[Matt Wiser]

Next mission, and prepping for General Olds' 'Check Ride."



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 missle 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 turnaruond, 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.