[Matt Wiser]

The first mission of a new day, and can anyone spot the Commanding General, 4th Guards Tank Army?



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.