[Matt Wiser]

Last strike of the day:



Over Central Texas: 1615 Hours Central War Time;


Corvette Flight was inbound, having crossed the I-20, and into enemy territory. They were ingressing roughly along the boundary between the Soviet 32nd Army to the west, and the East Germans to the east, and so far, neither one had reacted to their presence. While the GIBs concentrated on the navigation, the pilots were busy keeping their heads on a swivel, checking instruments, then scanning outside for threats.

“How long to Proctor Lake?” Guru asked Goalie in 512 as the Texas landscape flew by. A few hills in this part, though flat otherwise. They were flying just west of, and parallel to, State Route 16, which was no doubt in use by the Soviets and East Germans.

“Two minutes to the lake,” Goalie called from the back seat.

“Copy,” Guru replied. He checked his EW display. So far, so good. No threats detected...yet.

The strike flight followed the Leon River, then crossed Route 16, and headed for Proctor Lake. A quick glance west had the setting sun, and that was a good thing. Anyone looking for them visually would have the sun to contend with, not to mention interfering with an IR missile's seeker head. “Lake coming up,” Goalie called. “Fifteen seconds to turn.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. Just then, a spoke appeared on his EW display, and the SEARCH indicator came on. “Looks like a search radar.”

“Not close,” Goalie observed.”Turn in five, four, three, two, one, and...TURN!”

Guru put the aircraft into a left turn, then settled onto a heading between northeast and east. “On the second leg.”

“Gotcha.” Goalie checked her map-a good GIB always used the old-fashioned backups. “Two minutes to the next turn.”

“Roger that.”

Then the AWACS came on the line. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threats bearing One-six-five for fifty-eight. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-two for seventy. Medium, Closing.”

“Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead,” Guru replied. “Say bogey dope?”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace, First two threats are Floggers. Threats at Two-zero-two are Fishbeds.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. He kept his eye open as several farm-to-market roads flew by below, and any one of them could have a hidden threat, such as any type of ZSU gun or mobile SAM launcher as a mobile flak trap. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he called. That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

“Copy, Lead,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

Just then, the flight overflew a convoy. Goalie glanced at the trucks and even a tank transporter. “Not their turn.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Guru called.

Below, moving north on F.M. 1702, an East German Major was leading his supply convoy. It had been a long way from the port in Corpus Christi, and they had actually had no incidents with the counterrevolutionary bandits who infested rural parts of Texas. However, they had encountered the deadly aftemath of several of their attacks, where either patrols or small convoys had been attacked, leaving burned-out vehicles and bodies in their wake. As they got closer to the Army rear, signs of Fascist air attack had also become common, with facilities in the rear being targeted, or engineers repairing bomb-damaged bridges. Clearly, the Imperialist air forces were a threat, and so, when the convoy had arrived in Hamilton, orders were waiting for them to divert west along Route 36, then north on this Farm-to-Market Road 1702. They would get to Dublin, then follow Route 67/377 to Stephenville, where their cargoes were to be delivered.

Suddenly, four American aircraft overflew the convoy, headed in a northeasterly direction. The Major screamed over the radio for the convoy to halt, and soldiers deployed from several BTR-60s with Strela missiles on their shoulders. No follow-on aircraft appeared, much to his relief. They were running late as it was with the detour, and this... “Better late than dead,” the Major said as he ordered his men back into their trucks and APCs.

“How far to Clarette?” Guru asked. That was the next checkpoint. They had one more after that before the IP.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied.

“Copy that,” Guru nodded. He shot a quick glance at his EW display. That search radar was still there. “Mainstay may have us.”

“Hope they've lost us in the clutter.”

“You're not the only one,” said Guru. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

The controller responded right away. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat Bearing One-seven-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-two. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-one for sixty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy.”

“Clarette in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!” Goalie called.

The town, more a collection of houses alongside Route 6 than a town, flew by. Then U.S. 281 flew past a few seconds later. “IP in when?”

“Twenty seconds,” Goalie called. “Set 'em up?” She meant the armament control panel.

“You read my mind,” replied Guru. “All in one go. Flight, Lead, Switches on, and stand by.”

“Two copies,” Kara called.

“Three ready,” from Sweaty.

“Four, roger,” was Hoser's call.

Goalie worked the backseater's armament control panel. Though the pilot had one up front, setting up the weapons was often the GIB's responsibility. “All set. IP coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead, stand by to pull.”

Goalie made the call. “And....NOW!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and as he pulled up, the little town of Duffau appeared to his right. And right at the intersection, as described in the mission brief was the target. “Target in sight,” Guru called. “Ready?”

“All set back here,” Goalie said. “Let's go.”

“Going in,” Guru said as he rolled in on his bomb run.


At the missile support facility, a Voyska-PVO Lieutenant Colonel was wondering how he'd wound up halfway around the world, serving the Rodina when he should be lecturing to students at the University in Kuibyshev. He had served in a S-75 battalion and then a missile brigade during his service, only to be lured out of uniform by a need for engineering instructors at several universities, so he had been discharged into the Reserves in 1978, only to be recalled in 1986, a year into the war. With the “war emergency,” he had been promoted to first Major, then Lieutenant Colonel. The Colonel had been to Cuba once, during his time on active duty, and his father had actually been deployed there in 1962, as a battalion commander in one of the Motor-rifle regiments sent there as part of Operation ANADYR. Now, he was in America, and not only had he gotten to hate the place called Texas, he had also found out that the local population, with few exceptions, resented the Socialist Forces' presence, and had made that clear on several occasions, either with mortar attacks on his missile support battalion at previous locations, snipers, and even a culvert bomb that had blown one of his missile transporters-and the S-75 missile being carried-into tiny pieces.

Now, his missile support battalion was in the rear of the East Germans, supporting both the Voyska-PVO S-75 and S-125 (SA-2 and SA-3) sites in the area. To make matters worse, the Army had moved in a missile support unit of its own, for the 2K11 (SA-4), 2K12 (SA-6) and 9K33 Osa missiles used by both Soviet and East German units, and they all happened to be sharing the same area. To his surprise, the Colonel got along fine with his Army opposite number, a Lieutenant Colonel like himself, only younger-it seemed that the man had been promoted to take a dead man's place. Something all too common in the Soviet military these days......So far, he'd never been attacked from the air, but he'd heard from battery commanders who had, and often the first warning was the WHOOSH of the antiradar missile, followed by the missile exploding on target.

The Colonel got up from behind his military-issue desk, and left the ranch house being used as a headquarters, and went to see how things were going. The Stephenville S-75 site was due to be back online in two days, and finally, all of the necessary equipment had arrived. Command was also hoping to add an S-125 site in the same area, and one of his officers had left with a part to survey possible site locations, for the Imperialists had been very active in the air, and both the Army and the East Germans were screaming for additional missile cover. He walked over to where several missile transporters were parked, each with an S-75 on a trailer, and was about to sign them out when he heard shouting, then the ZU-23 AA guns around the site began firing. Air raid? He scanned the sky, then was suddenly pushed into a slit trench by someone, who said, “Comrade Colonel, air attack!”

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his bomb run. Coming in, he easily picked out where the SA-2 transporters were parked, and centered them in his pipper, and noticed the tracers coming up at him. Ignoring the light flak coming up, and even a SA-7 type missile that flew by on the left side, Guru got ready to release....Not your day, Ivan, or Franz.....”Steady...Steady...And.....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, releasing his six Mark-82s and six M-117Rs onto the target below, walking them across the transporters and the missile containers nearby. Guru then pulled wings level and headed north, jinking as he did to avoid flak and any MANPADS. Only then did he make his call. “Lead's off safe.”

“Damn!” Muttered the Colonel as Guru's F-4 came overhead. This was his first time under air attack, and he shuddered in the trench as the bombs went off. Then there were several sympathetic detonations as something had been set off by the bomb blasts. The Colonel was tempted to look, but remembered his training, and the air raid drills. More enemy aircraft were coming in.

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

“Secondaries?” Guru asked as he jinked again.

“Good ones,” Goalie replied. “And a missile at Seven,” she added.

Guru jinked right, and glanced over as a missile-probably another SA-7 type, flew past. Then he headed to the northeast, intent on finding the Brazos. Now he and Goalie were flying for themselves.
“Keep an eye out,” he said.

“You got it.”


Kara came in next. “Two's in hot!” She called, putting 520 in on its bomb run. She saw the CO's run, and noted with satisfaction as the SA-2 transporters-and what looked like missiles in their shipping containers-going up in fireballs. Kara lined up on the SA-3 area, and picked out several SA-3 transporters. Your turn, she thought. She, took ignored the flak coming up as she lined up the transporters in her pipper. “Steady.....And....And... NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, sending her bombs down on the Russians below. She, too pulled wings level, and began jinking to avoid flak and SAMs. Only then did Kara call, “Two off target.”

“Of all the...” the Colonel said as Kara's F-4 came over. Again, he felt the concussion of the bombs going off in the trench, and just as before, there were sympathetic explosions. The Colonel didn't need to lift his head and have a look around, for he knew where the explosions had come from. The S-125 area, he said to himself. He stood up, only to see the ZU-23s track back to the south and open fire. The Colonel ducked back into the trench, for more Imperialist aircraft were coming in.

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

“How good?” Kara asked as an SA-7 type missile flew right overhead by about fifty feet. Then she jinked again to throw off any bad guys' aim.

“Good and big!”

“Then we'll take those,” Kara said. She picked up the CO's smoke trail, then got eyeballs on his bird.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came down on the target. She picked out the SA-4s on their tracked transporters, and rolled in. Though the defenders down below were sending up 23-mm fire back at her, along with what looked like machine-gun fire, Sweaty ignored the flak as she lined up the SA-4 transporters in her pipper. “And...And....And.....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, releasing her six M-117Rs and six Mark-82s down onto the target, walking her bombs across the SA-4 area. Sweaty then pulled wings level and headed north, jinking as she did so to avoid flak. “Three off target.”

“Sookin sin,” the Colonel muttered in the trench. Son of a bitch. That was his thought as Sweaty's F-4 came by. He glanced upwards, and saw the F-4 actually releasing its bombs. Now what was the target? Then he knew, as the aircraft’s path took it over the 2K12 area. Then the bombs exploded, and sure enough, several more explosions followed. He stayed in the trench, even as fragments of shrapnel and were they vehicles-landed in the trench. The Colonel then lifted his head and looked to the south. The AA guns were traversing again in that direction. More aircraft....


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

Sweaty was jinking as she avoided some 23-mm tracers. “How many?”

“Several good ones,” replied Preacher.

“Good enough for the guy upstairs?” Sweaty asked her seminary student-turned GIB.

“He'd be happy.”


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw the explosions on the ground where Sweaty had laid down her bombs, and the fires and smoke where the CO and Kara had done the same. He picked out the ranch buildings, and saw a missile cook off and fly into one of the two barns, which immediately exploded. Thank you, Major,” he said to himself as the ranch buildings came into his pipper. Hoser lined them up in the pipper, and muttered. “Steady.....Steady....HACK!” He hit his pickle button, releasing his bombs onto the HQ area. Hoser then pulled wings level, pulling up and away from the target, then made his call. “Four off safe.”

The Colonel heard Hoser's F-4 come over, and saw the bombs coming off. He ducked involuntarily into the trench as one bomb obliterated the ranch house headquarters, but then another bomb landed right next to the trench....the Colonel and several others in the trench never had the chance to scream.


“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled. “Got a few secondaries. And a couple of fireballs.” That usually meant fuel going up.

“How good?” Hoser asked, dodging an SA-7 and noting the tracers falling short.

“Big enough,” she replied.

Hoser smiled as he picked up his element lead's trail, then saw Sweaty's F-4 up ahead. “We'll take those.”


Back at the SAM facility, a Soviet Army Lieutenant Colonel got up out of his own trench and shook his head. He'd been bombed before, but this one was bad. He took a look around and noted three of the 2K12 transporters were nothing but junk, their missiles either detonated or had shot off on their own, and where several missiles had been stored in their shipping containers, only a couple of bomb craters and some fires remained. A quick glance over at the V-PVO area for the S-75s and S-125s told a similar story. The man shook his head, and when a V-PVO Captain came up and told him his opposite number had been killed, he simply nodded. Time to get this madhouse back in some kind of order, he knew. His training and experience kicked in, and he began issuing orders.


“Here we go,” Guru said. “Time to fly for ourselves.”

“Four in and out of the target area,” Goalie said. “No flak yet.”

“Hope it stays that way,” replied Guru. He was watching for tracers, especially the basketball-sized ones. That meant ZSU-30-2s, and those he did not want to see.

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Coming up on your Five.”

Guru glanced at his Five O'clock, and saw 520 coming up in combat spread. “Tally on you,” Guru replied. “Sweaty?”

“On your Six, and coming fast. Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called back. “Light flak at Two O'clock.”

“I see it,” Guru said. Light tracers were coming up, either heavy machine guns or 23-mm. None of the flak was accurate, for the tracers either fell short or flew wide. “Crystal Palace,” Guru called. “Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-six-five for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-two. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Corvette Lead, nearest threats are Floggers. Second threats also Floggers. Third threats are Fishbeds.”

“Copy that,” said Guru.

“One minute to the Brazos,” Goalie said. “More flak at eleven.” She checked her map. “It's the nuke plant!”

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “Follow me.” He banked right to give the Triple-A around the Comanche Peak Nuclear Power Plant a wide berth, and the rest of the flight followed. Some black puffs of 57-mm came close, but thanks to their ECM pods, the F-4s were able to evade the flak. And a few seconds later, they were at the Brazos and the Glen Rose Bridge on U.S. 67, where more flak from the East German gunners came up. They evaded that barrage, then crossed the river into the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, then turned north, then banked slightly west to pick up the river. “How long to the Fence?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Two minutes,” she replied. “And more flak at the Granbury bridge.”

“First time in a while we've had fire from these chumps on the way out.”

“Even they have to earn their pay,” quipped Goalie.

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller called. “Threat bearing One-eight-zero for thirty-five. Medium, still closing. Second threat bearing One-seven-two for forty-five, Medium, closing.”

“Crystal Palace, Corvette,” Guru replied. “Can you arrange a reception for those party-crashers?”

Aboard the AWACS, the controller chuckled, then replied, “That's affirmative, Corvette. Break. Rustler Three-one, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-seven-five for fifty. Clear to arm, clear to fire. Kill. Repeat: KILL.”

“Rustler Three-one copies,” an F-15 leader called, then led four F-15Cs in on the bandits.


“Fence in thirty,” Goalie called.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He reached down and turned on his IFF transponder. The last thing anyone wanted as they cleared the Fence was a friendly-fire incident, either with their own kind, or worse, the Army down below.

“And there it is...” said Goalie as the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared, then flew past in a blur.

Then the F-15s engaged the MiG-23s, killing three of the first flight, then the second flight came in. Two more from that flight also went down, before the F-15s broke off due to fuel.

After clearing the I-20, Corvette Flight headed for the tanker track. Guru saw that two of his flights from the 335th were also joining up for their post-strike refueling, and he was glad to see a four-ship and a two-ship drinking fuel. The four-ship happened to be the Ops Officer's while the two-ship was Dave Golen and Flossy.

After their own refueling, Corvette Flight headed for Sheppard, and when they got there, their flight was the last one in. After landing, the flight taxied to the squadron's dispersal, and noticed, as usual, the news crew filming them. “They ever stop?” Guru asked.

“Have to ask them, I suppose,” Goalie said. “They'll have plenty of stock footage of F-4s when this is over.”

Guru shook his head as he and Goalie popped their canopies and taxied into their revetment. After getting the “Shut down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, and shutting down, both took a deep breath. Four and done, and not a scratch. They went through the post-flight checklist as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Then they climbed down and did a quick walk-around. “Sergeant,” Guru said as Sergeant Crowley brought him and Goalie each a bottle of water.

“How's my bird, sir?” Crowley asked.

“She's going good, Sergeant. Whatever you're doing? Don't change a thing,” Guru told his Crew Chief. “Get her ready for the morning.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “All right you guys! Let's get the Major's bird ready for tomorrow.”

As both pilot and GIB left, the ground crew got right to work. “You do know, those guys need a break,” Guru said. “Even more than we do.”

“Any chance of bad weather?” Goalie asked.

“Not for another four days at least,” the CO said as they got to the entrance to the revetment, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. “How'd you guys do?”

“Made the SA-3s go away,” Kara said.

“And some of 'em flew off horizontal, if you get the drift,” Brainiac added.

Guru let out a grin. “I sure do,” he said as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT arrived. “Have a good one?”

“Good for us,” Sweaty replied. “But not so good for Ivan,” she grinned.

“I'm sure the Good Lord would approve,” Preacher added.

Hoser nodded. “There were quite a few secondaries there, and killing SAMs this way beats Wild Weasels doing it.”

“Seconded,” KT said.

As they walked back to the squadron's office, they passed the F-20s in their revetments, with company tech reps going over the aircraft. “Still got something to teach those boys,” Guru said.

“For that 'Greatest since the P-51' remark?” Kara asked.

Guru nodded. “That, for one. But it'll have to wait until after the war, assuming we're all still alive,” he said.

“There is that one little detail,” Sweaty noted.

“Yeah, and tomorrow's the day Frank gets notified he's not going to the F-20 Program.”

“Happy Day,” Kara grinned. “This'll be the second time that bastard finds out not everything goes his way.” She was referring to when their previous CO, the late Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, had been killed, and Guru had gotten the squadron as he was XO, even though he was only a Captain at the time.

“Which begs two questions: first, how's he going to react?” Preacher asked. “And second? How long until he gets a case of the stupids?”

Guru winced, but replied. “Both are valid questions. Just as long as any such case doesn't get any friendlies-or himself for that matter, killed.”

“Lovely,” Kara spat.

“Yeah,” the CO agreed. “Okay, let's talk to Sin and debrief. Check your desks for anything for the armchair warriors want, then we're off the clock.”

Heads nodded. “And menana,” KT said. “We're at this again.”

“That we are,” Guru said. “Come on. Let's get debriefed.”