[Matt Wiser]

The RAF's first days in Texas: Here's Part I:


Chiefs and Tigers


335th Tactical Fighter Squadron, Sheppard AFB, TX; 18 November, 1987, 0530 Hours Central War Time:



Major Matt Wiser walked from his squadron's Officer Country to the Squadron's Offices. The building had belonged to an Air Training Command unit prewar, when Sheppard had been a training base, and now housed his squadron. He noted the bullet holes scarring the outside, and had thought at first that those had best be patched over. But, since the base would likely revert to ATC after the war, it might be a good idea if some of those holes were kept as a reminder of the war, to impress upon student pilots what had happened here. Kind of like at Hickam AFB in Hawaii, he thought. Several buildings there still had scars from December 7, 1941, and those scars had not been repaired, as a reminder of the price of unpreparedness for war.

The 335th CO went into the office, and found the Night-shift SDO at his desk. “Hacksaw,” Major Wiser nodded.

“Boss,” Hacksaw replied, and sneezed just after that. “Damn cold.”

“Still?” The CO asked. Hacksaw had been grounded for five days with a bad cold.

Hacksaw nodded. “I'm a lot better, Boss, but still.....I see Doc tomorrow and he should clear me.”

Major Wiser knew the feeling. He'd been grounded himself for two weeks back in March with a cold-and the same bug had bitten his GIB. Being out of the cockpit had been frustrating for both of them. “Hate to remind you, but listen to Doc. He outranks us in anything medical, so you'd best pay attention.” Doc Waters was the squadron's flight surgeon.

“I know, Boss.”

“And remember: if you're fretting about missing out? You're not missing a damned thing,” the CO reminded his SDO. “XO in?”

“He's in your office,” Hacksaw said. “Got in about five minutes ago.”

“All right, thanks,” Major Wiser said. “Wolfman Jack up to the usual?” He glanced at the radio on the SDO's desk.

“He is, and just played Don't Bring Me Down.”

“ELO,” the CO nodded. “Haven't heard that in a while. Thanks, and when Digger comes in? Get him up to speed, get some chow, then find your bunk.”

Hacksaw nodded. “Will do, Boss.”

Major Wiser then talked to the night-shift admin people, and they always appreciated hearing from the CO, then he went to his office. There, his Exec was waiting. “Mark.”

Capt. Mark Ellis stood up. “Boss,” he said. “Got a few things for you.” He handed his CO a clipboard and a cup of cocoa.

“Let's see...” Major Wiser said, scanning the clipboard. “Morning report for both Tenth Air Force and MAG-11.” The CO signed the forms. “What's next?”

“Aircraft status report,” Ellis replied as the CO found the paper. “Twenty-one aircraft as of now, and should have twenty-two before 0700.” He noticed his CO's upraised eyebrow. “Dave Golen's bird. He and his GIB-along with Flossy and Jang, ate at Early-Bird, and they're penciled in for a check flight.”

“When?”

“Now,” Ellis said, and the rumble of jet engines punctuated the XO's remark. “Should be back in thirty to forty minutes.”

Major Wiser nodded. “Good. Then his bird's back on the schedule. What's next?”

“Supply requisitions,” the XO replied. “We need to trade with a MASH, though. Someone confused us with a medical unit, and sent us 5,000 specimen cups.”

The CO's jaw dropped. “You are shitting me.”

“I kid thee not, Boss-man,” Ellis said.

Major Wiser sighed. “Okay, there's a MASH around here. Tell Chief Ross to find out what they can give us in exchange.”

“On it,” Ellis said. “Weather update.” He handed his CO the weather information form.

“A few lingering clouds, and morning ground mist, which should burn off,” Major Wiser noted. “Other than that, VFR all around.”

“That's good to know. The RAF guys will like that. Big difference than the Atlantic this time of year.”

“Or anytime,” the CO pointed out. “This is their first day of fighter combat in the tactical arena. Air defense of Bermuda and chasing down Backfires or Bears is one thing. Hassling with MiGs is a whole new ball game.”

“We'll find out, won't we?” Ellis asked. “Think they'll lose people?”

“Wouldn't surprise me at all,” the Major said. There was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

A blonde female First Lieutenant with wavy hair just long enough for the regs came in, with two cups of steaming liquid in hand. “Morning, Guru, and XO,” First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn said. She was Major Wiser's GIB, and “Guru” was his call sign.

“Morning, Goalie,” Guru said. “Ready to get back at the game?”

“Just as long as Ivan strikes out,” she grinned. “And we bat at least .500.”

“At least,” Guru said. “Mark, anything else?”

“Chief Ross is running down Airman Kellogg's family. The Red Cross is involved, and he's running down the brother and sister. No replies yet, though,” reported Ellis. “And nothing yet about his parents.” Ellis paused. “They may very well be in that mass grave.”

Guru nodded. “Okay. Tell him to keep looking.”

“Will do.”

“Goalie?” Guru asked his GIB-and lover. “Any issues with your RAF counterparts?”

“Nope,” she replied. “Though a couple of 'em were surprised to see a First Lieutenant as senior WSO. But they smiled, shook hands, and said 'That's how it is, so let's get with it.' They've got a lot of instrument time, I can tell you that.”

“Given where they were, and being on alert twenty-four hours a day? Not surprised at that,” Guru said. “They'll find things are very different here, on that first mission. He glanced out his office window and noticed the first brightness of dawn starting to show. Then he looked at the clock on his office wall: 0550. “Let's go eat.”


When the trio got to the Officer's Mess Tent, the usual line was already forming, and it was a little strange, not seeing either Major General Robin Olds-who had returned to Nellis the previous afternoon, or Brig. Gen. Chuck Yeager, who had moved on to Carlsbad in New Mexico and the ROK Air Force contingent for the next stop of his F-20 demonstration tour. But Marine Colonel Allen Brady, the CO of MAG-11, was there, and he was talking with Squadron Leader Dave Gladehill, the OINC of the detachment from 74 Squadron, the RAF contingent that had come to their little corner of the war. “Morning, Colonel,” Guru said. “Squadron Leader.”

“Major,” Brady nodded. “Seems strange, doesn't it? Not having General Yeager or General Olds around.”

“Well, sir, had to get back to normal, or something close to it,” replied Guru. “Dave? You guys ready to get with it?”

“Quite,” Gladehill said. “The first missions will be interesting.”

“Remember what we told you guys in the brief yesterday,” Guru said. “Seventy percent of our losses are people who don't make it to ten missions. You're not combat virgins, but what you've done is a whole different league than what we play in.”

Gladehill nodded. “We'll find out soon enough, and we're as ready as we can be.”

“Fair enough,” replied Guru. He took a look around, and saw Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace talking with some of the people from 74, and to the CO, it looked as if she was measuring people up-for potential victims at the pool table later. “I see Kara's up this morning.”

“She was here when I arrived,” Gladehill said. “I did warn her about our RAF Regiment people. They're pretty good at the pool table, and might give her a good run.”

“Just as long as your people know what they're in for, and pray none of them need to use her, well, 'alternative payment schedule.'”

“I did warn them,” replied Gladehill.

“Good. Just as long as they've been warned.”

Then one of the Marine Mess Officers came out, and flipped the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's on, folks.”


After breakfast, the strike leads went to the Ops Office to get their mission packets. As CO, Guru was first, and found the Ops Officer, Capt. Don van Loan, waiting. “Have a good breakfast, Don?”

“Sure did, Boss, and ready to go earn my flight pay-of which forty-five cents goes back to the government,” Van Loan replied. He handed his CO a packet. “Here's your first mission.”

Guru took the packet and opened it. He skimmed over the mission summary, then looked at his Ops Officer. “And whose bright idea was this?”

“Don't look at me, Boss,” the Ops Officer replied innocently. “I just put'em together from the ATO.”

“Brownwood Regional Airport. Well, at least we've got Weasels coming, and two of the RAF birds are going with us,” Guru said. “Strike flight is a six-ship.”

“That it is,” Van Loan said. “Dave and Flossy are going with you.” Just then, the subjects of their conversation came in. “Dave,” Van Loan said to IDF Major Dave Golen. Who came in with 1st Lt. Terry McAuliffe, his GIB, and his wing crew, First Lieutenants Sandi “Flossy” Jenkins and Chloe “Jang” Winters.

“Guru,” Golen said. “And Ops. No problems or issues, so the bird's back on the schedule. And maintenance and armorers were waiting when we taxied in.”

Guru showed him the mission summary. “That's because you guys are going with us,” the CO said. “And the Brits. Two of their Js are coming along. Get to the briefing room ASAP.”

“On our way,” Golen said, and his people left the Ops Office.

Squadron Leader Gladehill came in. “Got anything for us?”

“Dave,” Guru said. “Round up your GIB and your wing crew. My flight's briefing room, in ten. We've got a strike coming, and you're in the tasking.”

“Right!” Gladehill replied. “Be right there.”


“He too eager?” Van Loan asked.

“No,” Guru said. “I think they want to show they're good at not just bomber interception or chasing down strays from the Air Bridge. They'll work out fine.” The CO glanced at the summary again, then shook his head. “Been there at least twice before.”

“And back again.”

“And back again,” Guru acknowledged. “Thanks, Don.” He headed for his flight's briefing room, and when he got there, he found not only his flight, plus Dave Golen's element, but Gladehill's element as well. And the squadron's mascot, Buddy. “All right, people, it's the first one of the day, and it's a doozy.”

“Where to?” Kara asked.

“Brownwood Regional Airport,” Guru said. “F-111s or A-6s hit it last night, and we get to do the follow-up.”

“This place swarms, Boss,” Sweaty added. It wasn't a question. She was recalling previous strikes.

“It does, and for the benefit of our British friends, this place has two MiG regiments. One East German with MiG-21, and a Soviet MiG-23 Regiment also. MiG-29s have also used it as a FOL, so they may be there as well.”

Gladehill and his people looked at each other. MiG-29s? First mission in Texas and they throw this at us....”Where are the Fulcrums usually based?” Gladehill asked.

“Usually Gray Army Airfield at Fort Hood, but they've also been reported at Bergstrom AFB by Austin, and the old James Connolly AFB by Waco, though it may be an FOL. Last time we hit this place, there were Fulcrums, and we got some on the ground,” said Guru. “Goodfellow AFB by San Angelo is a possible as well. Ivan's had two years to get the runways operational again, and they are considered as such. There are -21s and -23s also at Connolly, Waco Airport, Temple Airport, and Gray AAF. Flankers are at Bergstrom, and as you all know, they are bad news. And it's confirmed that Mainstays are in theater-we've known before, but this is for our RAF friends' benefit.”

“Bad guys there same as last time?” Hoser asked.

“Yep,” replied the CO. “Not just the Soviet 32nd Army, but in and around Brownwood proper? It's the baddest of the bad from the GSFG days: 3rd Shock Army.” Guru paused, then went on. “Which means not just the defenses at the base, but Army-level air defense assets. SA-4, guns, and MANPADS.”

“Lovely,” KT spat.

“As for base defenses, the SA-3 site is listed as possibly operational, and there's three 57-mm batteries. No dedicated flak suppressors, but we'll be getting Weasels.” Guru turned to Gladehill. “A two-ship of F-4Gs will be joining us at the tankers.:

The RAF officer nodded. “Good to have, that.”

“They are,” Guru said. “Okay, there's also going to be ZU-23s and guys with MANPADS at the base as well, so be careful, people!”

Flossy asked, “What's the ingress route, Boss?”

“We hit tanker track ARCO north of Abilene, and though Dyess is open, it's listed for C-130s and as an A-10 FOL. But it's there in case you need to put down with battle damage. Head south from the tanker track, cross the I-20 and the FLOT. Follow U.S. 283, and again, that's a Main Supply Route, for said 32nd Army, so watch for traffic on the road. Convoys usually have their own AAA, so be careful. Once we hit the Colorado River, turn east. Follow the river to U.S. 377, then go north. The city of Brownwood is the pop-up point. The target's eight miles northeast of the town. Make your runs, then get your asses north for I-20.”

Kara nodded. Nothing new here. “Aimpoints?”

“You and I have the ramp area,” Guru said, tapping the ramp on the photos. “We both get Rockeyes, and kill anyone parked on the ramp.”

“Sounds good. After last night, those bastards ought to be still on the ground.”

“No guarantees,” Guru reminded her. “Sweaty? You and Hoser take the runways. You get same one as last time: Runway 17/35. Hoser? You're on Runway 13/31. Both of you have Mark-82 Snakeyes.”

“Got it,” Sweaty nodded, and so did Hoser. Nothing new here.

Dave Golen then asked, “And us?”

“You and Flossy have the GATOR Mines. Two centerline, two on each inboard wing station. Put them around the runways, and maybe those repair crews will stay away for a day or two,” Guru said.

“Until they're cleared,” Goalie muttered.

“Until they're cleared,” Guru admitted. “As for the grey Rhinos?” Guru nodded at the RAF contingent. “When I call PULL? You guys assume a TARCAP. Kill anyone on CAP, and get rid of any party-crashers.”

“Sounds good,” Flight Lt. Susan Napier, who was Gladehill's wing pilot, nodded.

“Once Flossy there calls off target,” Guru said. “You guys get your asses down low and headed north.”

“Will do,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson, Gladehill's pilot, replied.

Guru nodded, then went on. “Ordnance loads: Kara? You and I have Rockeyes, as I said before, plus full air-to-air. Sweaty and Hoser have Mark-82s with the same. And Dave and Flossy have the GATOR mines and air-to-air. That means, for our RAF friends' benefit, four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs-and be glad we have the Fs now, full 20-mm, two wing tanks, and an ECM pod. That's ALQ-119 for element leads, and ALQ-101 for the wingmen.”

Gladehill then jumped in. “For us, that will be four AIM-9Ls.” He noticed the 335th crews looking at him. AIM-9Ls? Only the F-15s, F-16s, and F/A-18s had those around here. Usually. “Four Sky Flash, two wing tanks, and a SUU-23 pod centerline.”

“Sounds good,” said Guru then he turned to the next subject. “Okay, bailout areas. Anyplace rural and away from the roads. Find a place to hole up and Jolly Greens will come for you, but it'll be at night. Ninety percent of the rescues here take place at night, people. As for the locals? This isn't good Resistance country, but ninety-nine percent plus of the citizenry will help. Even if they don't want to get directly involved, they will pass you on to those who will. This was in the SERE briefing our RAF friends got yesterday, but I do want to repeat it.”

“Got you,” Gladehill said. “And how many today?”

“Chances are, three more,” Guru replied. “Weather is going to be good. Some ground mist, but it should be burn off by the time we're on target. Other than that? Some lingering clouds around 15,000, but nothing at low level.” He looked at those in the room. “As far as mission code goes? We're RAMBLER Flight. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right! Let's gear up and get ready to fly. Meet at 512's revetment.”

As people got up to leave, Brainiac, Kara's GIB, noticed something. “Hey, Buddy's fast asleep.” He was referring to the squadron's mascot.

“What does that mean?” Susan Napier asked.

“It means,” Kara replied. “If he sleeps through a brief? We're due for an easy mission. If he wakes up and pays attention? Watch out.”

“So he's an omen? Dave Gladehill said.

“He can be,” Guru replied as he gathered up his briefing materials. An Ops NCO came by to collect them, then headed to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. After getting into his survival vest, G-Suit, and picking up his helmet, he went out, and found Goalie waiting, geared up and ready. “All set?”

“This is going to be interesting,” Goalie said. “We'll see how our friends do in our league.”

“And let's hope they pass,” Guru replied. “Let's go.”


When the two got outside, the sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon. “Good day to fly,” Guru commented.

“It is that,” Goalie said. “Just as long as we all come back. Going skydiving is not in my plan for today.”

“At least we see eye-to-eye on that.”

Pilot and GIB walked to the revetment of their aircraft, 512, and found their flight waiting for them. “Okay, people. Gather 'round.” It was time for Guru to give his final instructions.

“Usual on the radio?” Sweaty asked.

“It is,” Guru said. “For our new friends' benefit, that means mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us.”

“Understood,” Gladehill nodded, and so did the other RAF crewers.

“Okay, if you pick up a SEARCH radar on your EW displays and we've barely crossed the fence? Watch out. That means a Mainstay.”

“Somebody needs to do something about those,” Kara spat.

“Maybe somebody will,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right,” he clapped his hands. “Meet up at ten grand overhead. Time to go get 'em. Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and their bird, 512. Their Crew Chief, Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, was waiting, and he snapped a perfect salute. “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve's ready to go out and kick some more Commie ass.”

Both Guru and Goalie returned the salute. “Good work, Sarge,” Guru said. They went over the aircraft and did their preflight walk-around. After Guru signed for the aircraft, he and Goalie mounted the aircraft and got strapped into their seats. Then they went through the preflight cockpit checklist.

“Worried?” Goalie asked as they went through the checklist.

“No,” Guru replied. “Just wondering how they'll do,” he said.

“You're not the only one,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom,”said Guru. “They'll do fine, I think.”

“Same here.”

“Arnie and INS?” Guru asked. He meant the ARN-101 DMAS system and the INS.

“Both check out,” replied Goalie. “We're set. Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“That we are,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to his 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, Rambler Flight with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three-Lima. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up, and Sergeant Crowley waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the wheels, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal. Guru taxied out of the revetment, and as he cleared the revetment, Crowley snapped another perfect salute. Guru and Goalie returned it, then 512 taxied to the holding area, with the other seven F-4s in the flight following. A flight of Marine F-4s was ahead of them, and after the Marines taxied for takeoff, Guru taxied into the holding area. There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then Guru called the Tower.

“Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-nine for five.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. “Rambler Lead taxiing for takeoff.” Guru taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520, tucking in at his Five O'clock. A final cockpit check followed, then Guru and Goalie glanced in 520's direction, where Kara and Brainiac gave the thumbs-up. “Ready?”

“All set back here,” Goalie said.

“Time to go,” said Guru. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower didn't reply by radio. A flashed green light gave clearance.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said. He pulled his canopy down and locked it, and Goalie did the same. A quick look had 520 just as squared away. “Let's go.” He firewalled the engines to full power, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with her. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser, then came Dave Golen and Flossy. After that, it was Gladehill and Napier. The flight met up at FL 100, then set course south for the tanker track.