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Old 10-06-2017, 09:08 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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Location: Auberry, CA
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Airfield strike, and Guru gets ready for an F-20 ride:



Over Central Texas, 0935 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight was going in, low, as usual, and south of the I-20. They had met up with the two A-7s that were flying IRON HAND, and had their usual pre-strike refueling. Now, they were going in at 450 feet AGL, and following the Brazos. And this time, unlike many previous strikes, the Nicaraguans were alerted and occasionally shooting. Several columns of smoke rising from areas east of the river explained why. “Somebody's reminding the Nicaraguans they're still in the war,” Guru observed after passing the Granbury bridge.

“Reminding them they should have stayed home,” Goalie noted. “One minute to Glen Rose, four minutes to turn point,” she called.

“Got it,” Guru said. He glanced at his RWR. So far, clear of any radar threats. Not even the Red AWACS. Then a beep came over his headset, and a strobe appeared on the RWR display. The SEARCH light came on. “Search radar,” he said.

“Same here,” Goalie replied. “Want to bet it's the Mainstay?”

“No takers,” said Guru. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller came back immediately. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-seven-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-two for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that. Mainstay active?”

“Affirmative, Camaro. Mainstay is up and active,” the Controller said.

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” replied Guru.

“That's that about the Mainstay,” Goalie said. “Glen Rose coming up.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as the U.S. 67 bridge appeared. Just as at Granbury, the flak gunners on both sides of the river opened up. As they flew by, a convoy was lined up on U.S. 67 headed south, waiting to cross the bridge. “Not their turn to die.”

“Too bad,” said Goalie “Thirty seconds to the Brazospoint bridge. One minute to Route 174 bridge.”

“Copy.”

The strike flight maintained its course, and the Brazospoint bridge appeared, with the flak gunners on both sides alerted and firing. They were too low, though, and too fast, for the gunners to properly track, and Camaro Flight easily avoided the flak.

“One-seventy-four bridge coming,” Guru noted. “North tip of the lake.” That meant Lake Whitney.

“Roger that,” said Goalie “Thirty seconds.”

The Route 174 bridge appeared, and again, there were convoys lined up, waiting to cross. Here, the gunners on the east side were Libyan, and they started shooting before the East Germans did. As usual, the Libyans acted as if someone was going to outlaw ammunition in the next five minutes, for they put out a lot of fire.

Camaro Flight cleared the bridge, and went out over the lake. “How far to turn?” Guru asked.

“Forty-five seconds,” was Goalie's answer.

“Copy.” Guru then dropped to 300 feet AGL over the lake, and the rest of the flight followed. The F-4s and A-7s thundered over the lake, and unknown to the aircrews, a number of locals were on both sides, fishing. Hoping to get some fish to compliment the rations allowed by the occupiers, seeing the F-4s, though the roar of jets frightened the fish, made their day.

“Turn point in ten,” Goalie said. “Five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned right onto a heading of two-seven-one, and some forty seconds later, blew past Meridian, where they had been earlier that morning, and headed west. “Next turn point?” He asked Goalie.

“One minute thirty to Hico,” Goalie said.

“Got it,” Guru said. He kept his head on a swivel, watching for visual threats, then checking the EW display. That Red AWACS was still there. He called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller came back right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-seven-zero for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-nine-one for fifty-eight. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-five for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that, Crystal Palace,” Guru said.

Goalie checked her navigation. “One minute to Hico,” she called.

“Copy that,” Guru said as he maintained his visual scanning.

The rolling hills passed beneath them as the strike flight approached Hico. “Hico dead ahead,” Goalie advised.

“Got it,” Guru said as the town appeared at Twelve O'clock. “Visual on Hico.” Again the F-4s had caught the town by surprise, for there was not the slightest reaction from the town's garrison. “How far to the IP?”

“Forty seconds.”

In Hico, the East German Major who commanded the garrison had come out of his morning staff meeting, and deep down, he was wishing he was in a combat unit. He had come out of the Frontier Troops, and thus had been earmarked for garrison duties, much to his chagrin. Though he had a company of East German rifle troops-mainly reservists who had served in the Frontier Troops as he had, but there were also Soviets. Here, the Soviets from the Rear-Area Protection Division-and these were reservists in their forties from Minsk, men who were not fit for front-line duties, but any fool could patrol roads and provide a presence in town, which these overage reservists could do. However, if a serious fight ever developed, the Major felt that these men would likely take to their heels if the U.S. Army came over the hills north of the town.

The Major's biggest headaches were the Stasi and PSD detachments, who often had their own disagreements with not just the garrison, but each other. The Stasi insisted on posting guards at all “Vital installations” in the town, which included the U.S. 281 bridge south of town, as well as City Hall, the jail, and the various county buildings. Even though there wasn't the manpower, given the needs of the front, the Stasi was insistent. Then there was the PSD swine, who had arguments with the Stasi over matters of ideology, while both insisted on searching for any “Fascist and Counterrevolutionary elements” in the area. The lack of bandit or guerilla activities in the area would have indicated to a rational person that there were no such elements, but both the Stasi and PSD had insisted. The Major was certain that what resistance people were in the area were laying low, biding their time until the front got closer, then, he knew, they would make their presence known.

Wishing the Stasi and the PSD would settle their differences-preferably by fire-fight, the Major went back to his office and looked out the window. A T-34/85 from the Soviets was parked outside City Hall, and the crew was busy with maintenance, when, suddenly, there was cheering from the civilians, who had been going about their business. He looked out and up, and saw four F-4 Phantoms and two smaller aircraft, which kind he wasn't sure, fly over the town. This had been the second time today, and he was wondering, will the third time bring an air strike?

“We're clear,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to IP.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead, Switches on, Music on, and stand by to pull.” That call was to arm their weapons and turn on their ECM pods.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Three copies,” Sweaty added.

“Four, roger,” was Hoser's call.

In 512, Guru said, “Set'em up,” as he turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.


“Got it,” Goalie said as she worked the armament controls. “You're set. All in one pass.”

Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. “Good girl.”

“IP in ten,” Goalie said. The town of Purves, more a collection of houses than a town, came into view. “And five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru pulled up as he called, “Flight, Lead. PULL.”The others acknowledged, and as he pulled up, he turned slightly right. Sure enough, Dublin came into view a couple miles ahead. And some flak started to come up. Somebody's alert down there, Guru thought. “Punchers go to work.” That call was for the A-7s to start their flak suppression.

“Puncher 306 copies,” a male voice came over the strike frequency. The A-7 leader and his wingman went after the flak batteries. “MAGNUM!” A Shrike missile was in the air, looking for a radar.

“Target in sight,” Guru called. Dublin Municipal was off to their left. “All set back there?”

“Ready,” Goalie chimed in.

Guru put the F-4 into a dive and onto his attack run. “Here we go.”



At Dublin Municipal Airport, the acting CO of the 77th Independent Naval Ground-attack Squadron (OMShAE) was in a fit. His squadron's Yak-38M fighters were practically useless in any kind of fighter mission against American fighters, and had been limited to anti-helicopter patrols as well as counterinsurgency. The Naval Aviation Major remembered going up against American fighters in Kansas, and the squadron had suffered for it, for the Yak-38 was practically helpless aginst an F-4, let alone the F-15 or F-16. They had rarely faced their expected opponents at sea, the F-14, but then again, having gone against the other “Teenaged” fighters as the Americans called them, he wasn't complaining. Here, though, contact with enemy aircraft had been rare, and even encounters with American helicopters had dropped off. Intelligence told him that the Americans were limiting their helicopter missions behind the lines to night flights, and his aircraft were daytime-only, VFR capable, and one attempt at intercepting an American helicopter had ended in disaster, when the Yak-38 pilot had misjudged his altitude and slammed into a hill, and the American CH-47 had gotten away.

Now, his squadron, normally twelve aircraft strong, was down to six on the field, two out on a patrol, and of the six nominally available, one was in a hangar undergoing an engine change. To cap matters, his squadron commander had been shot down the previous day by a marauding F-4, and was now in the hospital with a broken shoulder and a broken leg. The Major looked to the north, where the Americans were, and wondered what was coming next. This field had been hit previously, but the last raid had been a couple of weeks earlier, and the damage to the runway had been made good. He then glanced around and saw the five available Yak-38s sitting on the north ramp, an An-26 transport from the East German Air Force on the south, and a pair of East German Mi-8 transports near the transport. The Major was about to go to his headquarters tent to deal with the bureaucrats and the endless paperwork that they delighted in sending combat units when shouts of alarm rang out, followed by anti-aircraft fire. A quick glance to the southeast revealed smoke trails in the air and closing fast. American F-4s, he knew. As the air raid alarm sounded, he ran for a slit trench and jumped in.

Guru rolled in on his attack run. “Lead's in hot!” He came down on the airport just as the 23-mm flak opened up, and one of the two A-7s rolled in on the flak site and dropped on it. To him, it looked like a couple hundred firecrackers going off on the ground as the CBUs tore into the site. The A-7 pulled off, and as it did, he saw what he was looking for. Three Yak-38s on the ramp. Good, Guru thought as he lined them up in his pipper. Your turn, Ivan......Ignoring the remaining 23-mm tracers and the puffs of 57-mm, Guru bored in. “Steady....Steady....and....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, sending his Rockeyes down on the runway and the North Ramp. Guru pulled up and away, jinking as he did to avoid flak and any MANPADS. “Lead's off safe.”

“Damn!” The AV-MF Major yelled as first, the A-7, then Guru's F-4 came in on their runs. The Major had been bombed before, a number of times, but it had been a while. He heard the CBUs going off on the anti-aircraft site, then as the F-4 came in, more of the bloody bomblets went off. This time, there were bigger explosions in their wake, and he knew. At least three of his Yak-38s had gone up. He raised his head to take a look, but ducked back down as another F-4 appeared.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “We got big secondaries!”

“How big?” Guru wanted to know. He was jinking to avoid flak, and saw a missile-probably a shoulder-fired one, pass by his left side.

“Caught them on the ground big,” replied Goalie.

“Good enough,” Guru said as he headed for the Leon River.


Kara rolled in on her run. “Two's in!” She called. Kara, too, ignored the flak, and there was some 23-mm tracers coming up, and even some 57-mm. Ignoring the Triple-A, she saw the CO's bird pull up and his CBUs go off. She eyeballed the hangars and lined them up in her pipper. Okay, Ivan....she thought as they grew larger in her sights. “Steady....And...And.....NOW!” She hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82s came off the racks. Pulling up and away, Kara applied power and began jinking to avoid flak. Despite some tracers flying over and around her aircraft, she egressed the target and got clear. “Two's off target.”

In his trench, the Major muttered, “Of all the....” He heard Kara's F-4 come in, and a dozen bombs exploded in its wake, and he heard a couple of secondary explosions as well. The Major lifted his head, and saw the hangar-more a wooden frame with tin walls and roof, really, blown apart, and the Yak-38 inside scattered to the four winds. Two other such hangars also were wrecked, and another Yak-38, parked outside the hangars, was nothing but burning junk. He started to get up, but ducked back down as the AA guns kept firing. More Yankee aircraft coming in.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac shouted in 520's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as she egressed the area, ignoring the flak, and a missile that flew right overhead by about a hundred feet.

“Got a couple,” her GIB replied. “And those chumps are still shooting.”

“Let 'em shoot,” Kara replied as she picked up the CO's bird.

“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came down on her run. As she did, the 57-mm flak stopped as one of the A-7s laid down a couple of CBUs on the battery, and not just a couple hundred firecrackers went off as the bomblets exploded, but there were secondary explosions as AA ammo went off as well. Bad day, Ivan, she thought as Kara made her run and Sweaty saw the hangars go up. Sweaty picked out the South ramp and spotted a twin-engined transport and a couple of helos. Okay...She lined them up, and got ready to release. “And....Steady....Steady.....And....NOW!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, sending her Rockeye CBUs down onto the South Ramp area and the runway. She pulled up and away, jinking like the others to throw off any AAA gunners or SA-7 operators. “Three's off target.”

“Sookin sin!” Yelled the AV-MF Major. Son of a bitch. He heard the A-7 make its run, followed by Sweaty's F-4, and both aircraft left CBUs in their wake. The F-4, though, left three large sympathetic explosions as well, and that meant the An-26 and the two Mi-8s had gone up, the Major knew. Shaking his head, he stood up in the trench, only to be pulled back in by someone he didn't hear, and he knew full well the raid wasn't over.

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher shouted from the back seat. “Three good secondaries!”

Sweaty was still jinking as she cleared the target area. “How good?”

“Big and good,” was her GIB's response.

“Good for us, bad for them,” Sweaty quipped as she spotted the lead element.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came down on the target. He saw Sweaty's run, and the fireballs erupting on the ground as the two helos and the transport went up. There was still some 23-mm flak coming up, but, like the others, he ignored it as he spotted the fuel dump. You're having a really bad morning, whoever you are, was Hoser's thought as he lined up the fuel bladders and drums in his pipper. “Okay....And...And...Steady....NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button, and sent his twelve Mark-82s down onto the dump. He pulled up and away, and like the others, he was jinking on pullout to avoid flak. “Four off safe,” Hoser called.

“Damn it!” The Major yelled as Hoser's F-4 flew overhead. He heard the explosions as the Phantom flew past, and oily fireballs and smoke meant that the fuel depot had been hit, and more explosions followed as more fuel drums and probably the fuel trucks as well, went up. He stood up and got out of the trench, and turned to his maintenance officer. “Get the fire-fighting efforts organized, and see to the wounded.” This was shaping up to be a bitch of a day, and if the Yankees came back later, it would be worse, he knew.

“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled from the back seat. “You got the fuel dump!”

“How good?” Hoser asked as he cleared the town, and picked up Sweaty's exhaust trail, then her bird.

“Big and good,” said KT. “Big and righteous, as Preacher would say.”

Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Good enough,” he said. Just then, there was a call for him on the radio.

“Camaro Four, break right!”

He instantly broke, and as he turned, there was a Forger trying to line him up for a shot. The Yak-38 driver, though, didn't last, as one of the A-7s was behind the Forger, and fired a Sidewinder.

“FOX TWO!” A female voice called. It was Puncher 310, the A-7 wingmate. She had spotted the Forger and called the warning, then rolled in behind the Forger, then she took the shot. The AIM-9J smashed into the Forger's tail, engulfing it in a fireball, and as the Forger fell to earth, the pilot ejected. “SPLASH!”

“Hear that?” Guru asked in 512's cockpit. “One of the A-7s got a Forger.”

“Navy killing Navy,” said Goalie.

“It is that,” Guru said. “Puncher, Camaro. We're clear of the target and headed out.”

“Roger that, Camaro Lead,” Puncher 306 replied. “We're on you.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. He glanced to his right and found Kara and Brainiac in 520 with them in Combat Spread. “Sweaty, what's your position?”

“One mile behind, with visual, and Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called.

“Roger that,” Guru said as the two A-7s joined up with them. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

“Stand by one,” the AWACS controller replied. After a moment's silence, the controller came back. “Camaro Lead, threat bearing Two-four-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-five-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Do you have bogey dope?” Guru asked as he picked up the Leon River and turned north.

The controller came back at once. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Closest threats are Fishbeds. Second threats are Floggers, with Fulcrums the third.”

MiG-21s closest, Guru thought. Good. At low level, they could easily turn with a -21. MiG-23s and even MiG-29s? Well, they'd be across the fence before any of the three could be a factor. “Roger that, Crystal Palace.”

“Fulcrums?” Goalie asked. Out of GIB good habits, she began scanning visually.

“Not close enough,” Guru replied. Just then, Lake Leon appeared, then I-20 and the FLOT. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.”

After clearing the freeway, the flight climbed to altitude, then headed for the tankers. They plugged in for their post-strike refueling, then all six aircraft, F-4s and A-7s, headed back to Sheppard.

When the flight got back, they were told to wait in the pattern. Four flights were ahead of them, as well as outbound strikes-AF, Navy, and Marine. When their turn came, they saw the F-20s were behind them by two flights. Good, everyone thought. Let them wait. Then it was Camaro Flight's turn, and they came in and landed.

They taxied in, canopies open, and as they did, the news crew was filming them again. “Why are they still filming? They've got enough of that,” Guru wondered aloud.

“You've got me,” Goalie said. “Might be a slow day for their perspective.”

Camaro taxied into the squadron's dispersal, and the F-4s found their revetments, as did the A-7s, who went to VA-135's own area. Guru taxied into 512's revetment, and after taxiing in and shutting down, let out a deep breath. “Two and done.”

“Two more,” Goalie reminded him. “And your F-20 ride, remember?”

“How can I forget?” Guru asked as the F-20s came in and landed. “Wonder if Frank got the bad news?”

“One way to find out,” Goalie said as they went through the post-flight checklist, and the ground crew brought the crew ladder over.

Guru nodded, then took off his flight helmet. He took a handkerchef out of a flight suit pocked and wiped his forehead. Then he got up and climbed down, and Goalie followed. Sergeant Crowley was waiting, as usual. “Sergeant,” Guru nodded.

“Major,” Crowley said. “Lieutenant,” he nodded at Goalie. “How's my bird, and how'd she do?”

“Five-twelve's still truckin', Sergeant, and she did good. Made some Forgers on the ground go up-in pieces.”

“Shit hot, sir!” Crowley said, handing the CO and GIB each a bottle of water. “What's next?”

“Get her turned around, and then you guys get yourselves something to eat,” Guru said. “Still got two more to go.”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, sir!” he said. “All right, you heard the Major,” he told the ground crew. “Get her turned around for another one.”

Both Guru and Goalie nodded, then put on their bush hats and headed for the revetment's entrance. They found Kara and Brainiac waiting. “How'd it go with you?” The CO asked his wingmate.

“Tore up the hangars, and saw you take those Forgers,” Kara said. “And one of the A-7s got a Forger off of Hoser's tail.”

Sweaty and Preacher heard that as they came up. “Looks like we'll have to send the Navy something to drink,” she observed. “Got the helos and a transport on the ramp.”

“And we got the fuel dump,” Hoser added. “I'll have to buy that A-7 driver a round,” he said.

“That's the usual,” Kara said. “Anyone you know of get a kill in an A-7?”

“Prada,” Guru reminded them. “She even got a MiG. Maybe an Su-25, the rest helos, I think.”

Heads nodded at that. “And speaking of which,” Goalie said. “They're taxiing in.”

“You're flying with her, right?” Hoser asked.

The CO nodded. “You got it, and I won't even need to change.”

Kara had a grin. “So, Boss, what are you going to tell 'em when that exercise is through.”

“Nasty little interceptor for anyone who can't afford an F-16 or F/A-18, has the makings of a decent aggressor, and that's about it,” Guru told his people. “Then again, that's for 'after the war'.”

Heads nodded again. “That little detail is always there,” Preacher commented.

“It is,” Guru said as a Dodge Crew-cab pickup pulled up, and out came Chief Ross. “Chief?”

“Major,” Ross said. One thing about being on the ramp, was that nobody saluted. “Captain Licon wants you all for a debrief.”

The CO nodded. “Let's go, people. Get the debrief done, then time for my F-20 check ride.”

“You going to take the stick?” Kara asked.

“If Prada lets me,” Guru joked. “Come on. Let's get the debrief out of the way. While I'm with Yeager's people, you all need to check your desks.”

“Because the paper warriors never seem to stop,” Goalie spat.

“No,” Guru agreed. “Pile in and let's go,” he said, and they all piled into the pickup, and Chief Ross drove them back to the Squadron's Office. Get the debrief done, get the F-20 ride out of the way for the CO, then eat and get ready to go do it all over again....
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