru was taking his shot on Pruitt. She had taken advantage of the F-4's bad rear visibility, but had made a big mistake. She had target fixation and was trying to line up a gun shot.

“Roger that!” Guru called, and he, too, applied power and pulled up into a left vector roll, forcing Prada to overshoot.


“Where'd he go?” Prada wondered aloud. She was trying to pick up the F-4, and she knew by the tailcode it was Guru she had been after.

“Can't see him,” Dave Golen said. He, too, had been scanning. “He's in the sun!”

Hearing that, General Yeager started to scan himself. He saw Sweaty make her one mistake-she had leveled out and reversed her turn-probably so that she could clear her CO's tail. “And Fox two on Sweaty,” Yeager called in his West Virginia twang.

“Damn it!” Sweaty called as she and Preacher yanked off their oxygen masks. They, too, had to pull out for two minutes before coming back in.

Just then, Guru came out of the sun and right behind Prada.

“He's behind you, Prada,” Yeager called, his voice calm over the radio.

“Where?” Prada asked as she swiveled her head to take a look.


“Nice try, girl,” Guru said as he lined her up in his pipper, the Sidewinder's growl very loud in his headset. “Fox two on Prada.”


“I think we're dead,” Dave Golen said calmly.

“Fuck!” Prada shouted over the IC. “We're out,” she called as she, too, vacated the area.


Below, Kara in 520 was chasing Clancy, who was all over the sky, trying to shake his pursuer. He had made one mistake, namely, letting her get too close, but had managed to deny her the killing shot. “He's good,” Kara said over the IC.

“Maybe too good.” Goalie said. She had her eyes out of the cockpit, looking for Yeager. “Guru, six clear?”

“Your six is clear, Two,” Guru replied. “Take him.”


“Need some help here,” Clancy called.

“On you,” Yeager replied. He dove in, glancing at his fuel state. One minute's fuel before breaking off....


“Got him...” Kara said as the F-20 leveled out and headed east. Had to be low on fuel...... “Going heat....and....FOX TWO! Sorry, Clancy.”

“Shit!” Clancy called over the open radio. Then a voice called in his headset. “Bingo Fuel. Bingo Fuel.”

“Shut up, bitch. I know I'm low.” He headed east, towards Sheppard.


“We got him!” Kara yelled.

“You did, Two,” Olds called. “Break right! Yeager's coming down.”

They barely had time to look before an F-20 came out of the sun. “Fox two on Kara,” Yeager's drawl sounded on the radio.


“He got us,” Goalie said.

“Better him than one of those punks,” Kara sighed as she headed out of the area.


“Prada is bingo,” they heard, then both Clancy and Pruitt made similar calls.


Guru turned to try and line up Yeager, but a “Bingo” call from Yeager ended that idea. He pulled up and orbited as Hoser, then Sweaty, and two minutes later, Kara, came in. “Lead,” Kara called. “That didn't go the way we thought.”

“No kidding,” Sweaty added. “Those guys were good.”

“Too good,” Hoser chimed in. “Where'd those two learn to fly and fight like that?”

“General, I'd like to know myself,” Guru said. “Looks like we learned a couple of things. And eat some humble pie.”

“Both sides will,” Olds said. “Honors were even here.”

“They were,” Guru said. “Let's go home.”


The AWACS controller turned to his Senior Controller, palm extended.

The Major took out his wallet, paid what he owed, and wondered, what had gone down with those guys?


Corvette Flight returned to Sheppard, and when they got back, found they had to wait in the pattern, for there were several strikes coming back and heading out. Once the pattern was clear, they came in and landed. As they taxied in, the crews noticed the F-20 guys were waiting. “No disrespect, General,” Guru said, “Those guys look like they're trying to rub it in.”

“Not a surprise, Major,” Olds said. “You people expected to clean up, and instead....”

“Better this way, sir, than in combat. I'd be writing a few letters if this had been real.”

“No arguing that, Major.”


The flight taxied to their squadron dispersal, and found their revetments. Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, and after going through the shut down routine, popped his canopy, and Olds did the same. Sergeant Crowley came up with the crew ladder as they went through a post-flight check. “Sergeant,” Guru said. “Didn't go the way we thought.”

“Major?” Crowley asked. “What the...”

“Three of theirs, and three of ours,” Guru said as he climbed down the crew ladder, with the General following suit. Both accepted bottles of water from the ground crew.

“First fight I've been in-real or training, where everyone involved was an ace,” Olds nodded. He took a drink of water. “General Yeager, and those three young pups.” Then he remembered. “And Major Golen.”

Crowley nodded. “Sir, that would've been something to see.”

“It was,” Guru said. “Get her turned around, Sergeant,” he told his Crew Chief. “Next one's for real.”

“Yes, sir!”

As the ground crew started the turnaound, Major Wiser and General Olds went to the entrance of the revetment, and found the rest of the flight waiting. “Well?”

“Where'd they learn to fly and fight like that?” Kara asked. And that was a question on everyone's mind. “They fly like there's no tomorrow.”

Sweaty nodded. “So do we,” she reminded them. “We fly Double-Ugly like we stole them, and those punks....”

'”That we do,” Hoser added.

Then a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup pulled up, with Chief Ross and Buddy aboard. “General? Major? General Yeager's people want to debrief.”

“General?” Guru asked, and saw Olds nod. “Okay, let's get over there.” All eight piled into the truck, and Ross drove them back to the Squadron Office. When they got to the Briefing Room used after the affair with the recon flight, they found the F-20 people waiting.

“Well, Major,” Yeager said. “Looks like things didn't go your way,”

“No, sir,” Guru admitted. “You had the AWACS tell you we were coming.”

Yeager nodded. “After that recon flight, I thought it was a good idea to be warned about party crashers-friendly or otherwise.

Kara had a scowl on her face. “General, you got me at the end, And you had to be short on fuel.”

“Thirty seconds from Bingo,” Yeager admitted. “You people did teach us one thing about fuel management.” Yeager had been the last to make a “Bingo” call and break off.

“You knew about our radar missiles,” Clancy pointed out.

“We did,” Sweaty replied. “You got Hoser right from the get-go, but you forgot about the Doppler Break.”

“Anti-F-15 tactic,” KT chimed in. “Too bad we did it too late. You had us.”

“They did,” Hoser said.

“Well, that's that,” Clancy said. “Now that's two you have on me.”

Heads turned to Clancy. “Two?” Pruitt asked.

“The pool match,” he reminded them. “I'll get you one of these days.”

“Maybe,” Kara replied.

General Olds turned to Prada. “You should have taken a Sidewinder shot,” he told her. “You would've had us.”

“Yes, sir,” said Prada. “But with Dave Golen in the back seat, and you know how the Israelis value gun kills....”

Guru recognized it at once. “You had target fixation, and tried to line up a gun kill. Those are good, but you had missiles and didn't use them.”

“It's what they're there for,” Yeager added.

“Guilty,” Prada said. Now, she was thinking very seriously about taking that IP assignment in California. Even though this had been a pickup DACT round, she knew full well had it been real, she would be either hanging in a chute at least, if not dead. “I got greedy and tried showing off.”

“Don't,” Clancy told her. “Just take the shot and kill 'em dead. Remember, we didn't hunt those ZSU-30s with CBUs, rockets, and guns because we wanted to. We did it because we had no other choice, being short on Maverick and Shrike.”

Yeager nodded. “He's got a point.”

“Throw in some complacency on both sides,” General Olds reminded everyone. “Both sides came in very overconfident.”

“General, I'd say so,” Guru said. “This is the first time I know of where everyone in a DACT is an ace, either pilot or GIB.”

Kara nodded. “You've got Phantom Jockeys here who fly Double-Ugly like they stole it. And you fought us to a draw.”

“And you taught us a lesson in fuel management,” Yeager said. “We were short on fuel when you came calling.”

Clancy nodded. '”If we had belly tanks, it would've been four-to-one your favor. Drag from the tanks would've held us back. I probably have Frank Carson to thank for that. I wanted CBUs on the centerline, but he suggested we take the tank.”

Yeager agreed. “We run low pretty fast. I'll talk to the guys at Northrop and see if they can get some more fuel tankage added after the war. But you go to war with what you have, not what you want to have.”

There was no argument there. “Point taken,” General Olds said. “Anything else?” He saw everyone stay quiet. “Major Golen, how about you?”

“It was a hell of a ride,” Golen said. “Can't promise anything, but we might want to have you bring a couple of these to Israel after the war. Don't know what use we may have for them, but the IDF doesn't have a dedicated aggressor squadron. Might be a good idea..,' he mused.

“Interesting take,” Olds said. “Major? He turned to Guru. “Anything to add?”

“Just that this was a shock to everyone involved. We all learned some lessons today,” Guru replied. Was it like this for Nagumo after Midway, or the guys in the Philippines who hadn't taken much of the Zero, only to find out on Day One that yes, the Japanese could build a very capable fighter-the hard way.

Yeager nodded agreement. “That we did.”

“All right: Major, I believe your people have missions scheduled in the afternoon?? Olds asked.

“Yes, sir, we do. My people? Let's get something to eat, check your desks, because in an hour or so, we're back at it for real.”



335th TFS Offices, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1210 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was in his office, wrapping up some paperwork. Even though the Exec filtered out what he could do on his own-and he ought to know, having been Exec himself, leaving the the really important stuff for the CO's attention, still, there was sometimes too much that the armchair warriors insisted on. Once his OUT box was full, he sat back and waited for lunch. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

“Lunchtime,” a female voice said as the office door opened. 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn came in, two bags in hand. “Grilled Chicken sandwiches with cole slaw.”

The CO nodded. She was not only his GIB, but also his girlfriend. “And iced tea or lemonade to drink,” he observed. One thing about being a fighter pilot, you didn't drink sodas that much if you expected to be flying shortly, for passing gas at Flight Level 200 was not a good idea.

“Lemonade,” she replied.

“Then let's eat.” Over lunch, they discussed the DACT just concluded. “Well, how's it feel to be back from the dead?”

“First time I've done that since Kingsley Field and the RTU,” Goalie replied. “Guru, when's the last time for you?”

“Requalification course after the E&E,” Guru replied. “Got 'killed' a couple of times. Went down to Stead for that, and we played with the Navy out of Fallon.” He was referring to NAS Fallon and the Naval Strike Warfare Center, which had its own aggressor squadron. “And some folks I still can't talk about. All I can say is that they flew out of Tonopah, and they were good.”

Goalie nodded. She, too, had flown against folks who were out of Tonopah, and after the DACT, had to sign a form saying the flight had been against the Aggressors out of Nellis, not who they had really flown against. “Well, we were up against some of the best today,” she said.

“The best in F-20s,” Guru corrected her. “Like I said: first fight I've been in where everyone involved is an ace.”

“Same here,” Goalie said. “You said you wanted to teach those guys a few lessons. Question is, did we?”

Guru thought for a minute. “I think we did. First one is target fixation.”

His GIB knew what he was talking about. “Prada had Dave Golen in the back seat, and we all know how the Israelis value gun kills. She wanted to give him one.”

“Exactly. Remember Bob Lodge and Bob Locher on 10 May '72? He had target fixation.”

Goalie knew what her pilot meant. Captains Bob Lodge and Bob Locher had led an F-4 flight into the Hanoi area on the opening day of LINEBACKER, and had a fight with MiG-21s. They had splashed one, two others in their flight (Steve Ritchie being one) also killed MiGs, but when another MiG-21 came in, Lodge went after it. His wingman called two MiG-19s coming in behind him, but Lodge, fixated on the MiG in front of him, wasn't paying attention. The MiG-19s sprayed the F-4 with 30-mm fire, and the F-4 fell in flames. Bob Locher, the GIB, punched out and spent 23 days on the ground in North Vietnam before being rescued. Lodge, though, never made it out. His remains were returned in 1977. “Learned that at the Academy, and at Kingsley Field.”

“Which leads into the second lesson,” Guru said. “Fuel management. Those guys don't have much legs. And if they'd had the centerline tank...”

“Drag,” said Goalie. “And Clancy said it himself: we would have cleaned them up.”

“Yep. And I imagine fuel management gets into the F-20 syllabus,” Guru noted. “And then there's one lesson applicable to both.”

Goalie remembered the debrief. “Overconfidence. Both sides expected to clean up on the other. Instead....”

“Instead, we had a draw,” Guru nodded. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Capt. Mark Ellis, the Exec, came in. “Boss, heard about the fight earlier. You guys got humbled.”

“So did Yeager's people,” Guru said. “It was a draw. And we'll talk about it tonight.” He noticed a couple of papers in the XO's hand. “What have you got?”

“Well, all the remaining parts Kev O'Donnell needs to get Kerry Collins' bird up and flying are on the next C-141, along with some other stuff we need.”

“Good,” said the CO. “Sooner we get that bird back up, the better. Even though it's a three-day job. What else?”

“The 'other stuff? Two spare ejection seats. As requested.”

Guru nodded. “Having a couple of spare seats is a good thing. Right now, if we have a bad seat, that bird in question is off the flight schedule until we get a new one. What else?”

“We're also getting a few replacement airmen,” Ellis said. Seeing the expression on the CO's face, he added, “For guys who went off to Airman to Pilot, or to Pararescue School.”

“All right,” Guru said. “Anything I need to sign?”

“No. This is for your information, not action,” the XO replied.

“That's always good.” Then there was another knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Kara came in. “Boss, and XO,” she said, seeing Mark Ellis there. “We've got missions. Briefing packets are ready.”

“Okay,” Guru said. “Round up our flight, and get them to our briefing room. In ten.”

“Do the same for me, if you would,” Ellis added.

Kara nodded. “On my way.” She then went back out.

“Well, Mark, hope you enjoyed the break,” said Guru.

“Fun while it lasted,” Ellis grinned. “Be careful, Boss. Don't want to be CO yet.”

“And you too,” Guru said, and both Ellis and Goalie could tell the seriousness in the CO's voice. “Don doesn't want to be XO just yet, and Kara doesn't want to be Ops.”

Ellis laughed. “Will do, Boss.” He then left to get his flight briefed and ready.

“Looks like we're back in the game,” Goalie said.

The CO nodded. “That we are. Get on over to the Briefing Room. I'll get our mission. Then we all have somewhere to be.”

Guru went to the Ops office, and found Capt. Don Van Loan, the Operations Officer, waiting. “Don,”

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “Heard you guys found those Tigersharks weren't easy meat after all.”

“The hard way,” Guru replied. “You'll get the story tonight at the Club. What have you got for me?”

“Chalk Mountain area,” Van Loan said, handing the CO a mission packet. “Fifteen miles east of Stephenville. “ He showed Guru a photo. “Lots of vehicles here, and quite a few antennas deployed. It's either a C3 Site, a SIGINT installation, or a jamming site. And across the road here is a damaged vehicle collection and repair point.”

“Either way, they'll be defending it,” Guru observed. “A few gun sites, I see. This is in the East German sector, so any Weasels?”

Van Loan shook his head. “Negative on that, and before you ask, Dave and Flossy have their own mission. They drew escort for a photo bird. And we know the drivers.”

“Athena and Helo,” the CO nodded. It wasn't a question.

The Ops Officer grinned. “You got it.”

“Okay, any Weasels? This is in the East German sector again.”

“Nada, Boss.”

Guru nodded. “Okay. Don? You have a good one, and be careful out there. Don't want Kara becoming Ops just yet.”

“That's a very good reason to come back,” Van Loan laughed. “Knowing her and paperwork...”

“You got it,” said Guru. “Thanks, Don.” Then the CO headed to the briefing room his flight used and opened the door. “People,”

“Boss,” Kara said. “What's on tap for us?”

He opened the packet. “Right here, near Chalk Mountain, about fifteen miles east of Stephenville. This is the East German sector if you'll recall.”

“Swell,” Hoser said.

“Yeah. Anyway, right here, just south of U.S. 67. We have two targets. One is either a C3 site, a field SIGINT station, or a mobile EW station. We get to make it go away.”

“Nice,” Sweaty noted. “And the other target?”

“Across the road. It's at the Route 220/F.M. 197-199 intersection. Right between that is U.S. 67. The C3 site is between the intersection and Highway 67. Due west and across the road is the collection point.”

KT nodded. “So, Boss, what do we have to make them go away?”

“Usual air-to-air, and that includes the usual ECM Pods. As for air-to-ground? Element leads have a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes. Wingmen have a dozen Rockeye CBUs,” replied Guru.

Kara looked at the photos, and then the CO. “Who hits what?”

“You and I take the C3 site,” said Guru. “Sweaty?” He nodded at his second element lead. “You and Hoser get the collection point. If the C3 site has moved? We all drop on the latter target. Nobody brings ordnance home.”

“Defenses?” Preacher asked.

“Nothing other than 23-mm seen on the imagery,” Guru replied. “Just because it wasn't there yesterday...”

“Meaning it could be there now,” Goalie said.

Guru nodded. “Right you are,” he said. “This is the East German sector again, and their SA-4s are only fifteen miles to the west, around Stephenville. And the area we did that CAS a couple days ago is to the north, so expect divisional-level Soviet or East German air defense. Guns, MANPADS, and vehicle mounted SAMs.”

“We getting Weasels?” Brainiac wanted to know.

“Not this time.”

“Lovely,” Kara said. “And if we encounter those basketball-sized tracers?”

“Abort,” said Guru. “Get your asses north in that case. And ingress? We follow the Brazos again, staying in the Nicaraguan sector as long as we can. Get to Lake Whitney, and just before we get to the dam, turn west. Get to Meridian, then follow State Route 6 to Hico. Then go north along Route 220. There are two small lakes just short of the target area. That's our IP.”

“Got you,” Kara nodded. “MiG threat?”

“Unchanged since morning, and bailout areas still the same.”

Hoser said, “Anyplace rural and away from roads.”

“Right on that. Anything else?” Guru asked.

“One more after this?” Preacher asked.

Guru nodded. “You hope. But if the Army starts screaming for CAS like they did a couple days ago...”

“Time enough for two more,” Sweaty commented.

“Yeah,” the CO replied. “Anything else?” He asked as he gathered up the briefing materials. Heads shook no. “Okay. Gear up and I'll see you at 512.”

The crews headed off to the locker rooms, and after Guru geared up, he left the Men's Locker Room and found Goalie waiting as usual. “Ready?”

“We're back at it,” she said.

“That we are, and this time? Buddy wasn't with us.”

“Hope he slept through whatever brief he was in on.”

As pilot and GIB left the squadron office, they noticed two F-4Es already taxiing. They recognized Dave Golen's and Flossy's birds, and knew that Athena and Helo were in good hands. Then they walked to 512's revetment, and found the rest of the flight waiting. “Okay, a reminder: if you see those basketball-sized tracers at the target? Abort.”

“Noted, Major,” Kara said. “But what if we see them on ingress or egress?”

“Evade, and mark the location,” the CO replied. “Other than that? Usual procedures on the radio.”

Sweaty nodded. “Got it.”

“One more after this one?” Brainiac asked.

“Unless the Army starts screaming for CAS yesterday,” Guru quipped. “Oh, one last thing: when we get back from this one? Try and spend some time in the fitness tent. I know, Doc hasn't been on us, but if he sees us going in there, he won't be on my back about it.”

Heads nodded at that. Though it wasn't peacetime, spending some time keeping in shape was necessary. “Keep the Sawbones happy?” KT asked.

“And the Jarheads,” Sweaty growled. “They like seeing the girls in sports bras.”

“Down, girl,” Goalie said.

“And staring at you, all sweaty-no pun intended,” Guru said, nodding in Sweaty's direction, “Is no reason to deck them.” He nodded at Kara. “We're on good terms with the Jarheads, so let's keep it that way.”

Kara grumbled. “So all I get to do is clean them out at the pool table or in a poker game?”

“Do that,” Guru said. “And nothing else. All right, is that it?” Heads shook no. “Okay, we've got somewhere to be and things to blow up. Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and when Guru and Goalie went into their revetment, Sergeant Crowley was waiting. He snapped a salute, which both pilot and GIB returned. “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve is locked and cocked. Ready to kick some Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their usual preflight walk-around, and noted the air-to-air loadout. Four AIM-9Ps, and two AIM-7s. But when Guru checked the left rear Sparrow, he saw the stencils. “AIM-7Fs. Sergeant, who brought these?”

“Some guys from Ordnance, Sir. And the same with the rest of your flight. Thought we just had Es, Major.” Crowley said.

“I think I know,” Goalie said.

“So do I. Talk to Chief Ross, Sergeant. He'll fill you in.” Guru said. He noted the two wing tanks, the ALQ-119 ECM pod, and the twelve Mark-82 Snakeye five-hundred pound bombs. The CO also knew the 20-mm Vulcan cannon had a full load of ammo. “Everything looks good, Sergeant,” He signed for the aircraft, then he and Goalie mounted the bird. After getting strapped in, they went through their preflight in the cockpit.

“Back to the real deal,” Goalie said. “Nice to be back from the dead.”

“Just be glad it was a game,” Guru reminded her. “Been a while since my requalification and the last game time.”

“You're right on that,” she replied. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours. And when this war's over? Be strange playing again.”

“It will. Arnie and INS all set. Preflight checklist complete,” Goalie said.

“It is that,” said Guru. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal. One, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running. Once the warm-up was complete, he called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

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

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. “Corvette Lead is rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who motioned to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the wheels. Then Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal, and Guru released the brakes, applied throttle, and taxied out of the revetment. When 512 was clear, Crowley snapped a salute, which was returned by Pilot and GIB.

The flight taxied to the runway, and found two flights, one Marine F-4 and one F/A-18, ahead of them. After the Hornets taxied for takeoff. Guru led Corvette Flight to the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Once the Hornets had taken off, it was their turn. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

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

“Roger, Tower,” said Guru. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520, forming up in his Five O'clock position. Guru glanced over at 520, and both Kara and Brainiac gave a thumbs-up. Guru and Goalie returned it, then did a last check. “Everything set?”

“All set,” Goalie replied. “Time to go.”

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

As usual, there was no reply by radio, but the Tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

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

“Got it,” Goalie replied, doing the same.

Guru then glanced over at 520, which was just as ready. “Let's go.” He applied full throttle, and released the brakes. Then 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right alongside. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn. The flight joined up at FL 110, and headed south for the tanker track.