[Matt Wiser]

And the next mission:



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 Commanche 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.”