And another piece of artwork: a captured BMP-1 in U.S. Army markings

Some more artwork.. a captured BTR-70 and a ZSU-23-4

The next installment, and meet the FNGs:


335th TFS Ops Building, 1145 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat behind his desk in his office, going over some paperwork that had come in during the morning. At least the Exec filtered out the frivolous stuff and left him only what was really important, but still....the elves never took care of it while he was out of the office.

They had debriefed the mission, and Sandi Jenkins was now officially one kill away from being an ace, and now, he and his flight had some time before the next mission. A chance to eat, unwind a little, take care of squadron business, then it was back in the hot seat once again. He had just put the last bunch of papers into his OUT bin when there was a knock on the office door. “Show yourself and come on in!”

The female staff sergeant who was his secretary came in. “Major? The four new replacements are here.”

Major Wiser nodded. This wasn't the first time he'd handled this in a CO's capacity, though when Kara had reported in, he was filling in for his predecessor. “Okay, send 'em in.”

Four aircrew members came in, and the CO noticed that their flight suits weren't that worn. Just like his when he'd been in training. They all saluted him, and said, “Reporting for duty, sir,”

“As you were,” the CO said. He sketched a return salute and nodded. “All right, first off, forget a lot of the knife-and-fork stuff you learned in officer training, wherever that was. We're on a base at war, and there's a time and place for spit-shined boots, polished insignia, and pressed uniforms, and guess what? This ain't it. We're pretty informal here, and we go by first names or call signs, and if you don't have a call sign? We'll give you one. Understood?”

The four looked at each other, then one of them, a Captain, said, “Yes, sir!”

“That's good,” the Major said. “Captain, let's start with you. Got your orders and personnel jacket?”

“Right here, sir,” the Captain, Bob Gatlin, said. He handed the CO the folders.

Major Wiser scanned the Captain's jacket. “Two years prewar on F-4s?”

“Yes, sir. With the 3rd TFW in the Philippines. Then I came back to get my Master's. Just wrapped that up when the war started.”

The CO looked at that part of the record. “You got it at Cal, I see. They still crazy at Berzerkely?”

“That was after I got hooded, sir. But I have heard from people who were still in the MS program when I left. A lot of the more crazy anti-war types either got run out of town, shut up, or got thrown in the slammer. Rumor had it those folks were on somebody's payroll.”

“Okay...your MA shows you've got ambitions, Captain. That spells out NASA, I gather?” The CO asked.

The Captain nodded. “I'd be lying, sir if I said no. I'd love to fly the Shuttle.”

“Well, if you live through this, you might just get that chance. What were you doing at Kingsley Field the last two years?”

“For some reason, sir, after requalification, they kept me on as an instructor.”

“Fair enough,” the CO said. “Who's your GIB?”

A male lieutenant standing next to Captain Gatlin nodded. “Here, sir. Jody Phelan.” He handed over the orders and jacket.

The CO nodded and went over it. “BYU, I see. Poli-Sci and a minor in PE? Let me guess: you were going to be a teacher.”

“Yes, sir.” Phelan replied. 'Now....”

“Now you're in for the duration and a bit longer,” the CO said. “You do know that if the war ended tomorrow, you still have a commitment to the Air Force as a nav?”

'Yes,sir,'” Phelan replied. “One year down, seven to go.”

“Good. Just so you remember what you got yourself into, and that goes for the rest of you. Understood?”

Heads nodded at that. “Yes, sir,” said all four.

“Good,” the CO said. He scanned Phelan's file and noted his hometown. Richfield, Utah. “Any problems with, well, fighter pilots out getting crazy on a Friday or Saturday night? We do that quite a bit, and the same goes for the night before a stand-down due to maintenance or weather.”

“No, sir.”

“Again, just so you know what you're getting into,” Major Wiser pointed out. “Okay, next?”

The only female officer among the quartet nodded. “First Lieutenant Jodi Taylor, sir.” She gave the CO her jacket and orders.

“Wartime volunteer, I see,” the CO replied as he scanned her jacket. “University of Arizona?”

“Yes, sir. I'm from the Tuscon area, and got a degree in Astronomy.” Taylor replied.

“Do any skywatching from Kitt Peak?” Asked the CO. “We used that as a rendezvous point while flying strikes on Day One and after.” For a moment, memories of strikes on I-19 on the first two days of the war came back.

“Yes, sir. I was just starting grad school when the war began, and I was there with my professor and some other grad students. Had a ringside seat.”

“And you wanted to fly fighters after that?”

“Fly something, sir,” Taylor replied. She looked at her new CO, amazed to see a vet from Day One. “After OTS, they said that the ban on women flying combat was lifted, and I put in for fighters during flight.”

“Good for you, but I've got a question: why aren't you flying F-15s or F-16s?” Major Wiser wanted to know.

“Those slots were full, sir,” said Taylor. “And I didn't want to fly F-111s or A-10s.”

“So you asked for F-4s,” Major Wiser said. “It may be a while before you get back to studying the sky again.”

“I realize that, sir. As long as it's under a free sky,” Taylor replied.

The CO nodded. He turned to the last one, a powerfully built black officer. “Lieutenant?”

“Keith Bryant, sir,” the lieutenant replied.

The CO nodded and scanned his personnel jacket. “University of Hawaii. Criminology major?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What's a guy from...it says here, Decatur, Alabama, doing in Hawaii?”

“Football scholarship, sir. All-state tight end, and got to the state finals, and lost. Got some offers from Alabama, Auburn, Georgia Tech, Florida State, but also one from the University of Hawaii. So I took the offer, and played for four years.” Bryant said. “Got a brother already in the Air Force, and when the balloon went up, I went down to the recruiting office and signed up.”

“All right,” the Major said. “For your information, we're under Marine Operational Control, and they take the 'Everyone a rifleman' seriously. Everyone here carries a sidearm at least, and most people also have long guns-” the CO pointed to the AKM he had taken out of Colorado on his E&E. “So talk to Supply, and they'll take care of you. As for flying? Eighty percent of our tasking is air-to-ground, so no trolling for MiGs. Air-to-air does come up from time to time, and when it does? Make the most of it.”

Heads nodded at that. “Is that all, sir?” Captain Gatlin asked.

“Carry your MOPP gear with you at all times, just in case we get a CW attack. We've never been slimed, but you never know. If you guys don't have call signs, as I said, we'll give'em to you. Though I imagine the Captain here has one.”

“Yes, sir. T-Bone.”

Major Wiser looked at him. “How'd you get that?”

“Well, sir, I kinda put a practice bomb on a water buffalo at the Crow Valley Range near Clark....”

Hearing that, the CO let out a laugh, and the others did as well. “You're probably not the first to do that,” Major Wiser said. “Okay, is there anything else?”

“Sir,” Jody Phelan asked. “They told us the 'Wild Thing' was in this squadron. Is she....”

“Still around?” the Major finished. “If you're referring to Captain Kara Thrace, she's here. In fact, she's not only the assistant Ops Officer, but she's also my wingman. What'd they tell you?”

“Uh, that she's fair with the bottle, holds court at the pool and poker tables, and is, uh, a nymphomaniac,” Keith Bryant said.

“All of that's true to some extent. A word of advice: if you play cards or pool? Bring cash: she doesn't take checks. Anything else?” The CO wanted to know. Heads shook no. “Very well. Welcome to the 335th. Report to the Exec, and he'll see about billeting.”

The four looked at each other, and then Gatlin said, “Yes, sir.”

“We'll get one crew on the schedule tomorrow, almost certainly yours, Captain, and the other? We'll get you flying ASAP. If you need to talk about anything? My office door is always open when I'm not flying. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “All right, that's it for now,” Major Wiser said, using a polite form of dismissal.

“Yes, sir.” The quartet said. They came to attention, then left the office. As they did, 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, the CO's GIB and girlfriend, came in, bearing two Styrofoam food containers.

“What's for lunch?” Major Wiser asked. “Or do I want to know?”

“Burgers with all the fixings,” Goalie replied. “Remember you said there was somebody raising Bison instead of cattle? The Mess people say these are Bison burgers.”

“Well, with beef in short supply, make do,” Guru said. “Let's eat.”

“Before we do that, you gave the FNGs their welcome talk, I noticed.”

“Yeah, and they look good. One of 'em was an instructor after he requaled, and has prewar F-4 experience. The others? Right out of training,” the CO nodded. “The first crew, with the ex-instructor? They go to Mark's flight tomorrow.”

“The others?” Goalie asked.

“They fly right after the stand-down. We'll see how they do, then I'll decide whether or not to break them up. Revlon needs a new pilot, and I'd like to keep going with pairing a new pilot with an experienced GIB.”

Goalie understood. That was how she had been paired up with Guru when she reported to the 335th. “Anything else I should know?”

“Only that the second pilot is female, and if she teams up with Revlon? We'd have the first, well, 'unmanned' F-4 in the 335.”

Goalie looked at her pilot and lover. “And I can see the article in Airman magazine or Air Force Times if that happens.”

“Something else comes to mind,” Guru said. He saw his GIB's confused expression. “Our guests from the media. When they find out there's an F-4 with an all-female crew? The STORY light flashes in their heads.”

“Forgot about that,” Goalie admitted. “Well, enough shop talk for a while. Shall we eat before lunch gets cold?”

Guru nodded. “Yeah. Let's.”


After lunch, the two were making small talk when there was a knock on the door. “Come on in!” the CO said.

Kara came into the office. “Hope I'm not bothering you, but Boss, we just got our Frag Order.”

Guru looked at his wingmate and assistant Ops Officer. “Where are we going this time?”

“Town south of Cleburne, place called Rio Vista. Going for a Supply Dump.”

Goalie looked at Kara. “Back to the Nicaraguan sector, right?”

“Yeah, but these chumps aren't Nicaraguan. They're Libyan.” Kara said, reading from the paper.

“Libyan?” Goalie was confused. “Thought all those guys got caught in the Pueblo Pocket.” She was referring to a large pocket of Soviet and Soviet-allied forces that had been caught in a pocket in and around Pueblo, Colorado during the summer offensive known as PRAIRIE FIRE. That pocket had yielded almost as many prisoners as the Allied victory in North Africa, forty years earlier.

“Not all of 'em,” Guru said. “Either some got away, or these guys weren't even there.” He looked at Kara. “When?”

“Van Loan and Licon are putting the brief together. Fifteen minutes and they'll be ready. The birds are being armed and fueled right now.”

“Okay...” the CO nodded. He thought for a moment. “This a four- or six-ship?”

“Four,” Kara replied. “Dave and Sandi have their own mission.”

“All right,” Guru said. “Get everyone in the Briefing Room in fifteen. We'll be right there.”

“Got you,” Kara nodded. “I'm gone.” She went out the door and went to round up the rest of the CO's flight.

Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “Well, thus ends the break,” he said.

“What's the phrase?” She asked. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends?”

The CO smiled. “You were paying attention in English Class at the Academy.”

“Shakespeare,” Goalie said. “Isn't that one of the Henrys?”

“I think so. Just as long as we leave out that 'close up the walls with our dead' part.” He stood up. “Let's go.”


The CO and his GIB left the office and found the Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan. “Don,” Guru said. “Got what we need?”

Van Loan nodded. “Everything's here, Boss. And be glad this is a low-threat area, relatively speaking.”

“Don, if they're shooting at me, it's a high-threat area,” the CO replied. “This it?”

“That it is,” the Ops Officer said. “No Weasels or Flak Suppressors on this one.”

“Okay,” Guru nodded. “Dave and Sandi going anywhere near this?”

“They are, not that far from you, either.” Van Loan said.

Guru had a smile.”Good. Thanks, Don.” Guru and Goalie then headed for their flight's briefing room, and when they got there, the four FNGs were outside, waiting. “What are you all doing here?”

“Sir,” Captain Gatlin replied. “The Exec thought it was a good idea if we sat in on a mission brief. He did show us around, and well, with not much else to do....”

Both Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “Well, guess the XO thought right. Just remember: this isn't Kingsley Field. We're pretty informal here, and the whole process takes about twenty minutes,” said Guru.

“If that,” Goalie added. “In PRAIRIE FIRE, there were times we briefed and debriefed out in the dispersal area. Wait for the birds to be turned around, get something to eat and drink, then go out again.”

“Oh, introductions,” Guru said. “Lieutenant Lisa 'Goalie' Eichhorn,” here's the four newbies. They all introduced themselves, and Guru added, “She's also senior WSO in the squadron. So you new GIBs? She's your boss.”

Both Bryant and Phelan looked at each other, then at Goalie. “Yes, sir. And ma'am.” They both said.

“Okay, if you have questions, ask. Let's go.” Guru said. He opened the door and led them into the room, and found the rest of the CO's flight there, waiting. “Okay people, listen up. We've got a mission.”

“And four FNGs,” Sweaty noted.

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “Wasn't that long ago you and Preacher were FNGs.” The CO reminded his second element leader. “Mark thought it was a good idea to have them sit in on a brief, because tomorrow, one of these crews is going to be doing it for real. So let's get the show on the road.”

Scorpion asked, “Where to this time, Boss?”

“Town called Rio Vista, south of Cleburne, on State Route 174. Just to the northeast of the town is a supply dump. We get to make it go away.”

“This the Nicaraguan sector?” Brainiac asked.

“It is,” Guru replied. “But the target's not Nicaraguan. It's Libyan.”

“Libyan?” Preacher asked. “Thought those guys got cleaned up in that Pueblo Pocket back in May.”

“Tell that to these chumps,” Guru said. “Okay, here's how we do this.” He pointed on a TPC chart of the area. “We hit the tankers north of Mineral Wells, and cross the FLOT here, pointing to the I-20 bridge over the Brazos River. “We follow the river to the Route 174 bridge, and then turn east, to the town of Covington, then we turn northwest. It's forty-five seconds flying time from there to the target. So there's no IP per se, so you GIBs have to be on the ball. We pop up with twenty seconds to go, then we roll in.” The CO indicated the target dump on a recon photo. “If you can't ID the target, keep your bombs.”

“Threat level?” Sweaty asked.

“Coming to that,” Guru said. “It's a Libyan mechanized brigade, so expect SA-9s or -13s, and ZSU-23-4s. And MANPADS. There's also some guns near the target: 37-mm and 57-mm. No radar SAMs in the immediate area, and the Cleburne SA-2 is still down. And we're on the outer edge for the Hillsboro SA-2.”

“Any Weasels?” Kara wanted to know. “Or flak suppressors?”

“Nada,” Guru replied. “We'll have to rely on speed, surprise, and our ECM pods. Egress is simple: after striking the target, get your asses north to I-20. Fly northwest until you hit the Brazos again, then head for the Interstate. We hit the tankers for post-strike refueling, then come home.”

Sweaty nodded, then asked her CO, “Ordnance load?”

“Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes, each bird, plus the usual air-to-air load. For our new people? That means four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, two wing tanks, an ALQ-119 pod for the element leads or an ALQ-101 for the wingmen. Add a full load of 20 mike-mike.”

Goalie looked at the map, then her pilot. “MiG threat same as earlier today?”

“It is,” Guru said. “And the bailout areas are the same: anyplace away from the roads. The Nicaraguans and Libyans don't like getting off the roads much, so find a place off the roads to hole up, and Jolly will get you at night. If you can, try approaching a local farmer or rancher, and many of them do help out, but some do not. They want to get through this without getting burned-literally, and have probably seen what happens to those who do shelter downed aircrew or resistance people. Getting through this with the least harm to them and their families is more important, and speaking from experience, I don't blame them.”

“So just smile, be polite, and move on. They may direct you to someone who will help,” Kara added. She'd read the intel briefs.

“That's about it,” the CO said. “Weather's still the same: partly to mostly sunny. Anything else?” He saw Captain Gatlin raise his hand. “Captain?”

“It's a bit rushed, isn't it, sir?” Gatlin asked.

“You should've been here during PRAIRIE FIRE,” Sweaty said. “If you think this is rushed, try flying seven missions a day for those first three days.”

“And if you think you missed out?” Scorpion added. “You didn't miss a thing.”

“All of us flew PRAIRIE FIRE,” Guru said. “So take it from us when we say you didn't miss out. Because you didn't. Still got a ways to go before the Rio Grande, and farther still until Mexico City.”

The four FNGs all looked at each other, then Gatlin said, “If you say so, sir.”

“Anything else?” Guru asked the flight, then the FNGs. No one had a response. “All right: gear up and let's go.”

As the flight members filed out, Captain Gatlin came to Guru. “Thanks for letting us sit in,sir.”

“Not a problem. Remember: tomorrow, your crew does it for real.”

Galtin and Phelan, his GIB, gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“No, sir. And Major?”

Guru turned to look at them as he was on his way out the door. “Yes?”

“Good luck, sir.”

“Thanks.”



After gearing up, the flight members headed on out, and as they did, they found Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins, along with their GIBs, going over their mission. “Dave,” Guru said.

“Guru,” Golen replied. “Going out, I see.”

“And you guys are as well,” the CO nodded. “You guys going to the Nicaraguan sector?”

“We are,” Golen said. “How about you?”

“That's where we're headed,” said Guru. “What's your call sign if we need help?”

“Firebird Four-one,” Golen said. “Yours?”

“Still Rambler One-one. If you hit MiG trouble, holler,” replied the CO. “Sandi?” He turned to Sandi Jenkins and her GIB, Ken Dahlberg. “NO trolling for MiGs. I know, you and Ken are out for your fifth, but you might run into somebody looking for his fifth, so be careful.”

“Got it, Boss,” Sandi replied, and Dahlberg did so with a nod.

“If you guys run into a strike flight or a recon run that's returning? That's different.”

“Will do, Guru,” Golen said.

“Okay, you guys have a good one, and Dave?” Guru saw Golen nod. “Be careful out there.”

“Will do,” Golen said.

“Good luck,” Guru said, offering his hand.

Golen shook it. “You, too.”

Guru and his flight then headed to the CO's aircraft, 512, and when they got there, they assembled for his final instructions. “Okay, same drill for the radio procedures.”

“Call signs between us, mission code to other parties,” Sweaty said.

“Got it,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

Scorpion asked, “How many more today?”

“At least one, maybe two if they give us a hot turnaround,” the CO replied.

“Haven't had one of those in a while,” Kara said.

“You never know,” Guru reminded everyone. “So be ready. “That it?” Heads nodded this time. “Okay,” he clapped his hand once. “Mount up and let's hit it.”

The rest of the flight headed for their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512, where the Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru said as the Crew Chief snapped a salute.

“Major,” Crowley replied. “All set here, 512's locked and cocked.”

“Good to hear, Sergeant,” the CO said. “Time to go teach some Libyans a lesson.”

“Hope they're good learners, sir,” the CC replied.

“So do I.”

Guru and Goalie then did their walk-around, then they mounted the aircraft. They got strapped in, then the crew ladder was pulled away, and the crew went through their preflight checks. Just before they finished, Goalie noticed the news crew at the entrance of the revetment, filming them. “Our guests are back.”

Guru glanced up and saw them. “You noticed. Want to bet they'll be less interested in us if we give Revlon a female pilot?”

“An 'unmanned' F-4? That'd be a first.” Goalie replied. “Ejection seats?”

“It would. Armed top and bottom. Yours armed?”

“Armed and ready. Set for engine start.” Goalie said.

“Let's do it,” Guru said. He gave Sergeant Crowley the thumbs-up, and got the “Start engines” signal in return. One, then two, J-79 engines were quickly up and running, and the warm-up was soon done. “Tower, Rambler Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley signaled him to taxi. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and when the F-4 cleared the revetment, Crowley snapped a perfect salute. Guru and Goalie returned it, and Guru taxied the Phantom to the runway, and the other three in the flight followed. He held prior to the runway, and the armorers removed the weapon safeties. The n it was time to taxi onto the runway.

“Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi to takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are calm.” The tower controller replied.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. The crews did their final pre-takeoff checks, then Guru called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clearance for takeoff.”

As usual, the tower didn't acknowledge by radio, but flashed a green light. Guru glanced at Kara, who give him a thumbs-up, and he returned it.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie over the IC.

“Ready,” she replied.

“Canopy coming down.” Guru closed his canopy,and Goalie did the same. Then he applied full power on the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Then it was the turn of Sweaty and Scorpion, and Rambler Flight was on its way.

And another, with a Scud hunt coming up....




Over South Central Texas: 1315 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, generally following the Brazos River, and threading the boundary between the East German Expeditionary Force and the Nicaraguan II Corps. The GIBs were handling the navigation, using both the INS as well as the old-fashioned way of time and distance by stopwatch, while the pilots were busy flying the aircraft, as well as keeping their eyes peeled for any visual threats.

They had skirted Granbury, a target area that they had visited previously, and from the looks of the municipal airport, it might need another visit. “Looks like the airport there's back up and running,” Guru noted. And as if to prove that, an An-26 transport took off and climbed away.

“Too bad that's not our job today,” Goalie said. “One minute to the U.S. 67 bridge.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Music on, and watch for flak at the bridges.” That call was for the flight to turn on their ECM pods.

“Two copies,” Kara replied.

“Three, roger,” Sweaty called.

“Four, copy.” Scorpion replied.

“Just hope the flak gunners are having lunch,” Goalie added. “Thirty seconds to the bridge.”

“So do I,” Guru replied. Sure enough, as the U.S. 67 bridge over the Brazos came into view, so did the puffs of smoke from the flak batteries that guarded the bridge. Fortunately, the ECM pods were working, and the flak all burst behind the strike flight. “We're clear.”

“Roger that,” Goalie said. “One minute to the Route 174 bridge and the turn point.”

Guru made a visual search, then replied, “Copy.” He then called the AWACS, orbiting over Southern Oklahoma. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead. Say threat?”

“Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-eight-five for eighty-five, medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-two for sixty-five, medium, steady. Final threat bearing One-six-zero for seventy. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. He checked his EW repeater. There was nothing to their left, but from One O'clock on, west of the Brazos River, there were several radars up. Those were the East Germans, and clearly, they were on alert, for there were several search radars up. “East Germans are alert.”

“Radars up?” Goalie asked. “Twenty seconds to the bridge.”

“Got it, and some flak,” Guru reported. The 23-mm and 37-mm flak had no radar guidance, and the gunners down below couldn't track the strike flight as they were too fast. Then he put 512 into a left turn and headed east, for the town of Covington and the next turn point. It wasn't long until the town appeared, and the F-4s turned to the northwest. “That's the turn point,” Guru noted.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Twenty seconds to pull,” she added.

“Flight, Lead. “Switches on, and stand by to pull,” Guru called over the radio. “Set the switches: everything in one pass,” he told Goalie.

She quickly worked the armament control switches. “All set.”


In the small town of Covington, a Nicaraguan Major was talking with the Mayor. The Nicaraguan was from II Corps Headquarters, and was actually listening to the Mayor's chief complaint: that the Libyans, when they came by on patrol, were either interested in looting, and given that the Soviets had passed through in the initial invasion, back in 1985, there wasn't much left to loot. Or, as was often the case, the Libyans were more interested in the local girls and some companionship, willing, or as was so often the case, otherwise.

It was a common complaint, the Major knew, and on occasion, the Corps Commander was willing to do something about it. As long as the guilty parties weren't Nicaraguan. “Mayor, let me assure you: my general would like to do what he can about this. And for what it's worth, this sort of thing follows the Libyans wherever they are. And you can rest assured that you do not have to worry about being bombed. The Socialist Bloc has air superiority over this area of Texas.

The Mayor looked at the Major, and also at the local garrison commander, a very out-of-shape Cuban Captain who looked as if he hadn't been in uniform in fifteen years. “And what can he do about it?” The Mayor asked, taking the Major's claim with a large grain of salt.

“Mayor-”

The Major was interrupted by the Cuban. “AIR ALARM!” He pointed to the F-4s as they flew past the town. Much to the chagrin of the Major, as well as the Mayor, the Cuban and his men, instead of manning their air-defense stations, ran for the nearest shelters.

“You were saying, Major?” Asked the Mayor. “Something about air superiority?”


“Now,” Goalie called from 512's rear cockpit.

“Flight, Lead. PULL!” Guru called, and he pulled up, and sure enough, off to his right, was Rio Vista. And the field where the supply dump was located was visible. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Lead's in hot!”

In the Rio Vista City Hall, A Soviet Captain had just stormed out of the Mayor's office, now taken over by the commander of the Libyan 26th Mechanized Brigade. Normally, a brigade-sized force in the Soviet Army would be commanded by a Colonel, but since the Libyan leader Colonel Qaddafi had abolished all ranks above Colonel, the brigade was commanded by a Major, and the Libyan had, to the Russian, been appointed to his post out of loyalty to Qaddafi, nothing more. Adding to his disgust, the Libyans had failed to carry out even the most basic anti-guerilla or air defense measures, with hardly any shelters dug for personnel, vehicles, and even the brigade's supply dump was out in the open, and unprotected. 'The Americans will not bomb a supply depot next to their own civilians, Captain,” the Libyan Major had told him. That, the Captain knew, was false, as he'd seen it happen to his own unit more than once, and the fact that he'd been in the hospital with appendicitis meant that he'd missed the disaster at Wichita, a disaster that had consumed his unit, the 207th Motor-Rifle Division. He and the others who'd been in the hospital had then been given new assignments, and the fact that he'd been in Algiers with his father, a GRU Colonel, during his teenage years and spoke good Arabic, had landed him in this assignment. He and the other Soviet advisors to the brigade noted that the Libyans had hardly done any fighting at Wichita, and yet, the Libyans were strutting about as if they'd taken Philadelphia itself! Shaking his head, he went across Route 174 to what had been, prewar, a liquor store, but was now the billet for the Soviet advisors as well as the headquarters for the regular garrison; a company from a rear-area protection division originally from Odessa in the Ukraine. Wonderful, fat, out-of-shape reservists with equipment left over from the Great Patriotic War. He had just reached the front door when he glanced to his right, and saw the smoke trails in the sky, and they were getting bigger as they approached. The Captain ran into the building, shouting “AIR RAID!” and everyone went for cover.

“Steady, steady...” Guru said as he lined up the supply dump in his pipper. He simply decided to strike the center of the dump, and to his surprise, there was no flak coming up. Typical Libyans, he thought. They didn't open up until after the first bombs hit. Oh, well....”And...HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button and a dozen Mark-82 bombs came off 512's racks. He pulled out of the bomb run and headed straight to the northwest. “Lead's off target.”

At the supply dump, the Libyan supply and logistics personnel were going about their jobs, or appearing to. A common trait in Arab Armies was that they paid little attention to such matters as logistics, and though the Libyan forces in North America were plentifully supplied and equipped, their approach was, to the disgust of Soviet and Cuban officers, lackadaisical at best. Even the Soviets admitted that the Americans' Arab allies, such as the Jordanians and Egyptians, were much better soldiers than the Libyans, and they made no bones about it. And to make matters worse, the antiaircraft guns around the depot were not manned at all. So to the Libyans, the appearance of Guru's F-4 was a complete surprise as Mark-82 five-hundred pound bombs landed in the depot's perimeter.

Goalie was looking to their rear as Guru pulled away, and saw the bombs going off. “SHACK!” She called.

“Secondaries?” Guru asked. This one was shaping up to be a milk run, or so he hoped. No flak or SAMs at all.

“Oh yeah!” Goalie replied as an orange-red fireball erupted. A fuel tank or tanks going up, she thought.


“Two's in!” Kara called. She saw the CO's run, and the explosions as he planted his bombs on target. As well as the secondaries going off. Kara lined up the East side of the depot, and it grew in her pipper. “Steady....and HACK!” A dozen more Mark-82s came off an F-4, and as she pulled away, the first tracers began to come up. “Two's off safe.”

In the town, the Libyan soldiers began to react as Kara's F-4 came in on its bomb run. The brigade's air defense battalion responded, but didn't even bother to turn on the radars for their ZSU-23-4s, and simply sprayed 23-mm fire into the air, not even bothering to properly lead their targets. And their Strela-1 (SA-9) SAMs were fired without even trying to lock on their targets.



“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“How good?” Kara asked as she banked to avoid a “dumb” SA-9 launch.

“I think you hit the fuel storage area!” He yelled as several fireballs rose behind 520.

Kara took 520 back down low and followed the CO out. “Fair enough!”


The Soviet captain and two other officers ran out of their headquarters, noting that the town itself wasn't the target, but the supply dump adjacent to the town was. They watched as Kara's F-4 pulled away, with a missile simply flying past it, and tracer fire going in its wake. The Russians looked around, and noticed the Libyans either running for cover, or firing wildly into the air. If they hit anything, it would be a miracle. Then one of the Soviets pointed to the southeast. Another F-4 was inbound....

“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She had seen what Guru and Kara had done, and decided to pick out the southern part of the dump as her target. As she lined up that part of the target area in her pipper, tracer fire came up at her, but it was wild, and way off target. Having flown against the Libyans around the Denver Siege perimeter, she knew it was typical. Sweaty lined up the part of the dump she wanted, and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” More Mark-82s fell towards the supply depot, and Sweaty took her plane low and to the northwest, away from the target. “Three off target.”

Several supply drivers had decided to get away from the dump after Kara had made her run, and they were backed up at the south gate, trying to get out. The truckers saw Sweaty's F-4 come in, and the drivers scattered like human shrapnel. A couple got away, but most didn't, as some of the bombs exploded the trucks and their cargoes of fuel or ammunition.

“We got secondaries!” Preacher called from the back seat.

“How good?” Sweaty asked as yet another SA-9 came up without apparently guiding.

“Righteous!” The ex-seminary student yelled.

“I'll take your word for it,” replied Sweaty as she egressed to the northwest.


“Four's in!” Scorpion called. He rolled in, and saw the tracer fire coming up. It looked like the Libyans were shooting as if someone would outlaw the practice five minutes later, and the fire was wildly inaccurate. Not even a Shika radar was on his EW repeater as he came down the chute. He decided to add his bombs to the center, since the town was right on the western border of the dump, and he didn't want to take a chance on killing fellow Americans. Scorpion ignored the 23-mm flak as it came up, and he lined up a fire in his pipper. “And....HACK!” Twelve more Mark-82s came off the racks, and he pulled out and headed north. “Four off safe,” Scorpion called.

The Soviets watched as Scorpion's F-4 came in, and laid its bombs on the supply dump. A dozen bombs went off, and several secondary explosions added to the din of the antiaircraft fire and the missile launches, and the Libyans' poor aim only added to their dismay. Another Strela-1 and several Strela-2 (SA-7 Grails) went after the F-4, only to miss.


“SHACK!” Judge called. “We got secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Scorpion asked as he banked to the northwest and made his egress.

His GIB replied, “Good enough!”


After Scorpion's F-4 cleared the town, the Soviets looked at each other and shook their heads. Even the motor-rifle Captain who was the garrison commander was shaking his head. At least his men had tried to respond, and several of his men had fired their Strela-2 launchers. Even if none of them hit, at least they'd made the Americans take note. The Captain who was the senior advisor turned to his deputy and said, “Well, let's see if these black-assed Libyans will listen to us now.”

The deputy, along with a junior lieutenant who was their Zampolit, simply nodded.


Guru flew past Lake Cleburne, and ignored the flak sites at the Lake Cleburne Dam, as he headed northwest towards I-20. “Two, what's your posit?”

“Right with you, Boss,” Kara replied.

Guru glanced to his right, and saw Kara coming right with him in combat spread. “Got a visual. Sweaty? Where are you?”

“In your six, and coming up fast,” his second element lead replied. “Scorpion's with me.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He was doing 540 knots at 500 feet, and the landscape flew by. Some flak off to his left briefly caught his attention, but since it wasn't radar-guided, he ignored it. “What's the flak?” He asked Goalie.

“You won't believe this, but it's a nuclear power plant,” she calmly replied. “Listed as a no-strike area.”

“WHAT?”

“That's what the map says,” his WSO said.

“Lovely,” muttered Guru as he headed towards I-20 and the FLOT. This time, they weren't following the Brazos River, and were more concerned with just getting out fast. It wasn't long until the twin concrete ribbons that were I-20 appeared, and they were across the front lines. Only when they were clear of the FLOT did anyone in the flight relax, and the flight formed up and headed for the tankers for their post-strike refueling.

After the refueling, the F-4s headed back to Sheppard, and as they approached the base, two columns of smoke could be seen rising from a civilian neighborhood just south of the base, and another to the east, also outside the perimeter, and across from what prewar had been the civilian Wichita Falls Municipal Airport area. When Guru called the Tower for landing instructions, he got the word that there had just been a Scud attack, and that they were to orbit until cleared.

“A Scud attack?” Goalie asked. “They haven't done that in daylight in a while.”

“Keeps us on our toes,” Guru noted. “Hope it wasn't a CW strike.”

“Rambler Flight, Tower,” the call came. “Clear to land on Runway One-seven Lima. Winds are two-six-five at five.”

“Roger, tower,” replied Guru. “Has the place been slimed?” That meant a CW attack.

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Negative. All clear.”

“Roger, tower.” Guru said. The Flight then got into the pattern, then came in and landed, with two Marine flights right behind them, and a 335th four-ship as well. As the F-4s taxied to the squadron dispersal, the crews noticed ground crews getting out of their MOPP gear, When Guru got 512 into its revetment, he and Goalie noticed their ground crew without masks, but still with suits, gloves, and boots. Evidently, the alert had just been canceled, and the crew had only had time to get their masks off. Relieved, he popped his canopy, and Goalie did the same.

“Glad they're not masked up?” Goalie asked.

“Yeah. We'd have to stay closed up while they turned us around, and on oxygen,” Guru said. “Been a while since we've had the CW gear on in the cockpit.”

“Remember the last time? At Cannon after a Scud attack?”

“Yeah, and just glad it was a false alarm. Missile fuel residue tripped somebody's CW sensor.” Guru said. He took off his helmet and then wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Every time, you work up a sweat, he thought. Then he stood up in the cockpit as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. “Sergeant,” Guru asked his crew chief, “What happened?”

Staff Sergeant Crowley shrugged his shoulders. “No idea, Major. The alarm sounded, we got into our CW gear and ran for the shelters. We heard three bangs, then five minutes later, the all-clear sounded.”

“All right,” Guru said. He and Goalie then got down from the aircraft and did a quick walk-around. Just as he finished, he noticed ordnance crews coming with the next mission's lethal cargo. And a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup pulled up, and Capts. Mark Ellis and Darren Licon came out. The rest of the flight's crews also came over. “Mark, when did this happen?” Guru asked his Exec.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” the XO replied. “Just taxied in and the alarm sounded. They told us to stay in the aircraft, buttoned up. Hell of a feeling, knowing there's Scuds inbound and nothing you can do about it. When the ground crew took off their masks, we all had a big sigh of relief.”

“I'll bet,” the CO said.

Kara and the other crews came over, and noticed the ordnance people going to work. “Let me guess: We're going back out.”

“That you are,” Ellis nodded. “Scud hunts, mainly in the Nicaraguan sector. They think that's where the missiles came from.”

“They think?” Sweaty shot a glance over at Capt. Licon, the 335th's Intelligence Officer. “This spot-on or is this a wild-goose chase?” She remembered the intel community's motto: “We're betting your life.”

“Had a few wild-goose chases a couple months ago,” Preacher added. “Don't want to do that again.”

The CO nodded. He, too, remembered failed Scud hunts, and they'd had to go after either prebriefed secondary targets or on targets of opportunity. “So we're doing a quick turnaround, and debriefing out here.”

“You got it, Boss.” Ellis said.

“Okay, who else is going?”

“Dave and Sandi are turning around right now. They're getting Mavericks.” That meant AGM-65 missiles on three-round launchers on each inboard station.

Guru thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Tell Dave and Sandi they're coming with us. We'll brief when they get here. I want them to kill any mobile air defense assets with any launchers we find, then we'll go in and finish the job with CBUs or Snakeyes.” He pointed to his aircraft, which was getting a full load of a dozen Rockeye CBUs.

“Got you. And I'll do the same with me and Van Loan. He just landed.” Ellis said.

“Fine with me, Mark. Get going.” Guru told his Exec. “Oh, Mark? Any word on how our media guests did?”

“Kodak said they were pretty cool. Got into their MOPP gear, then went for a shelter. And when they got in? The cameraman started filming.”

“Which means that'll be on their next segment to Australia tonight,” Goalie said.

“No doubt,” Guru said. “Okay, Mark, get Dave and Sandi over here, and get yourself ready to go.”

“Will do, Boss.” Ellis said, turning to leave.

“And Mark?” The CO asked as his Exec turned back to him. “Good luck.”

“You too, Boss.” Then the Exec went off to find the two crews in question.

“Sir?” Captain Licon asked. “Can we debrief?”

Guru nodded. “Okay, let's get it over with, then I have a question to ask you,” he told his Intel Officer.

The crews went over their mission, pointing out where they had laid down their bombs, and the multiple secondaries that had resulted. “Good strike,Major,” Licon said. “I'll get this off to Tenth Air Force, and see about getting some imagery.”

“Okay, Darren, now answer this if you can,” the CO said, pointing to the nuclear power plant on the map. “What's this all about?”

The intel nodded. “Sir, all I know is that the Coyote Creek Nuclear Power Plant was disabled after the I-10 line blew open. They removed all the nuclear material, disabled the plant, and evac'd the staff. It's a no-strike area for obvious reasons.” Licon said.

“So that when we retake this part of Texas, the plant can be brought on line, because we'll need the power,” Kara said. It wasn't a question, by the tone of her voice.

“That's about it. Hope that clears that up for you, Boss.” Licon asked.

“It does, but we drew flak from that area on the way out,” Guru told the Intel. “Remind everyone going out that this isn't an opportunity target, and tell them why.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, that it?” Asked the CO.

'That's it, Major.” Licon said.

“All right: thanks, Darren.” Guru told his Intel. He turned to his flight. “Okay, get a bite to eat, get something to drink, and hit the latrine. We'll be going back out before you know it.”

Heads nodded, and the crews went to follow his advice. Guru did so as well, and while they were eating, Dave Golen, Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs came over. “Guru,” Golen said. “Mark told us we’re going with you?”

Guru nodded. “You guys are, and I'll explain why.” He spoke for two minutes. “Any problems?”

“Not at all,” Golen nodded back. “And if we get them on some country road....bottled up....they will be sitting ducks.”

“Good,” Guru said. Just then, his Crew Chief came over. “Yes, Sergeant?

“Major, 512's ready to rock. And so are the others.” Sergeant Crowley told his CO.

“Thanks, Crowley,” Guru told his CC. “Gather 'round, people,” he told his flight.

Everyone gathered around the CO as he laid out a map showing the sector held by the Nicaraguan II Corps. “This where we're going?” Kara asked. “We were just there.”

“They think the Scuds came from that area, and that's about it,” Guru said. “We've got two hours' fuel, and we're going to burn most of it on the Scud hunt.”

“And if we come up empty in that?” Sweaty asked.

Guru nodded. “Licon gave me these,” he said as he passed out sheets with target coordinates and a brief description of each target. “If we can't find Scuds, here's some alternates. Note that some of them are 'suspected.'”

“And if we can't find anything, even an opportunity target?” Kara wanted to know, and she saw Scorpion nod.

The CO looked at his wingmate. “We're not bringing ordnance back, if that's what you're worried about. IF we goose-egg on Scuds or other opportunities? Granbury or Cleburne Municipal Airports are back operational. We'll go there and give 'em a surprise visit.”

Sweaty nodded. “Same drill as everything else?” She asked.

“You got it,” Guru replied. “Air-to-air for one through four is the same, though Dave and Sandi won't have Sidewinders. Mission code to AWACS and other parties, and both the MiG threat and bailout areas are the same as before.” He looked at his flightmates. “So's the weather. Anything else?”

“We doing this again?” Scorpion asked.

“Maybe,” Guru said. “Don't be surprised if the A-6s and F-111s get Scud hunts tonight. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Let's hit it. Mount up and let's go.”

The crews broke up and headed for their aircraft. Guru and Goalie went to 512, and did their preflight walk-around.”Major, you going after those Scuds?” Sergeant Crowley asked.

“If we can find 'em? They'll get taught a lesson,” Guru said.

“The ones who survive,” Goalie added.

“You say so, sir, and ma'am,” Crowley said as they mounted the aircraft and got strapped in.

Both nodded as they went through their cockpit checks. “If our instructors saw this preflight, they'd be flipping out,” Goalie said as she went through the checklist.

“Mine sure would,” Guru said. “Both at Homestead prewar, and at Kingsley Field on the requal.”

They finished the preflight, then Guru gave the thumbs-up signal to his Crew Chief. Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal, and Guru started one, then the other, J-79 engine. Both were quickly warmed up, and it was time to taxi. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five lima. Hold prior to the runway.” The tower controller replied.

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” Guru replied. He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, and after the ground crew pulled the gear chocks, he got the taxi signal from Crowley. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, then gave a thumbs-up as well. Both pilot and GIB returned it, then they taxied to the runway, where he held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” the controller said. “Watch for a C-141 to your right.”

Guru and Goalie watched as a C-141B came in and landed on the same runway they were going to use. Once it taxied clear, the tower cleared him to taxi for takeoff. Guru taxied onto the runway,and Kara in 520 came into the usual wing position. After a quick final check, it was time.

“Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clearance for takeoff,” Guru called.

As usual, the Tower flashed a green light to give clearance.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie as he got ready to lower his canopy.

“Let's go,” Goalie said.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru replied, closing and locking his canopy, and Goalie did the same. Guru turned, and saw Kara and Brainiac doing the same thing, and giving their CO a thumbs-up. Guru and Goalie returned it, then Guru released 512's brakes, applied full power, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara following in 520. Sweaty and Scorpion followed, and right behind them were Dave and Sandi, as six F-4s filled the sky with their exhaust. And Rambler Flight was on its way south.

Scud Hunt.......


Over Central Texas, east of the Brazos River, 1450 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, over the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, and the aircrews were not surprised to see the Nicaraguans' air-defense radars turned off. AWACS had informed them that there were Weasels working the area, and a few “MAGNUM” calls were more than enough to get the Nicaraguans to turn off their radars. Which gave the aircraft-and there were quite a few-looking for the Scud launchers a free ride over the area. Though the East Germans west of the Brazos River were not so accommodating, a number of SA-4 and SA-6 launches had taken place, and the Weasels had gone in to deal with the offenders.

Major Wiser was busy flying the F-4, and keeping an eye out for threats, while his GIB was scanning the ground with binoculars. “Anything?”

“Nada,” Goalie said. “This really isn't the way to do this.”

“Tell me about it,” Guru said. “This got laid on with virtually no notice. If we have to come back? I'm going to tell the ordnance guys to load a Pave Tack pod on centerline, and give another to either Mark or Don.”

Goalie smiled underneath her oxygen mask. “I like that. But we haven't used Pave Tack in a while.”

Guru knew what she was talking about, a mission that they could not discuss with anyone, even those who had flown it. “I know, but we can go fly a couple of training runs into the Panhandle or Oklahoma.”

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Strobe at Eleven O'clock.” She had picked up a radar on her RWR.

“Got it,” Guru replied. Then a “2” appeared next to the strobe on his RWR. That meant an SA-2 radar. “That's the Hillsboro SA-2. Music on, and let's not get too close.” He turned on his ECM pod.

“Two copies,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

“Roger that,” Guru said, then he made a ninety-degree turn to the right, and headed towards the Brazos River. It wasn't long until they reached both Lake Whitney and the town of the same name then they turned north again.

“Flak at the dam,” Sweaty noted as they turned north. The Lake Whitney Dam had a couple of flak batteries defending it, and they opened fire on seeing the six-ship approach, and then turn north.

“No radar,” Dave Golen said. “Lead, Five. Nothing so far.” He and Sandi Jenkins, his wingmate, were using their AGM-65D Maverick missiles as improvised FLIRs, looking for traffic on the roads. Nothing really important, just routine military traffic or supply convoys, and for sure, it wasn't what they were looking for.

“Keep looking, Five.” Guru replied. The two Maverick-equipped Phantoms were slightly above and ahead of the other four, so that they could use their Mavericks more effectively as search tools.

“Roger, Lead.” Golen and Sandi kept on going north, with the four other Phantoms right behind them.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “How much more of this?”

“We've got an hour and a half, then we can go for opportunity targets.” Guru replied. They soon got to U.S. 67, and Guru led them in another ninety-degree turn, then they headed for Route 174, and another turn to the south.

“Rio Vista dead ahead,” Goalie said from the back seat. “We were just there.”

“Nothing wrong with a friendly flyby,” Guru remarked deadpan.


In Rio Vista, the Libyans and Soviets were in a heated argument. One of the Soviet advisors was a former Kub (SA-6) battery commander, and he was trying to convince the Libyans to have a more active air-defense posture. The Libyans were not that receptive, feeling that the Soviets were acting a bit arrogant, despite having just been bombed, when the six-ship of F-4s came over. Much to the chagrin of the Soviets, the Libyans ran to their shelters, while a couple of Libyan soldiers did fire Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles, and missed. The Russians simply looked at each other and shook their heads in disbelief. And these people are our allies? More than one Soviet advisor said openly.

“Blum dead ahead, Lead,” Scorpion called.

“Got it,” Guru replied.

“This had better not be another wild-goose chase,” Goalie said. “Not a damned thing so far.”

“Nothing that fits the target description,” Guru admitted. “We may get an opportunity target anyway.”

The flight overflew the small town of Blum, more a collection of ruins than anything else, though there was a company-sized Soviet garrison there, from the same rear-area protection division that had the Rio Vista garrison, the 234th Rear-Area Protection Division from Odessa in the Ukraine. The division had been raised from older reservists, and had only a single Motor-Rifle Regiment with motor vehicles, namely, BTR-152s, Su-100 assault guns, and towed M-30 122-mm howitzers, while the other two regiments had no APCs, tanks, or artillery, only relying on mortars for fire support. And the tank regiment also had T-34/85s, their divisional artillery was towed 152-mm pieces from the Great Patriotic War, along with BM-14 rocket launchers from the 1950s. And the division totally lacked any kind of air defense weapons other than ZPU-2 or -4 machine guns and Strela-2 shoulder-fired missiles.

And when Rambler Flight flew over the town, the soldiers scattered for cover, though a couple of them also fired Strela-2s at the F-4s, the missiles failed to hit. The company commander got onto his field phone to report the sighting, which his battalion commander promptly failed to pass on.

In Rambler One-six, 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins was busy keeping an eye out for threats, while her GIB, 1st Lt. Ken Dahlberg, was using his own binoculars. Then he saw it. “Sandi, One O'clock! Looks like a missile convoy at a roadblock.”

“I'll call it in,” Sandi replied. “Lead, this is Six. We may have found what we're looking for. South of Blum...' She checked her map. “Intersection of F.M. 933 and F.M. 1201. Missile convoy and a roadblock.”

“Coming in, Six,” Dave Golen said. He looked around, and not only saw the missile convoy, but what looked like a battalion's worth of armor on one of the roads. Well, now.....two for one, as these Yanks say. “Lead, I confirm Six's detection, and also have additional armor at that location.”

“Copy that, Five,” Guru replied. “You and Six start taking rifle shots and kill any air-defense assets. We'll clean up.” He checked his map, then put 512 into a turn for that location.

“Roger that, Rambler Five rolling in.” Dave said. His GIB lined up a Maverick and locked on. Then Dave fired. “Rifle!” He called.


At the intersection, the Libyan 2020th Missile Battalion's commander had gotten out of his BTR-60 command vehicle and he was in a rage. The Captain commanding the missile battalion stormed over to the intersection, past a ZSU-23-4 and a Strela-1 (SA-9) vehicle, and went to see who was holding up his battalion. They had executed a fire mission and were en route to their next launch point, and now these Nicaraguans were in their way. The Captain got to the intersection, only to find a very angry Nicaraguan Lieutenant Colonel, with a Soviet Army Major, as well as a KGB Lieutenant. “And what is this? Get out of the way of my battalion!”

“And who authorized your missile launch?” The Nicaraguan Colonel replied. “In case you've forgotten, this is the sector for II Nicaraguan Corps, and my General is less than pleased, to put it politely.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Ever since your missile launches, the Imperialists have had aircraft up over this area all afternoon. If they can't find what they're looking for, they attack whatever they can find....and that includes supply depots, supply and troop convoys, and other targets of opportunity.”

The Libyan glared at the Nicaraguan. “That is none of my concern. I report to my brigade commander, who reports to the Commander of the Libyan Expeditionary Corps.”

“Some Corps,” the Nicaraguan snorted. “Two brigades that hardly saw combat at Wichita, and a polyglot brigade of the few survivors who escaped the Colorado disaster.”

Hearing that, the Libyan opened the flap on his holster and drew his Makarov pistol. “Get out of my way....NOW!”

The Nicaraguan signaled to his men, and not only did infantrymen raise their AKMs, machine guns, and RPGs, but T-55 tank turrets swiveled and brought their guns to bear, as did BTR-60PB APCs.

Seeing that, the Soviet Major and the KGB Lieutenant went to the traffic-control point,where a very hapless Commandant's Service (Soviet Military Police) Captain and several of his men, along with the KGB Lieutenant's men, were waiting. “Call 4th Guards Tank Army Headquarters in Waco, Captain. Do it on my authority. We may need their help in this matter,” said the Major.

“Right away, Comrade Major,” the traffic control officer said. He picked up his field phone to make the call. But before he could be connected, the KGB Lieutenant pointed skyward. “What is it?”

“AIR ALARM!” The KGB lieutenant said, then all of the Russians jumped into a roadside ditch, while the Libyans and Nicaraguans were still in their standoff, just as a T-55 tank at the intersection took a missile hit and exploded.

“Rifle again!” Dave Golen called, and as he did, Sandi Jenkins fired her first two missiles. Dave's first missile had killed a tank to block the missile convoy, and his second went down and killed a ZSU-23-4 AA vehicle. Sandi, meanwhile, killed an SA-9 vehicle and a BTR-60 APC that were both bringing up the rear of the missile convoy, and now that unit was trapped.

“Coming in,” Guru said. He saw the smoke from burning vehicles, and saw the two F-4s still in their missile runs. They could launch two Mavericks per run, and Dave and Sandi had shot four missiles each. “What'd you get?”

“Got a pair of tanks, a gun vehicle, and a command track,” Golen replied.

“Add a Zoo-23,” Sandi added, using the pilot slang for a ZSU-23, “An APC, and a SA-9 track. One went dumb.”

“Good work,” Guru said as he came in. “You two orbit, and watch us go in. Any vehicle shoots at us, you take them out.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen said, and both F-4s pulled up to assume a low orbit, while Guru led the flight around the convoy so that they could make their runs south to north. “Sweaty? You and Scorpion follow us.”

“Right with you, Lead,” Sweaty replied.

Goalie was working her armament switches. “All set here. Everything in one pass.”

“Good girl,” Guru said. He lined up a TEL in his pipper. “Steady...and HACK!” He hit the pickle button and a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off of 512's racks. “Lead off safe,” he called as he pulled out of the bomb run.


The Libyans and Nicaraguans were aiming weapons at each other when death suddenly came out of the sky with no warning. First a tank, then another, then a couple of air defense vehicles and the hapless Libyan Captain's command track took missile hits and blew up, and then, as both sides picked themselves up, they saw smoke trails descending on them. F-4 Phantoms. And both commanders were shouting, “GET OFF THE ROAD!” It was too late as Guru's F-4 came in and dropped cluster bombs onto the missile convoy, and a number of vehicles fireballed, including a MAZ-543 TEL.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries!” Just as she called that, the missile in the TEL exploded, sending up a large fireball. “Whoa!”

“What was it?” Guru asked as he set course north for I-20.

“Don't know, but it was big.”


Kara saw the explosions as she started her roll in. “Two's in hot!” She saw another TEL trying to get off the side road, and she decided that was her target. “Nice try....” she muttered as the TEL came into her pipper. Kara hit the pickle button. “HACK!”, and released a dozen Rockeyes on the convoy. Not a shot came up at her as she pulled away. “Two off safe.”

The Russian Major took a look from the ditch, and saw the Libyan and Nicaraguan commanders blown apart by CBU bomblets, and a missile transporter-launcher also blew up before his eyes. Then the KGB lieutenant dragged him back into the ditch as a second F-4 came in. And as the Russians huddled in the ditch, they heard another large explosion.

Brainiac yelled from 520's back seat, “GOOD HITS!”

“How good?” Kara asked as she followed the CO north.

Brainiac shouted, “Big secondaries!” just as the TEL blew sky-high in a large orange-red ball of fire, and several other vehicles were also hit by the CBUs.


“Three's in!” Sweaty said as she came in on her run. There were two TELs back-to-back, trying to get off the road, and she smiled. “Two of you bastards,” she muttered, lining the two missile vehicles in her pipper. “Steady.....and HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and twelve more Rockeyes fell on the Libyans. Then she pulled 519 level and headed north. “Three's off target.”

The Russian Major peeked up again, and saw the two MAZ-543s trying to get off the road. “NO!” He yelled. “You dumb black-asses!” Just as he did, Sweaty's F-4 came in, and he ducked. Then he heard a number of small explosions, then two big ones, and he knew what had happened.


“Righteous!” Preacher yelled as Sweaty headed north. “We got 'em both!”

“Both of 'em?” Sweaty asked. Her strike camera was rear-facing, and hopefully, it was caught on film.

“Two big booms!”

“Good enough,” Sweaty said as she egressed.


“Four's in!” Scorpion called. Seeing the TELs go up, he wondered what he could hit, then he saw four truck-trailer combinations trying to get off the road. Were these the missile transporters with reloads? Only one way to find out. He lined up the second truck-trailer in his pipper, and as it got closer...”And...NOW!” Scorpion hit his pickle button, and sent a dozen more CBUs down on the Libyans.

The Libyan truckers saw the destruction ahead of them and they had panicked, trying to get their trucks off the road, when they saw Sweaty's F-4 pull out of its run and the two TELs exploded in its wake. The truckers piled out of their trucks and ran for whatever cover they could find as Scorpion's F-4 came in and planted its load down on the trucks, three of which fireballed as CBUs found their mark, and the missiles being towed behind them also exploded. Though they were not fueled, they did have their warheads installed.....

“We got 'em!” Judge called from Scorpion's back seat. “Those had to be missile trucks!”

“Good hits?” Scorpion asked as he followed his element lead north.

“Big hits.”


“Lead, Five,” Dave Golen called. “We've still got two Rifle shots each.”

“Copy that, Five,” Guru replied. “Take your shots and egress,”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen said. His GIB picked out the only surviving missile transporter and then fired. He then put their last Maverick onto a missile fuel truck, and the resulting explosion set off another truck...

“Six is in,” Sandi called.

Ken Dahlberg, her GIB, picked out two other missile fuel trucks and sent Mavericks after them, one after the other. The Libyan drivers had backed up close to each other, and made them all vulnerable. So that when one truck was hit, the detonation took out other vehicles. Then both Phantoms got back down low and headed after the CO and the rest of the flight.


Back at the intersection, the Russians climbed out of the ditch, and found the Nicaraguans shaking their heads and embracing each other, glad that they were still alive. They also saw the destruction of the Libyans, and a few shell-shocked survivors wandering about. The Major turned to the KGB man, who nodded grimly. This had been the Lieutenant's first time under air attack, being a relative newcomer to this unpleasant land called Texas. Then he turned to the Commandant's Service Captain. “Captain,”

“Comrade Major, do you still want to place that call?”

“Yes, I do. There's still going to be bad blood between the Libyans and Nicaraguans, and it may get very bad indeed,” the Major said.

“Comrade Major,” the Captain replied. The call went through, and after the Major explained what had happened, and the fact that things had nearly come to blows before the American aircraft arrived, the 4th GTA responded, ordering the 6th Guards Motor-Rifle Division to send a motor-rifle regiment to investigate and report back. And, if necessary, prevent any additional....incidents from happening.

“Sweaty, where are you?” Guru asked as the lead element passed Lake Pat Cleburne and headed northwest.

“On your six,” his second element lead replied. “Scorpion's with me.”

“Copy that,” replied Guru. “Five?”

“Coming in,” Golen responded. “Have you in sight.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead. Say threat?”

“Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace,” an AWACS Controller replied. “Threat bearing One-eight-five for eighty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-six-zero for ninety. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. “Say bogey dope.”

“Rambler, bandits are Floggers.”

MiG-23s, Guru thought. And unless these were the Flogger-Ks, they had no look-down/shoot-down capability. Even the Flogger-K, which had a limited LD/SD radar, had problems. And they were going too fast. They would be across I-20 before the MiGs arrived, and if the MiGs followed, the F-15s would be waiting.....Hassling with MiGs was not part of the agenda today, and they were starting to get low on fuel, as the bomb runs and their high-speed egress was burning a lot of it. “Copy that, Crystal Palace. Flight, Lead, let's get the hell out of here. We'll be across the fence before they get close.”

“Roger that, Lead,” Sweaty replied, trying to hide her disappointment. But she knew, as they all did, that picking a fight with MiGs wasn't in the cards today.

It wasn't long until the flight approached the I-20, and then Crystal Palace called. “Rambler, Crystal Palace. Bandits have turned. Now bearing One-eight-zero for fifty, Medium, going away.”

“MiGs going chicken?” Kara asked.

“If they kept following us, they run into the MIGCAP,” Guru reminded everyone.


The Flight then hit the tankers, and everyone had their post-strike refueling. Then they headed back to Sheppard, and as they did, they noticed smoke coming from a town south of Wichita Falls. It wasn't long until they got into the pattern, and were cleared to land. They taxied in, popped their canopies, and noticed the TV crew filming them as they taxied to their dispersal area. Guru took 512 back to its revetment, and as he taxied in, he saw a Crew-Cab pickup waiting along with the ground crew. After Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, gave the “Shut down” Signal, Guru shut the engines down. He and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist, then he said, “Let's hope we're not going back that way.”

“You said it,” Goalie replied. “But there's Mark, and the Intel.”

“Flight line debrief, which means we're going back out ASAP if not sooner,” Guru noted as he stood up in the cockpit and waved the ground crew over with the ladder. After both pilot and GIB got down, they did a quick walk-around, then both saw the Exec and Intel coming their way. “Mark, don't tell me we're going back there.”

“I won't,” the Exec said.

“Good.”

“But the intel will,” Ellis said. “Darren?”

Capt. Darren Licon, the Intel Officer, nodded. “Another Scud attack, about fifty miles south of here. Town called Bowie. Two missiles caused no damage, but two more? They hit a refugee camp.”

“WHAT?” Goalie said as she came up.

“Yeah,” Ellis nodded. “Message traffic says at least 40-50 KIA, lots of wounded. And to make things worse? One of them was a CBU warhead. They hit the hospital, and that Doctors Without Borders outfit? They were running the hospital.”

“Lovely,” Guru said. “Which means third-country nationals got wounded or killed. Wonderful.”
He waved the rest of the flight's crews over. “So we're going back out?”

“You guys are,” Ellis said. “And so am I, with Don Van Loan.”

“All right,” the CO said as the rest of the flight gathered around. “We're going back out. Another Scud attack, and this time, they hit civilians. Somebody's going to pay for that.”

“What'd they hit?” Sweaty asked, and Ellis answered. “Bastards!”

“Yeah, and not the first time,” Kara added. “Back to the same area?”

Ellis nodded. “You got it.”

“Okay, Mark? Give Dave and Sandi the same ordnance load: Six AGM-65Ds each airplane.”

“Will do,” the Exec replied. “And yours?”

“Give my bird and Kara's a full CBU load, and...wait, are the Pave Tacks good to go?”

“Still being checked out, as you wanted, and the C-141 brought us the third pod.” Ellis said.

“Okay, I was hoping we could use them as sensors,” the CO said, thinking out loud. “Sweaty? Give her and Scorpion a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes.”

“Will do,” Ellis said, “I'll tell ordnance, then I'm going back out.”

“Thanks, Mark. Good luck, and Mark?” Guru saw the XO turn back to him. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, Boss,” the XO replied, then he went off to notify ordnance, then he went to man up his own aircraft.

“Sir, can we debrief?” Licon asked.

“Let's get it over with,” Major Wiser said.

The crews gathered around and went over the Scud hunt, and showed where they had taken out the TELs. “South of Blum?”

“That's it. There was a missile convoy and blocking the road was quite a bit of military traffic,” Kara said. “Tanks, APCs, the works.”

“Okay,” Licon said. “I'll pass it along. Chances are, they're still trying to untangle the mess. This is a good opportunity target.”

“If we have to, we'll go back,” Guru said.

“Anyone see who they were?” Sweaty asked. “Didn't see anyone flying a flag.”

“Same here,” Scorpion added.

“It's the Nicaraguan sector, so it could've been them, or maybe Cubans. Libyans, even,” the Intel said. “I'll check the strike camera footage and see what I can pick up.”

The CO nodded. “Anything else?”

“That's it, sir. Good luck on this one, folks.” Licon said as he gathered up his materials, then headed back to the Intel shop.

“Thanks,” Sweaty said. “So, Boss, what now?”

“Get something to eat, something to drink, then hit the latrine. Won't be long until it's time to go,” Guru said.

Heads nodded, and they followed the CO's advice. Guru took his own advice as well, having a sandwich and a bottle of water, People milled around, chatting as they ate, and looking at their watches. It was 1500 on Guru's watch when his Crew Chief came over. “Yeah, Sergeant?”

Staff Sergeant Crowley said, “Major, all six birds are ready to rock. They're locked and cocked.”

“Thanks, Crowley,” Guru said. “Okay, people! Gather around, then it's time to go.”

The crews gathered around as Guru gave a quick mission brief. “Same drill as last time?” Kara asked.

“It is,” Guru nodded. “We've got two hours of daylight left and we'll have to make the most of it. Dave, Sandi?” The CO nodded, “Just like earlier today. Go ahead of us and use your Maverick seekers to look for targets.”

“Now that we know what to look for?” Dave said. “We'll find them.”

“Good,” Guru said. “Call it out, then start taking shots. We'll get there and finish the job. Now, if we don't find what we're looking for? There's opportunity targets, and if we have to? Granbury or Cleburne Airports are back open, and we'll pay them a visit. Anything else?”

“MiG threat still the same?” Sweaty asked.

“It is, and remember, our job today is to find and kill Scuds, not hassle with MiGs. If we come across a strike flight or a recon run, we'll get involved. But that's it,” the CO reminded everyone.

“Weather, bailout areas, radio procedures? Same drill?” Asked Sandi.

“They are,” said Guru. “Anything else?”

“Got some info on the Scud attack,” a voice said. It was Mark Ellis, on the way to his own aircraft.

“What is it?” Guru asked.

“The hospital at the refugee camp that was hit?” Ellis replied. He saw everyone nod, then went on. “It was run by some outfit from Geneva called Doctors Without Borders.”

“WHAT?” Kara exclaimed. “This on the level?”

“It is,” Ellis said. “And you know what that means.”

Guru nodded. “We've got third-country nationals killed or wounded, maybe both.”

“That's a given,” Goalie said. “Maybe this'll get those wimps in Western Europe to realize the nature of the beast we're dealing with.”

“Hopefully,” Guru said. “Mark, I almost forgot. Call up the Ops desk on your walkie-talkie. Have Revlon, Hoser, and KT in my office when we get back.”

“Will do,” Ellis said. “That it?”

“We've got two hours of daylight left, so let's make the most of it. And Mark?”

“Boss?”

“Good luck.”

“You too,” Ellis said, then he headed to his own aircraft, and got on his walkie-talkie.

“This it for today?” Preacher asked.

“Should be,” the CO said. “Remember what I said to Mark: let's make the most of the time we've got. Anything else?” Heads shook no at that. The CO clapped his hand once. “Okay. Mount up and let's go. Time to hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, and when Guru and Goalie got to 512, they found their bird ready and waiting, with Sergeant Crowley by the cockpit, and the ground crew ready “Major,” the Crew Chief said as he saluted.

“Sergeant,” Guru replied as he returned the salute. Both he and Goalie did a quick walk-around, and then mounted the aircraft. As they did their preflight, Guru said, “You know what I wish we had loaded?”

“Let me guess,” Goalie replied. “Napalm?”

“You got it. Anyone who deliberately sent a Scud after something like a refugee camp deserves to burn.”

“No argument from me there,” Goalie said. “Then they burn twice, if you know what I mean.”

“That I do,” Guru replied.

“Okay...preflight complete. Ready for engine start.”

“Right on that,” Guru said. He gave the thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal.

Guru hit the starter switches, one after the other, and one, then two, J-79 engines were up and running. “All set,” Goalie said from the back seat.

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting clearance to taxi and takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five Charlie. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead is taxiing.” Guru replied. He gave Crowley another thumbs-up, and the Sergeant gestured to the ground crew, who pulled the landing gear chocks clear. Then Crowley gave the taxi signal, and 512 taxied out of its revetment. As Guru turned to head for the runway, the Crew Chief snapped a perfect salute as usual, and both Pilot and GIB returned it. 512 taxied to the runway, and the rest of the flight was right behind it. As they taxied, the crews noticed the TV Crew filming them.


Next to the taxiway, Ms. Wendt turned to Kodak Griffith. “That was fast.”

“Not unusual, and we Marines do it from time to time,” Griffith answered.

“This have anything to do with that missile attack we had?”

“Ma'am, you might want to use your imagination on that,” said the Marine.

Wendt thought for a moment, then nodded. “I guess so.”


When Guru got to Runway 35C, he held prior to the runway so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. The ordnance was now “Live.” Then he called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear to taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-three at eight,” the tower controller replied.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said, then he taxied onto the runway. Kara in 520 followed, and they went through a final check. “All set?”

“Ready to go,” Goalie said.”

Guru replied, “Same here.” He looked over at 520, and saw Kara and Brainiac give the thumbs-up signal. Both Guru and Goalie returned it, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead ready for takeoff.”

As usual, the tower flashed a green light to give clearance. Both crews closed and locked their canopies, and then it was time. Guru ran the engines to full power, and released the brakes. And 512 rolled down the runway into the air, with Kara in 520 right with him. Then it was both Sweaty's and Scorpion's turn, and after that, Dave and Sandi's.

Kodak Griffith was watching with the TV crew as Rambler Flight, and then a couple of Marine flights, then Ellis' flight, followed. He said, “Good luck.”

“Wish you were going along?” Ms. Wendt asked. Kodak had told her about his leg injury.

“Ma'am, I'd be lying if I said no.”

And the last hop of the day....And one of the 335th's F-4s becomes the first "Unmanned" F-4 in the Air Force:


Over Central Texas, Southwest of Fort Worth, 1615 Hours Central War Time:



Rambler Flight was headed south, on their second circuit of the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, and it appeared to the aircrews that the constant American air activity over their sector had frightened the Nicaraguan air-defense people into not turning on their radars or opening up with their own flak. Though the East Germans to the West, on the other side of the Brazos River, and the Soviet 32nd Army to the east of I-35W, along with the 4th Guards Tank Army at Hillsboro and points south were a different story. And their EW repeaters bore that out, for radars were up, with SA-4, SA-6, SA-8, and AAA radars, along with the Hillsboro SA-2. Fortunately, none of the Soviet or East German Army air-defense people were willing to shoot at targets outside their sectors, though the Hillsboro SA-2 did, sending the occasional telephone pole-sized SA-2 after aircraft that got too close. And that made Guru none too happy..

“Where's the Weasels?” He grumbled over 512's IC.

“Just like a cop,” Goalie, his GIB, replied. “They're never around when you want one.” That was partially true. Wild Weasels often flew with strike flights, but there weren't enough of them to go around, and today, the Weasels were busy, making sure those flights tasked with Scud hunts didn't have SAMs to worry about. Earlier, the East Germans had sent a few SA-4s east of the river, but a few antiradar shots with HARM or Standard-ARM missiles meant the East Germans were holding such thoughts-along with their fire.

“Hillsboro at Eleven O'clock,” Kara called from 520. “You'd think they had Chebrikov himself down there.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. “Music on, people.” That call was for the flight to turn on their ECM pods.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied. Sweaty and the others did as well.

“On me,” Guru ordered, and as he put 512 into a right turn to give the SA-2 site a wide berth, the rest of the flight followed. When they got to the river, then he made another turn to the north.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “How much more of this?”

“An hour's worth of fuel, then we can find an opportunity target,” Guru said. “We're not bringing this stuff home.”

Rambler Flight headed back north, and only when they got to Lake Granbury and U.S. 377 did they turn around. As they headed back south, a call came over the radio, and the crews saw F-4s, both AF and Marine, rolling in on a target, and large secondary explosions going off. “Look at that!” Goalie said over the IC.

“Whoa!” Guru replied. He had an idea who might be responsible. “Corvette Lead, Rambler Lead. You guys having fun?”

“Copy that, Boss,” Corvette Lead replied. Everyone in the flight recognized the voice of the Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis. “Found what we came for.”

“Corvette, Rambler,” Guru replied. “Sure looks like it. Need a hand?”

“Negative, Boss. We and the Jarheads got it under control.”

“Roger that, Corvette.” Guru said. “See you back at home plate.” Then Guru led the flight back south.

“Lead, Sweaty. We still looking for what we're here for?” Sweaty asked.

“Roger that, Sweaty.” Guru replied. “Got some earlier, and the Exec did just now. That's maybe two launch battalions' worth. Anyone know how many battalions in a Scud brigade?”

Kara answered, “Three per brigade, Boss. So we got some more to find.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Five, Six: Anything?”

“Negative, Lead,” Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer” replied. He and his wingmate, 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins, had their GIBs using their AGM-65D missiles as improvised FLIRs.

“Maybe the rest of 'em scooted for cover,” Goalie said from the back seat.

“Maybe,” said Guru. He wasn't so sure. Then something came to him. “Two, Lead. You think outside the box a lot. Where would you hide some Scuds if you were in charge of a battalion?”

“Stand by, Lead,” Kara said. She and Brainiac, her GIB, went over their maps. “Lead, how about Cleburne State Park?”

“Let's check it out,” Guru replied, and Rambler Flight turned north, then slightly northwest. They buzzed the State Park at Cedar Lake, and found nothing, so he turned the flight south.

All the turning and burning was costing fuel, and the GIBs were doing some quick calculations. “We've got forty-five minutes' fuel left before we're bingo,” Goalie told Guru. Bingo fuel meant return to base.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. He checked his map again as they flew south, back towards Rio Vista and the Scud convoy they had attacked earlier that afternoon. “Got to be around here somewhere.”

“Maybe they've found someplace to hide,” Goalie said.

“Lead, Four,” Scorpion called.

“Go, Four,” Guru replied.

“Has anyone checked out Lake Whitney? Map says there's a State Park on the east side of the lake.”

“Don't think so,” Guru said. “Let's go.” And he took 512 into a turn to the south, and headed for the lake. “Watch for flak at the dam.”

As the F-4s flew south, they overflew the wreckage of the convoy, and the Nicaraguans were still picking up the pieces. The Nicaraguan commander, a Captain after the battalion's command group had been killed or wounded in the Yanqui air attack earlier, ordered his men to take cover, and not to fire on the aircraft. Much to his relief, no one did, and everyone in the battalion breathed a huge sigh of relief as he did that the aircraft left them alone. Being bombed once in an afternoon was enough. No thanks to those stupid Libyans.....

Rambler Flight got to Lake Whitney, and the town of Whitney. They buzzed the state park and the town, and as they flew over the town, some of the townspeople waved and cheered, not caring about the Soviet garrison, namely, a regiment of the 20th Tank Division from 4th Guards Tank Army.

“Radars at Twelve,” Kara called. “That'll be Waco, I bet.”

“And MiG country,” Guru noted. “Do a 180, people. Get back north.” And he put 512 into a 180, and headed back north, away from the SAM threat and the MiGs. None of the SA-4 radars belonging to 4th GTA or the divsional-level SAMs fired, though.

“No MiGs? Gee, Lead, I was hoping for a hassle,” Kara said.

“Not today,” Guru reminded her-and everyone else. “Only if they come looking for us.”

“Too bad,” Sweaty muttered in her cockpit, making sure it was on the IC and not the radio. And Preacher, in 519's back seat, nodded understanding.


As Rambler Flight headed north, and the aircrews were expecting that they would pay a visit to the Cleburne area so as not to return home with unexpended ordnance, a Soviet missile convoy was pulling into a field southwest of Cleburne. They were from the Third Battalion, 99th Missile Brigade, originally from Krasnodar, and they were relative newcomers to the war in America. The Brigade, a Mobilization-Only unit, had been raised the previous year, and had deployed to Cuba after six months' training in the Ukraine. The Brigade had kicked its heels in Cuba for another six months before being shipped to Mexico, and had only arrived in Texas a month earlier, and it was obvious that things were not going well. They had been assigned to the 2nd Central Front, which had been mauled at a place called Wichita, up in Kansas, and all but the most optimistic of fools knew that the Socialist Bloc forces had gone through a shredder and were lucky to holding what they had. But, still, the Brigade's soldiers did their duty, and in coordination with the Libyans, had executed fire missions earlier that day. Though normal procedure in America was to shoot at night and hide in the daytime, the Brigade Commander felt that keeping the Americans on their toes, and realizing that they could expect to be attacked at any time, it was a risk worth taking. And so, Third Battalion was preparing to set up for a second salvo. Their MAZ-543 TELs, propellant trucks, and missile transporters with reloads were pulling off of this road called F.M. 1224 and into a field. This field had plenty of room to enable the battalion to set up and fire as a unit, instead of dispersing into separate launch sections. A salvo of four R-17s landing on the target nearly simultaneously would be a fitting present to the Imperialists, the Political Officer had said. Though he agreed with the Zampolit, the battalion commander thought these reservists still need the practice.


In her cockpit, Sandi Jenkins was scanning around, while Ken Dahlberg, the GIB, was checking the terrain. She was keeping an eye out for visual threats while flying the aircraft, something that not only the instructors at Kingsley Field had stressed, but the old hands in the squadron did as well. One thing that did stick in her craw was that she and Ken didn't yet have call signs, and though she and the other female pilots and GIBs had long been accepted in the squadron, they still weren't guys. Ken had suggested as her call sign SNAG: Still Not A Guy, and Sandi had laughed at it. Still, if he said it in the O-Club, the squadron might make it official. And if he did....

Then she saw them, “Ken, One O'clock and low!”

“Got 'em!” Ken replied. “Scuds.”

“Ready to fire, looks like. I'll call it in. You mark the position.”


Guru was scanning the sky ahead and checking his radar repeater when the call came. “Lead, Six. Got what we're looking for. Four targets, at the F.M. 1224/Park Road 21 junction. Off the road, Northwest corner.”

“Copy that, Six. Any sierra-alpha threat?” That meant surface-to-air defenses.

“Gun trucks, no missiles,” Sandi replied.

“Roger that, Six. Take your rifle shots and orbit. Five, you do the same. Kill any defenses, then hang back. Two, on me. Sweaty, you and Four follow. One pass and haul out, people! Time to go to work.”
Guru pulled 512 into a turn, then turned again. He wanted to make the run south to north, so that if he or anyone else in the flight was hit, they could head straight north and reach the I-20 line and safety. “Set 'em up,” he told Goalie. “Everything in one pass.”

“Got it,” Goalie said from the back seat as she worked the weapons controls. “All set back here.”

Just then, both Dave and Sandi started to take AGM-65 shots and “Rifle” calls came over the radio. Then both F-4s pulled away and began to orbit as vehicles down below were burning. Not only had they taken out some bad guys, but the plumes of smoke served to mark the target. “Copy that,” Guru said on the IC. 'Lead's in hot!” He rolled in onto his attack run.


Below, the Soviet battalion commander was actually pleased. For a mobilization-only unit, these soldiers were going about their tasks well. Though it was by rote, with the officers closely supervising their men, the battalion would be ready to execute its fire mission. The missiles had been raised to launch position and fueled, and final checks before launching the weather balloon to get final wind data before launch were underway. Though originally not equipped with air defense assets other than soldiers with Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles, wartime experience had shown the need for missile units to have their own air defense vehicles, and his battalion had a platoon with BTR-152 APCs with ZU-23s mounted on them. Suddenly, one of the AA vehicles opened fire as an F-4 came by, then turned around and fired two missiles, exploding an AA vehicle and a missile reload truck. “AIR ALARM!” He shouted, then he and other officers and soldiers ran for cover.

Okay...Guru thought as he rolled in. Four burning vehicles meant that the target was marked, and that they should have a free ride on the target. Or maybe not....some small-arms fire and even an SA-7 came up, but since the Grail had no all-aspect capability, it wasn't a threat, though if it did fly down an intake or make a freak hit....He put those thoughts aside as he rolled in, lining up a MAZ-543 with erect Scud in his pipper. “Steady....and HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button and twelve Rockeye CBUs came off 512's racks. He leveled off and headed straight north for I-20. “Lead's off target.”

The Soviet battalion commander, a Major, watched from a ditch as Guru's F-4 came in and released its ordnance. A frown came over the man's face as the CBUs exploded around and on the missile launcher, taking both vehicle and missile up in a fireball. The fireball also took out a fueling vehicle that hadn't yet gotten clear, and it too, exploded. “MASK!” He shouted as toxic fumes from the missile propellant would be in the smoke.

“SHACK!” Goalie called. “We got it!”

“Missile launcher?” Guru asked, though he likely knew that he had.

“Four-oh!” Replied Goalie. “And a big fireball!”

“Righteous, as Preacher would say,” Guru said as he headed north.


Kara in 520 was next. “Two's in hot!” She saw the explosions left in the CO's wake, She picked up the second launcher and the support vehicles around it, and lined them up in her pipper. And she saw some tracers coming up at her. “Too late, Ivan,” she muttered as she hit her pickle button. “HACK!” Kara called as she pulled away, leaving a dozen Rockeyes in her wake. As she pulled off target, she called. “Two off safe.”

The Soviet Major and the men who'd taken cover with him heard Kara's F-4 come in, then many small explosions. Then a big one followed, followed by a couple of sympathetic detonations. The battalion commander knew what had happened, but stuck his head up anyway. Another of his precious launchers had gone up-literally, The Major groaned in his mask, then he was suddenly jerked down by the Zampolit. There were more aircraft incoming.

“GOT HIM!” Brainiac called

Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Secondaries?”

“Big ones, and then some,” came the reply.

“Their lucky day,” Kara said as she followed the CO out of the target area.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She and Scorpion had Mark-82 Snakeyes, but they would do the job just the same. Their bombs had the Daisy Cutter fuze extenders, and even a near hit to a Scud TEL would kill the vehicle-and the missile along with it. She saw the damage caused by the Major and Kara, and she picked out one of the two surviving TELs, this one to the east, and lined it up. Ignoring the light tracer fire coming up, Sweaty lined the missile vehicle in her pipper. “Stready...and HACK!” She hit her pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeye five-hundred pound bombs came off 519's racks. She pulled away, and as she did, an SA-7 flew over the cockpit. “Three's off target.”

In the ditch, the Soviet Major peeked out, and saw Sweaty's F-4 make its run. He saw a dozen bombs come off the aircraft, and he groaned as they landed around and on one of his two remaining TELs. The big MAZ-543 and the missile, which had been elevated for launch, both exploded as shrapnel from the bombs sliced into not only the missile and the TEL, but a pair of missile fuel trucks as well. The Major ignored the muffled call from another officer to get down, and he watched helplessly as another F-4 came in.

“Righteous!” Yelled Preacher from 519's back seat. “We got him!”

Sweaty glanced back and saw a large fireball and a couple of smaller ones. “Good ones,” she noted. “Anyone shooting at us?”

“Negative,” Preacher said. “Maybe they got blown up themselves.”

“Maybe,” Sweaty replied, remembering the times both Colonel Rivers and Guru had reminded her about threats. Then she headed north, and as she did, she saw one of the Maverick birds fire a missile.

“Four in hot!” Scorpion radioed as he rolled in. He saw the last TEL, and immediately selected that as his target. As he rolled in, he noticed one of the two orbiting Phantoms fire a missile, and that Maverick took out somebody who had been firing on Sweaty as she egressed. “No way, Ivan,” he muttered as he lined up the last TEL in his pipper and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Twelve more Mark-82s fell onto the Soviet battalion. “Four's off target.”

The Soviet Major watched as Scorpion's F-4 came right over his head, and a dozen bombs came off the aircraft. He ducked, hoping that the bombs would miss, but he never saw the bomb that landed in the ditch, nor felt the blast as it exploded. The Daisy Cutter fuze went off a couple of feet off the ground, and the freak hit in the ditch meant that everyone taking shelter in it was torn apart by blast or shrapnel.....The Major never saw the demise of his last TEL.

“GOOD HITS!” Judge cried out from the back seat.

“How good?” Scorpion wanted to know.

“Big and good,” Judge said. “Real big boom-booms.”

“Fair enough,” came the reply as Scorpion's F-4 headed towards the I-20.


“Lead, Five,” Dave Golen called. “Looks like you got good hits on the targets.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “You and Six take your remaining shots, then get your asses north.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen replied. He and Sandi then went in, picking out remaining vehicles, for each still had two AGM-65s left. They found the remaining reload trucks and sent Mavericks their way, exploding them, then they, too, headed north. “On our way out,” Golen then called.


“Roger that, Five,” Guru said. He looked around and saw Kara's 520 right with him in combat spread, and he knew that Sweaty and Scorpion would be close by. It wasn't long until they reached the I-20 and the FLOT, and only then could they relax. Then they hit the tankers for the post-strike refueling, and as they did, Dave and Sandi joined up. They, too, drank some fuel, then the six-ship headed north.

It was nearly sundown when they arrived back at Sheppard, and as it turned out, they were the last flight in, before the A-6s and F-111s began night ops. They didn't even have to wait in the pattern, as the tower cleared them in for landing. After landing and taxiing off the runway, Goalie said, “Long day.”

“It was, and it's not over. Got some things to talk about with Revlon, Hoser, and KT before it's done.”
Guru replied.

“Like, what happened yesterday?”

“That's pretty much it. They're back on the flight schedule tomorrow.” Guru said as he taxied 512 into its revetment. He got the “Shut down' signal from his Crew Chief, then nodded. “One more day, then we get another stand-down.”

“Looking forward to that,” Goalie said as she started the post-flight checklist.

They went through the post-flight, then the ground crew brought the crew ladder, and both pilot and GIB dismounted from 512. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, came over. 'Major, how'd she do?”

“Killed some Scuds, Sergeant,” Guru said as he signed the aircraft back over to the CC. “She's working like a champ, and whatever it is you're doing? Keep it up.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley replied. “Major, word's going around about a stand-down?”

“Day after tomorrow. Get caught up on both sleep and maintenance, then the following day? Back to the grind.”

“Well, sir, one day off's better than even a half-day.”

“It is that. Get her ready for the morning, Sergeant. We'll be pretty busy.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “Okay,” he turned to his ground crew. “You heard the boss! Let's get his bird ready for tomorrow.”

As the ground crew got to work, Goalie came over to Guru. “You still want to bump him up in the R&R Rotation?”

“After what they do for us?” Guru asked. “Least I can do.”

“Don't blame you for that,” replied Goalie. “I'd do the same.”

When they got to the edge of the revetment, Kara, Brainiac, and the rest of the flight came over. “Well, Boss, we put the hurt on the bad guys,” Kara said.

“We did,” Sweaty nodded. “But were they the ones who hit the refugee camp?”

Judge replied. “Chances are, we may never know. But even if we didn't, somebody paid for that.”

“That they did,” Guru said. “Come on, let's get inside and get debriefed.”

The six crews walked over to Squadron Ops, and when they got there, the XO was waiting. “Boss,” Mark Ellis nodded. “Got somebody to see you.”

“Mark, I'm tired, hungry, and not in the mood for much. I need to debrief, talk to Revlon, Hoser, and KT about yesterday, then get something to eat and drink, get some shut-eye, because in the morning, we're back at it,” Guru said.

'I think you should see this guy. F-111 fella, thinks the Pave Tack pod we got today belongs to him.”

“He have the paperwork?” Guru asked as they went to the briefing room his flight used.

“No.”

“Then tell him to shove off,” Guru said. “And come up with the paperwork for us to prove it's ours. Even if it's, well, 'after the fact.'”

“You ought to see him anyway,” Ellis insisted. “He's got the rank.”

“What's he got?” Guru asked.

“Major.”

“Okay, tell him I'll be there in a few minutes. Need to debrief a mission,” Guru said.

“Got you.”

Guru and the rest of the flight went into the briefing room, and found the Intelligence Officer, Capt. Darren Licon, waiting. “Major,” Licon said. “How'd things go?”

“Got what we were down there for,” said Guru, and heads nodded agreement. “Let's get this done.”

They went over the mission, and indicated where the Scuds had been found. As well as Kara's theory as to Scuds hiding in the state parks in the area, of which there were two or three. “I'll pass that along, Licon said. “Maybe we'll get some recon eyes down there, or....” That meant either an RF-4C mission or the unspoken word of SF for some eyes on the ground.

“All right, Darren,” Guru noted. “Anything else?”

“No, sir, other than folks are asking who won the Scud Pool.”

The CO turned to his wingmate. “Kara?”

Kara nodded. “I'll announce it in the Club tonight. Fair enough?”

“I'll pass the word, sir. Get this stuff off to Tenth Air Force, though....” He indicated the Scud material. “Hope we got the ones who put the CBUs on the refugee camp.”

“You, me, and a lot of other people,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

Licon shook his head. “No, sir.”

“All right, then. See you in the Club.”

“Yes, sir,” Licon gathered up his materials, then left the room.

As the Intel left, Guru turned to his crews. “Okay, check your desks, and clear any squadron paperwork. Don't hit the Club until you're finished with that,” he reminded them. “Anything else?”

“Who's this F-111 guy Mark said wanted to see you?” Goalie asked.

“Don't know, and right now, don't care,” Guru nodded. “Need to talk with Revlon, Hoser, and KT about yesterday, then check my own desk.”

Sweaty looked at her CO. “As in what the hell happened?”

“Right. And we'll have a memorial service for Razor during the stand-down,”Guru said. He turned to leave the briefing room. “See you guys in a bit.” He then left and went to his office, still in his flight gear. He found his Exec, along with a Major in a flight suit whose flight jacket betrayed his F-111 origins, though the man's back was turned. “Mark.”

“Boss,” Ellis said. “Here's the F-111 guy.”

“And what can I do for you?” Guru asked. “Major?”

“Chris Breemer, Major,” the man replied. “524th TFS. And I'd like to know what my pod is doing in your squadron.”

“'Your' pod? Excuse me, but you're not the only unit on this base trained and equipped to use Pave Tack,” Guru replied, trying to be polite.

“What are you talking about?” Breemer asked. To Guru, it meant that the concept of others besides F-111s using the pods hadn't occurred to the man.

“I've got crews trained to use Pave Tack, and all of my birds have the ARN-101 DMAS, just like the 301st, 405th, and 450th, the other F-4 wings in Tenth AF,” Guru shot back. “If you're accusing my unit of scrounging your pod, I'd like some proof. Otherwise...”

“You haven't heard the last of this,” Breemer said angrily.

“Got the paperwork?” Guru replied politely. “If not, then get the hell out of my squadron.”

Breemer glared at him, then stormed out of the squadron office, right past Mark Ellis. “What was that all about, Boss?”

“F-111 driver who says we stole his Pave Tack pod. Tell me we didn't.” Guru said.

“No, Ross and his people got it, uh, by trading with the Hill Air Logistics Center,” the Exec replied.

“Okay, get the paperwork on that. If it doesn't exist?” The CO asked. “Create it.”

“Will do,” Ellis nodded. He knew what the CO wanted, and if things had to be....creatively designed, so be it.

“I'll talk to our lost sheep, then if you've got stuff for me, let it wait until then.” Guru said, nodding to Revlon, Hoser, and KT.

“Gotcha.”

Guru nodded, then motioned to the three who were waiting outside his office. “You three, come on in. We've got a few things to talk about.”

The three nodded, then followed the CO into his office. They noticed that their CO had not yet gotten out of his flight gear, meaning his G-suit, and he still had his helmet.

“Okay, you guys want to have a seat, or....?” Guru asked. He wanted to make this as informal as possible.

All three looked at each other, then Hoser spoke for them. “We''ll stand, Boss.”

The CO nodded. “Whatever works for you,” he said. “Okay, Revlon?” Guru nodded at 1st. Lt. Julie “Revlon” Cole., who had been shot down a few minutes before Hoser and KT, and her pilot hadn't gotten out. “What happened?”

Revlon brushed her cropped brown hair. “Major, I don't know for sure. Razor rolled in, and was lining up on some armor when we started taking fire. Next thing is, we took a hit to the nose, another round went off next to the front cockpit, then we took two more hits.”

The CO nodded. “Did you try using the rear flight controls?”

“Couldn't,” Revlon said. “Fire warning light came on, hydraulic light was already on, and so were the others. You know the drill if that happens.”

“Yeah, you get out,” Guru said, recalling his own shoot-down. “Razor say anything?”

“No, and I tried getting him on the IC. But the ground was coming up, so...”

“So you had no choice but to get out, and chances are, he was either incapacitated or dead,” Guru commented. “Where'd you land?”

“Right near a Soviet motor-rifle regiment, so the Army told me,” Revlon said. “They never tried to capture me, and why, I have no idea.”

“Maybe because they were busy?” Hoser ventured.

Guru looked at him, then nodded. “You might be right,” he said. “How long were you on the ground?”

“Ten minutes, because the Jolly Green and the Cobras were there pretty fast. Like they were on airborne alert or something. Cobras did good in keeping the bad guys away, and wasn't long until I was at their FOL. Then another Jolly comes in with these two.”

The CO looked at Hoser and KT. “All right, how'd it go with you two?”

Hoser nodded at his flight leader and CO. “Rolled in right behind Sweaty. Lined up on some of the guns, close to where Sweaty dropped, and released.”

“I was calling out altitude,” KT added. “Then we started taking fire, and that's when we were hit.”

“What kind of guns?” Guru asked.

“Medium-caliber,” Hoser said. “Looked like 57s to me.”

“Same here,” KT added.

Guru turned to Revlon. “How about you? Was the flak 57-mm?”

“Seemed like it to me,” Revlon said. “Black puffs, and that means 57 or higher.”

“Okay,” the CO said. “You said on the radio you took a hit to the nose and had sluggish controls. What else?”

“We were losing fuel, and had to shut down the right engine,” Hoser said. “Made it across the fence, then the warning panel lit up like a Christmas Tree, and it was time to get out.”

“And we weren't in the chutes that long when the Jolly Green arrived. The Army was coming, too. Several Humvees and Duce-and-a-halfs were coming towards that field. Guess they wanted credit for the rescue or....” added KT.

“They thought you were Russians,” Guru finished. “And wanted credit for the capture. Seeing that Jolly Green come for you should've told them otherwise. Wasn't long after you landed that the Jolly landed, right?”

“It wasn't,” Hoser said. First thing we see is the chopper, then the PJ comes over. Got hustled to the chopper right after that.”

“Same here,” KT said. “They loaded us up, then off we went. Got checked out there, then Doc Waters did it again when we got back.”

Guru nodded, then thought for a moment. “Okay, Hoser, you and KT get a new bird. One of the two we just got from Japan, via McClellan. Talk to Van Loan, and he'll assign you the bird.”

“We back on the schedule?” Hoser asked, and KT nodded.

“You are, as of now. Be ready to go tomorrow morning,” Guru said to the pair. “As for you, Revlon?”

“Boss?” Revlon asked. She wasn't sure of the CO's tone of voice.

“You're getting a new pilot. I'm breaking up the other new crew we got today, and you'll be breaking in a new front-seater. First Lieutenant Jodi Taylor is your new pilot. Talk to her tonight at the Club, and break the ice. Go over how she wants to do things, but remind her of this statistic: eighty percent of our losses are people who don't make it to ten missions,” said Guru.

Revlon knew the CO was serious, and that he was speaking from experience. He'd been shot down once, and he had to break in a new GIB. “Understood, Boss.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, that it?”

“Who won the Scud pool, Boss?” Hoser asked.

“Kara will announce that tonight in the Club,” Guru said. “How's that sound?”

“Sounds pretty good for somebody,” KT replied.

“It will be,” Guru agreed. “Okay, see you in the Club, and a reminder: Twelve-Hour kicks in for you at 1900, along with everyone else. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss,” Hoser said.

“Okay,” Guru said. “That's it. See you in a bit.”

“Will do, Boss.” Hoser said.

As they got ready to leave the office, Guru remembered something. “Wait a minute. Revlon? With you and Jodi together, that means we've got an 'unmanned' F-4. First for the squadron, and maybe a first for the Air Force, for all I know. So be careful.”

“What do you mean by that, Boss?” Revlon asked.

“Simple: the STORY light goes on in our visiting reporter's head. When it hits the news wires, and gets broadcast? More reporters will be showing up. If I have to, I'll have Kodak Griffith keep them at arm's length with a bullwhip. If that doesn't work? I'll have Ryan Blanchard and the CSPs keep them away so you two can do your job.”

“Thanks a heap. Uh, Boss.”

“Bound to happen sooner or later,” Guru said. “Just take things in stride, and go with the flow.”

“All anyone can do,” Revlon nodded. “That all, sir?”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “See you in a few.”

The trio left, and just after they did, Mark Ellis came in. “Boss,” the Exec said. “Got a few things for you.”

“Lay it on me, Mark. I need to get out of my gear, then get over to the Club,” said the CO.

“Aircraft status report for MAG-11. We'll have eighteen for the morning.”

“Shouldn't we have twenty?” Guru asked. “The two new birds we got today, remember?”

Ellis shook his head. “Two birds are due for hundred-hour checks, Kev O'Donnell says.” Capt. Kevin O'Donnell was the squadron's maintenance officer.

“Okay,” the CO said, signing the form. “What else?”

“Three new airmen reported today, and one's an ex-PJ. Got busted up in a helo crash, and he couldn't requalify as a PJ, so he's a new medic for Doc,” the XO said.

Nodding, the CO looked at that sheet. “Supply?”

“Nothing special,” Ellis said. “And Ross is still looking for that other....special item.”

“Good,” the CO said. “Now, tell Don Van Loan that Hoser and KT are back on the schedule tomorrow, and they get one of the two new birds from Japan. As for the other crew? I'm giving the female pilot to Revlon.”

“Boss, that means we'll have an 'unmanned' F-4.” Ellis pointed out.

“Don't remind me, but yeah. And thanks to our reporter friends, word will spread pretty fast.”

“It will,” the XO said. “First in the squadron, probably in the whole Air Force for all I know. And the media will want to get their bite at 'em.”

“Nature of the beast,” Guru said. “I told Revlon that pretty much. Anything else?”

“That's it,” Ellis said. “Ready for the Club?”

“Let me get out of my gear, then let's go.” Guru said. They left the CO's office, then after Guru stopped by the Locker Room to get out of his flight gear, CO and XO headed over to the Officer's Club tent.

Here's the next one, and call signs get bestowed on the FNGs:



1705 Hours Central War Time: Sheppard AFB Officer's Club Tent:


Guru and his Exec walked into the Officer's Club, and found the usual crowd already there. They bellied up to the bar next to Colonel Brady and Maj. Lee Dutton, who commanded a four-ship VMFP-3 detachment attached to MAG-11. “Colonel,” Guru nodded. “And Lee. How's the photo business?”

“Major,” Brady replied. “How'd things work with you guys?”

“Made some Scuds go away, but did we get 'em all?” Guru asked. “That's what I'd like to know.”

“Good question, and one I'd like to know myself,” Brady said. “I was here for the attack, and getting into my MOPP gear was no fun, I'll grant you.”

“Well, we got some of the aftermath of your strikes on film,” Dutton said. “Not bad for a day's work.”

“Always nice to create a couple of junkyards,” Ellis nodded.

“That it is, Mark,” Guru said. Then the barkeep came up. “Two Sam Adams, and I'll pay for whatever the XO's having.”

“Bud,” Ellis nodded.

The barkeep produced the bottles, and Guru paid him. “Thanks,”

“Anytime, Major,” the barkeep smiled.

“So, tomorrow's another day, and then we get a stand-down,” Guru commented.

Colonel Brady nodded. “You got that right. So, hoping for the usual, or what?”

“Colonel, I'll take smashing up some airfield, or blowing a supply dump over Scud hunts or CAS any day. I know, the guys and girls on the ground depend on us for the CAS, but that's not our primary tasking.”

Brady nodded. “I know; you guys are mainly BAI and counter-air, but you've done your share of CAS.”

“When we have to,” Guru admitted. “But I'd rather leave it to the folks who specialize in it.”

“Can't be choosers,” said Dutton. “I flew F-4Js and the S before getting the photo-bird.”

“So, Major,” Brady said to change the subject. “Word's going around that you're getting an 'unmanned'
F-4 in your squadron.”

“Yes, sir. Squadron rule is to pair up a new pilot with an experienced GIB, and the other way around. In Revlon's case,” Guru motioned to a table where Revlon was talking with her new pilot, “that means pairing her up with one of our FNGs. And that's Jodi Taylor.”

“Good thinking, Major,” Brady nodded approval. “And when our news media guests find out?”

“I'll have Kodak Griffith keep them at bay with a horsewhip if necessary. And if that doesn't work? Our CSPs will do the job.” Then he saw Goalie and the rest of his flight at a table. “Excuse me, sir.”

“That they will, Major,” Brady laughed. “You have a good evening.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru said. He then went over to the table. “Here you go,” he said, handing Goalie the second bottle of Sam Adams.

“Thanks,” Goalie said. “So, word's spreading that we'll have an all-female crew? Thought you weren't going to break up that second crew?”

“Remembered squadron policy: new pilot-veteran GIB and vice versa.” Guru replied. He gestured to the table where Revlon and Jodi were busy talking things over. “And we've got some other business to take care of.”

“Such as?” Kara asked.

“Call signs. Not just for the FNGs, but for Sandi and Ken,” the CO reminded his wingmate.

“When?” Preacher asked.

“After dinner, but before twelve-hour kicks in,” the CO said.

Sweaty looked at her CO. “And when the newsies get a hold of an 'unmanned' F-4?”

“I'll have Kodak Griffith use a bullwhip if necessary to keep them away. If that doesn't work? Ryan Blanchard's CSPs do the job. Capt. Ryan Blanchard headed up the 335th's Combat Security Police detachment, and the former deputy sheriff was very good at her job.

“Anyone looking forward to flogging reporters?” Kara asked, half-jokingly.

“Serves the bastards right,” Hoser said.

“Now, now,” Guru said. “They're our guests, remember?”

“We can dream, can't we?” Goalie asked.

“Why not?”


The Marine Mess people arrived with dinner, and as everyone ate, The CBS Evening News came on. Nothing about the Air Force this time, though there was footage from the Kola Raid that DOD had finally released, including scenes of the cruisers Salem and Des Moines, along with a couple of destroyers, throwing eight-inch and five-inch shells into a Soviet naval base along the Kola coast. A sneak preview of an interview with British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher came up as well, and then there was the usual stories from the Home Front, with a segment of Charles Kuralt's On the Road, where the reporter traveled the country, showing how the Home Front was going in various parts of the country. This segment took him to Bar Harbor,Maine, where the fishermen were going out, not only looking for their catch, but also looking out for Soviet subs. After the news came a replay of an L.A. Raiders/San Diego Chargers game.

“Not again,” Guru said with disgust

“What's up, Boss?” Kara asked. “Not into football?”

“College, yeah. Pro? The Cowboys are my team, and with them playing in Phoenix due to the war, at least they're going. But no matter how often it's rerun, the Chargers win. I don't care much for the Raiders or San Diego.”

“Down at Auburn, SEC football is God,” Kara grinned. She had graduated from Auburn, where the rivalry with Alabama and Georgia Tech was well known.

“Same thing around here,” Goalie said. She was reading a copy of USA Today. “Says here they're starting up High-School football again. In the liberated parts of Texas, anyway.”

“Any of that around here?” KT asked.

“From El Paso to Amarillo, and down this way, the article says,” Goalie replied.

“Didn't Ivan make that illegal?” Kara said. “I remember hearing things about that.”

“They did, but the article says there's enough places off the beaten path where you can get together for a pickup game.”

Guru nodded. He had relatives in Texas, though they were still in the Occupied Zone. “Well, that's one sign of things getting back to normal. Now, we've got some squadron business to take care of.”

“Such as?” Kara wanted to know.

“Introducing the FNGs, and giving them-along with Sandi and Ken, call signs,” the CO reminded his wingmate.

“Oh, boy...” Goalie said, while Kara blushed slightly. At least her old call sign from Kingsley Field had followed her here.....


Guru went up to the bar, got himself another beer, then rang the bell. “People! Got some 335th squadron announcements to make!” People stopped what they were doing to listen. “Okay, we got our FNGs today, and I'd like them to stand up and be recognized.” The four new aircrew did so. “And we need to bestow call signs on them. But, one of them's already got one. Bob Gatlin?” Gatlin nodded. “Tell them what yours is.”

Gatlin addressed the crowd, AF, Marine, and Navy. “Well, it's T-Bone.”

“How'd you get that?” Don Van Loan wanted to know.

'I kinda put a practice bomb onto a water buffalo at the Crow Valley Range near Clark in the Philippines.” Roars of laughter followed.

“Anyone think we need to change it?” The CO asked. Lots of heads shook no. “All right: T-Bone stays.”

“Thanks, Major,” Gatlin said, sitting down to slaps on his back.

“Okay, Jody Phelan? Front and center!” Guru said.

Phelan got up and went to the CO. “Major?”

“Okay, Jody. Anything in your background that might help?”

“Uh, I got nailed for doing 102 MPH in a 55 my Junior Year in college,” Jody replied.

“How about Bandit?” Kara suggested.

“He sure don't look like Burt Reynolds,” Sweaty shot back. “Got a black Trans Am back home?”

“No,” Phelan replied.

“How about Scooter?” Judge asked.

“Scooter?” Guru replied.

“Yeah. He was scooting down the road,” the pre-law major said.

“Sounds good, Judge,” Guru said. “All in favor?” Nearly everyone's hand shot up. “Opposed?” None. “All right: Scooter it is. And remember: if you don't like it, we'll come up with one even more embarrassing.”

Phelan, now Scooter, nodded understanding. “Yes, sir.”

“All right: Jodi Taylor?” Guru said. “Come on up.”

Jodi left the table she was sharing with Revlon and went to the CO. “Major?”

Guru smiled. “Okay, you're an astronomy major, right?”

“That's right, Major,” she replied.

“Okay, any suggestions?” Guru asked the crowd of 335th crew.

“How about Scope?” Don Van Loan asked.

“'Scope'?” Kara replied. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“She uses a telescope when she's studying the stars,” Van Loan shot back.

“Any others?” Guru asked.

“Cosmo,” 1st Lt. Craig Stevens, who was Mark Ellis' GIB, said. “She's looking up at everything: the sun, moon, stars, planets, the whole nine yards.”

“All right: all in favor of 'Scope'? Show your hands.” Only two or three were raised. “How about 'Cosmo'?” Many more hands rose. “Okay, Cosmo it is,” Guru said.

“Thanks, Major.”

“You and Revlon getting along?” Guru asked.

“Yes, sir,” Cosmo replied.

Guru nodded. “When she tells you what it's like in combat, listen. Revlon's got 127 combat missions on you and has been shot down once already. So pay attention.”

“Got it, sir.”

“Okay,” Guru said as Cosmo went back to the table. “Keith Byrant.” The ex-University of Hawaii linebacker went to the bar.

“He's built like a football player,” Mark Ellis muttered.

“He was one,” Goalie said.

The CO nodded. “You played football at where?”

“University of Hawaii, sir.” Byrant said.

“Fridge!” Don Van Loan shouted.

“'Fridge?'” Kara asked.

“Yeah. He's not as big as the real Refrigerator Perry, but he's still big enough to just run over a quarterback. And stomp him into the ground,” Van Loan said.

“Any objections?” Guru asked. There were none. “Okay, Fridge it is.”

“Thanks, Major,” Bryant said, then he went back to the table he was sharing with T-Bone.

Guru nodded, took a drink, then said, “Sandi Jenkins, front and center!”

“Uh-oh,...” several people muttered.

Sandi smiled, then went up to the bar. “Major,” she smiled at the CO.

“Sandi,” Guru said cheerfully. “You came to us without a call sign, so we're going to rectify that. Floor's now open, people!”

“Yang?” KT suggested.

“Yang?” Preacher asked.

“Yeah,” replied KT. “Yet Another Non-Guy.” And there were howls of laughter.

“Oh, boy...” Sandi muttered.

Guru nodded. “Yang is one, any others?” He saw Kara raise her hand. “Kara, you have an idea?”

“Snag?” Kara said. “Still Not a Guy.” More howls of laughter followed.

“Kara...” Sandi muttered.

The CO nodded. “Steady, girl,” he reminded her. “If you don't like what we give you, we'll get you another one that's even more embarrassing.”

“How about Flossy?” Cosmo asked.

“Care to elaborate?” The XO replied. “You're one of the animals in the zoo, now.”

“She has no noticeable tan lines.”

“And how do you know that?” Guru asked. “Let me guess: you two were roommates for a while.”

Sandi looked at her CO. “We were....”

“Steady,” Guru said. “Any others?” He noticed T-Bone talking with Fridge. “You two have a suggestion?”

“Uh, Major, how about Lamb?” T-Bone asked.

“Lamb?” Don Van Loan asked. “What's that all about?”

“Well, we went down to Stead for a week of weapons training,” T-Bone replied. “When we went into Reno for some down time? Sandi there likes low-cut civilian attire.”

Sandi's face turned red when she heard that. “Major....”

“Let me guess: Look at My Boobs.” Mark Ellis said.

Guru had a grin on his face, then he asked the 335th's crews, “All right: the suggestions are on the table. Let's start with the last one: Lamb? A show of hands.” Hardly any came up at that one. “Okay, 'Flossy'?” This time, though, many hands came up. “'Snag?” Only Kara's and Goalie's hands came up at that one. “And 'Yang?” KT and Hoser were the only two. “Sorry, Lieutenant, but your squadron mates have spoken.”

“I guess so, Boss,” Flossy replied. She glared at Cosmo. “And you were one of my friends,” she said jokingly.

“All right, we got two more. Ken Dahlberg, come on up,” said the CO as Flossy went back to her table.

When she sat down, Dave Golen looked at her. “Uh, how?”

“Long story, Dave,” Flossy replied.

“Okay, Ken,” Guru said. “Anything in your background that you're not entirely proud of?”

“Well, Boss, when it didn't interfere with ROTC Summer Camp, I, uh, had an unusual summer job.” Ken replied.

“And that was...?”

“I, uh, worked in the business of one of my uncles. I worked in the office of a cemetery.”

Jaws dropped at that.”A cemetery?” Sweaty asked, “You have got to be shitting us.”

“Nope. Worked in the business office. Wasn't doing anything else.”

“Okay, Major,” Doc Waters said. “How about 'Ghoul'?”

“I'll go along with that,” Kara said. “You'd have to be one to work in a cemetery.”

“How about 'Digger”?” Hoser suggested.

“Any others?” Guru asked. “Okay, show of hands: all those for 'Ghoul.” About half the squadron's crews raised their hands. “And for 'Digger?” This time, it was just over half. “Ken, your squadron mates have spoken. Enjoy your call sign.”

“And when I tell my uncle...” Digger said. “I'll tell him not to hire anyone who's going into the military later.”

“You do just that,” Guru said. After Digger went back to his seat, where Flossy slapped him on the back, Guru went on. “Now, we've got a special one. Normally, ground officers don't get call signs, but this is special. Stand up, Darren.”

The intel officer was sitting with Doc Waters, Kev O'Donnell, and Ryan Blanchard, and he gulped. “What'd I do?” He asked.

“You're the best intel officer this squadron's had since the balloon went up. Now, Colonel Rivers, rest his soul, got him promoted to Captain. But I think the squadron ought to give him an additional honor. How about a call sign, and I've got one. Sin.”

Preacher looked at his CO. “Sin?” The ex-seminary student asked.

“Sin. Stands for Super Intel Nerd,” the CO grinned.

“Makes sense,” Don Van Loan observed. “Boss, I move it be awarded by acclimation.”

“Sounds good,” Guru said. “All those in favor?” A round of applause came from the 335th crews. “Well, Darren, it's official. Enjoy it, Sin.”

“Thanks, Major.” Sin replied as he sat down.

“Okay, next item. T-Bone, you and Scooter are with the Exec's flight. Hoser? You and KT are back on the schedule tomorrow, and you get a new bird from Japan.”

Hoser and KT were grinning. “Glad to be back, Boss,” Hoser said.

“Now, Scorpion and Judge?” Those two looked at the CO. “That means you go back to the Exec's flight.”

“Thanks, Major,” Scorpion said.

“Now, Captain Thrace has an announcement. It concerns the Scud Pool. Captain?”

Kara got up and went to the bar. “Okay,” she took out her notepad from a flight suit pocket. “Scud pool..... 3 November, 1415 Hours...REVLON!”

Revlon stood up and had a grin from ear-to-ear. She went up to Kara, and happily collected her winnings. Then she used some of it to buy a round for her table, then she went back.

“Not bad for someone who just became part of the only 'unmanned' F-4 in the squadron,” Kara said.

“No, and she did share with her new pilot and the others,” Guru said. “Revlon? Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Major!” She yelled over the din.

“Now, we've got some weather coming in tomorrow night. An all-day stand-down the following day. So there's going to be a maximum effort tomorrow.” The CO looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes until twelve-hour. Drink up, people! That's an order.”

As people went to obey, Colonel Brady came over with Ms. Wendt. “Major, nicely done. It's been a while since I've had to officiate at such a ceremony,” Brady said.

“Thank you, sir,” Guru replied.

Ms. Wendt had a confused look on her face. “What was that all about?”

“Part of being a fighter pilot is having a call sign,” Guru explained. “All part of the world of military aviation.”

“And if they don't like the call sign?” Ms. Wendt asked.

Colonel Brady laughed. “Then they'll find one even more embarrassing.”

“That we will, sir.” Guru smiled.

“And since you've got a stand-down, how about that interview?” Ms. Wendt asked Guru.

Guru nodded politely. “If I'm not too busy with paperwork, sure.”

“And the backseat ride?”

“If we've got birds coming out of maintenance, and they have to have a check flight? Remind me and we'll get that done,” replied the CO.

“Thank you, Major.” Ms. Wendt smiled. “I noticed you've now got an all-female crew. Any chance I can talk to them?”

“Go through Kodak Griffith,” Guru said. “If they want to talk to you, fine. If not, just accept it. It's their choice, remember.”

“Of course, Major.” She knew full well that the crew might not want to talk to her, but when she ran the story, as she now intended to, they might change their minds.

Just then, Doc Waters rang the bell at the bar. “Twelve-hour now in effect!”

Guru turned to Ms. Wendt. “That doesn't apply to you, ma'am, but us?” He went to the bar and not only got a plate of nachos, but also a couple of cans of Coke and went over to his table. “Here we go,” he told Goalie.

“Kara's holding court at the pool table.” Goalie said, nodding in that direction.

“She went to work fast. And her potential victims?” Guru asked.

“C-130 guys. There's a couple of Herky-birds that came in after we did.”

Guru looked in that direction. Sure enough, a female C-130 driver quickly found her wallet lightened by $50.00. Then the male navigator tried his luck, and also found out to his sorrow that Kara was very good indeed. She pocketed her winnings, then came over to the CO's table. “Boss.”

'Teaching our MAC brethren a lesson?” Guru asked.

“Always,” Kara grinned. “Always a pleasure to clean out a pair of trash-haulers.”

“Be careful,” Guru warned. “Some of those trash-haulers fly HC-130s. The ones who refuel Jolly Greens and also carry Pararescue? Be nice to 'em.”

“Not these guys, Boss,” Kara replied with indignation. “Vanilla C-130 types.”

“Just reminding you,” the CO said.

“Noted, Boss,” Kara said. She then went and got in onto a poker game.

“So,” Goalie asked. “What's on tap for the stand-down?”

“Stay in bed half the morning,” Guru said.

“Good idea.”

“And sleep.” Guru told his GIB.

Her expression grew coy. “Wanna bet?”


The evening went on, until one of the Navy Flight Surgeons rang the bar bell at 2100. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!” With that, those on the flight schedule the following morning headed off to their tents, and all hit the sack. For it wouldn't be long until 0430 and the beginning of another day.

A new morning, and getting ready for the first strike of the day:


335th TFS Operations: 4 November, 1987, 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser came into the squadron offices, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A full day of flying beckoned, before weather came in that evening to force a one-day stand down. The forecast may be for rain and wind, but his maintenance officer, Capt. Kevin O'Donnell, was ecstatic, for it meant that the squadron's mechanics would get caught up on all of their maintenance, so that on the 6th, when flying resumed, all twenty of the squadron's aircraft would be FMC (Full Mission Capable) and thus available. And he was pleased as well, because all of his crews would be well rested and ready to go.

The Major went in, and found Capt. Kerry Collins, the Night Duty Officer, at his desk. “Kerry,”

“Major,” Collins said.

The CO noted that Collins was taking his advice and stayed in his seat. “How you doing this morning? Still on the pills?” He knew the NDO was grounded due to a cold, and Doc Waters, the Flight Surgeon, had Kerry on some cold meds.

“Doing better, Boss,” Collins said. “See Doc tomorrow and....”

“Hopefully, you're off the pills and back on the flight schedule,” Major Wiser said. “XO in?”

“He's in your office, Boss.” Collins said.

Major Wiser nodded. “Thanks, Kerry. And remember, Doc outranks all of us-even me-when it comes to flying. You may think you're ready, but if he doesn't....”

“Roger that, Boss.”

The CO nodded, then went into his office. He found Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, waiting with a cup of cocoa for him. “Mark,”

'Morning, Boss,” Ellis said, handing his CO the cup. “Not much paperwork wise this morning,”

“Tomorrow, we can clear some of that out,” the CO said. “What have you got?”

“Morning Report for MAG-11,” Ellis said. “And the updated aircraft status sheet.”

Nodding, Major Wiser signed the Morning Report, then scanned the aircraft sheet. “Still eighteen for today?'

“Afraid so, Boss,” Ellis said. “Two birds have their hundred-hour checks today. And several birds get that done tomorrow. Including all in your flight.”

“Okay,” Major Wiser said. “Anything else?”

“Update on the weather. We may be getting it a few hours earlier than expected.” Ellis said, handing the CO the weather forecast.

“Light rain after 2000, heavy rain after 2300. Won't let up until after 1400 tomorrow. Cloud base 5,000 with ceiling at 18,000. Swell. Okay, remind me this afternoon: I want two birds loaded for air-to-air for tomorrow. Just in case. It may be rainy down here, but at Angels twenty....”

Ellis nodded in the affirmative. 'Up there, it's CAVU. Gotcha. Who sits alert?”

“We'll sort that out later,” said the CO. “What else?”

“Guess who's SDO today, due to his element's birds getting their checks?”

The CO suddenly had a frown. “Let me guess: Frank.” It wasn't a question.

“Afraid so, unless you have someone else in mind.”

“Hacksaw's grounded as of today,” the CO noted. “Doc told me last night: he's got a cold, just like Kerry does.” He was referring to Capt. Jody Taylor, who was one of Kerry Collins' tentmates. “Find him and tell him he's daytime SDO until he's cleared to fly.”

“Will do,” Ellis said. “Let me guess: anything that keeps Frank from any unnecessary exercise of authority is a good thing.”

“You've got that right. I'll find him, and then I'll tell Frank the good news.”

The CO nodded, then there was a knock on the door. “Show yourself and come on in!”

A blonde female first lieutenant came in, with two cups of steaming liquid. “Morning, Guru,” 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn said. “Guru was the CO's call sign. “And to you, XO.”

“Morning, Goalie,” the CO said to his GIB (and girlfriend). “Still bearing coffee?”

“Have a sip,” Goalie said, handing the CO a cup.

Guru drank a sip. “More cocoa?”

His GIB grinned. “You got it. So what's up?”

“Trying to keep Frank from exercising any more authority than is necessary,” Guru said. He turned to his Exec. “Mark, tell Kerry to find Hacksaw and get him over here. Have Kerry bring some breakfast over from the Chow Tent, and tell Hacksaw that he's now SDO until Doc clears him to get back in the cockpit.”

“On my way,” Ellis said. He headed out the door.

“Let me guess: Frank's penciled in as SDO,” Goalie said.

“Yep. And I'm not trying to violate the Eighth Amendment ban on cruel and unusual punishment,” the CO said.

“Can't have that,” Goalie nodded.

“No,” Guru said. He downed the rest of the hot chocolate, then went out of the office, and Goalie followed. Just as they left the office, Major Frank Carson, the most despised officer not just in the 335th, but on the entire base, came in. “Frank, what brings you here this time of morning?”

“Just ready to begin my stint as today's Squadron Duty Officer,” Carson replied with a smug. And it was clear to everybody in the office that his Boston Blue Blood arrogance was at the surface.

“Not anymore,” Guru said. “Hacksaw's grounded for a few days with a cold. He'll be SDO on the day shift for the time being.”

“What?” Carson asked, staring at this.....peasant from California who was his CO. And his slut of a girlfriend, who was grinning from ear to ear.

The CO got in Carson's face. “I'm not putting you in a position to inflict any unnecessary misery on this squadron. If you've got squadron paperwork to take care of, deal with it. Head to the small-arms range and keep current on your qualification. Other that than, you're lucky.”

Carson glared at the CO. “What do you mean by that?”

“Frank, you and the rest of your element get two days off. Everyone else in this squadron only gets tomorrow. So enjoy it!” Guru said. Right after the CO said that, the Exec returned with Capt. Jody “Hacksaw” Taylor. “You found him, I see.”

“Just got out of the shower, Boss,” Hacksaw replied. “Feeling okay, even with these pills Doc gave me.”

“Okay, just listen to what he says, do what he tells you, and you'll be back flying in no time,” Guru said. “You're day shift SDO until Doc clears you. Any questions?”

“No, Boss,” Hacksaw replied.

“Kerry'll bring you breakfast, and to be honest? I'd rather have you as SDO than Frank,” Guru told him.

“Major, anybody besides Frank is good as SDO,” Hacksaw said.

“Good man,” Guru said. He turned to Goalie and the Exec. “Come on, let's go” As they went to leave, Guru turned to Carson. “Frank?”

“What?”

“No complaints either from you or about you,” the CO said with due seriousness. 'Got it?”

“Yes....sir.” Carson said, though everyone could hear the contempt in his voice.

“I doubt it, but there's always a chance,” Guru said. “Come on. Let's go eat.”


When the CO, XO, and Goalie got to the Officer's Mess Tent, they found Colonel Brady, Ms. Wendt, and their flights waiting, among other aircrew and ground officers. “Colonel,” Guru said. “And Ms. Wendt. Good morning.”

“Major,” Colonel Brady said. “You're a little bit late this fine morning.”

“Had some unexpected business, as in Major Carson business, sir.” Guru said.

“Major, I'm a Marine and you guys are Air Force, but why haven't you kicked that bastard out of your squadron and off this base?”

“Sir, if I kick him out now? He can go to JAG and claim retaliation. I'm not giving him that pleasure.”

Colonel Brady nodded understanding. “Well, if it's any consolation, Major, I asked my own legal officer if the same situation came up in a Marine unit, and the same thing would apply. Guess we'll have to wait a bit longer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Wendt said. “Major, I'd like to talk to, uh, Cosmo and Revlon, if that's possible.”

“I'll let them know, Ms. Wendt,” Guru said. “But I can't make them talk to you. It's their choice. You probably want to do a story on them, but if they don't want to talk to you just yet? Just wait a few days, and maybe they'll be more willing. They need to settle down as a crew, because they didn't know each other until last night.”

The reporter nodded. “I see.... you want them to get used to each other for a few days.”

“Something like that,” Guru said. “You're catching on. Besides, you've probably got other stories in mind.”

“Now you're catching on to the media,” Ms. Wendt smiled.

“Call it mutual understanding,” Guru replied politely. Then he saw his Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, come up. “Excuse me.” Guru went over to Van Loan, and motioned for the XO to join them. “Don.”

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “What's up?”

“Two things,” the CO said. “First, Hacksaw's now SDO on days until Doc clears him. He's got a cold, and is grounded. Second, T-Bone and Scooter are your new Number Four, right, Mark?”

“That's right,” Ellis replied.

“Okay, let's try this: T-Bone and Scooter fly in the morning. I want to see how Cosmo and Revlon do, so let them take the afternoon.”

Ellis nodded, but Van Loan looked at the CO. “Why not let Hoser and KT have the afternoon off?”

“If either one was grounded, I'd have them fly with us, but since they're not,” Guru said.

“Gotcha,” Van Loan said. “Now that you say it, I'm just as curious myself.”

“So am I,” Ellis added. “First, well, 'unmanned' F-4 in the squadron. Hell, maybe in Tenth Air Force for all we know.”

“Or the whole Air Force,” Guru reminded them. “Don, the ATO?”

“Mission briefs'll be ready after we eat,” Van Loan said.

Just then, the Mess Officer turned the sign on the Chow Tent from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's ready, folks.”

“Let's eat,” the CO said. “We've got a busy day coming.”



After breakfast, Guru's flight went to their briefing room, while the CO went to the Ops desk to pick up their mission packet. To his surprise, Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer” was there. “Dave,” Guru said, recalling the IDF's habit of going on a first-name basis.

“Guru,” Golen replied. “So, what do they have for us this morning?”

“Good question.”

Don Van Loan came over with two mission packets. “Boss? And Dave? Here you go.” He handed both strike leaders their packets. “Looks like you two are going together.”

Guru opened his. “Dispersal field for Forgers. South of Covington.”

“Hmm. Truck park,” Golen said. “Only half a mile from the airfield.”

“Close enough,” Guru said. “Dave, get Flossy and your respective GIBs. Be in my briefing room in five.”

Golen nodded. “We'll be there.” He then headed to round up his element's crews.

“Thanks, Don,” Guru said. “You have a good one yourself.”

“Will do, Boss.” Van Loan said.

Nodding, the CO went to the briefing room his flight used, and when he opened the door, found his flight, along with Golen's element, already there. “Morning, people,”

“Morning, Boss,” said Kara. Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace was Guru's wingmate. “What's up this fine morning?”

“We are, and maybe we'll blow some of Ivan's aircraft sky-high,” Guru said. “And both Dave and Flossy are coming with us,” added the CO, nodding at both Golen and his wingmate.

“So where are we going?” Sweaty Blanchard asked. She led the second element in the CO's flight.

“Gather 'round, and I'll show you,” the CO said. He opened the packet and aerial photos, and a map, came out. “Town called Covington, between Cleburne and Hillsboro on Route 171. There's a dispersal airfield for Forgers there. We get to make it go away.” Forgers meant the Yak-38 Soviet Navy VTOL fighter.

“What are they doing there?” Preacher, who was Sweaty's GIB, asked.

“They're a piece of shit,” Hoser added.

“Just remember, those pieces of shit can carry four Atoll or four Aphid air-to-air missiles, and they can stuff those up your tail if you're not careful,” the CO reminded them. “All the pilot has to do is get lucky, and we won't give them that chance. Now, here's the target. Right here, at the intersection of Route 171 and F.M. 1439, on the east side. Two dispersal areas, with four aircraft apiece, plus tent area for personnel, a munitions storage area with several revetments, and a fuel dump.”

“Who gets what?” Kara asked.

“You and me, “ Guru replied, “are taking the dispersal areas. We'll each have a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes with the Daisy Cutter fuze extension. As for your element, Sweaty?”

Sweaty looked at him. “Boss?”

“You get the munitions storage area, east of the dispersal. Hoser?” The CO noticed that he had Hoser's attention. “Fuel dump, just south of the dispersal area.”

“Same ordnance load?” Asked Hoser.

Guru nodded affirmative. “Dave? You and Flossy get the truck park just east of the Route 171-F.M. 2719 intersection. Same ordnance load we have.”

“Got it,” Golen said.

“Boss, why no CBUs?” Flossy asked. “That's normal for this kind of target.”

“Doesn't say,” Guru replied. “But I'll bet that someone's thinking ahead. This area has a lot of farming and ranching, and after the war, the locals will appreciate not having to worry about dud CBU bomblets being tripped by a tractor or a cow. Don't blame me: it's in the briefing notes.”

“Wanna bet some Senator or Congressman is behind that?” Goalie asked.

“Who knows?” Guru said. “Anyway, the Daisy Cutters will do the job.”

“Defenses?” KT asked.

“Coming to that,” Guru said. “This is the rear area for the Nicaraguans, again. Some SA-6s are reported, but they're Corps-level assets, not divisional ones. They're all around Cleburne, which is Corps HQ, and we'll give that a wide berth. There's also the Hillsboro SA-2 to the south, but we'll be low enough going in and out that it won't be a factor. At the target? Expect ZU-23s, machine guns, and MANPADS.”

“Weasels coming?” Kara's GIB, Brainiac, asked.

“Negative,” the CO replied. “They're all busy, and the Marine Hornets? They're also busy as well. So it's a low-level, high-speed run in and out. With no Weasels, we'll have to rely on our ECM pods.”

“Air-to-air ordnance the usual?” Kara asked.

The CO nodded. “Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Es, full load of 20-mm, and two wing tanks, each airplane. ALQ-119 ECM pod for the element leads, ALQ-101 for the wingmen.” He looked at the crews. “And before you ask, the MiG threat is unchanged since yesterday.”

Hoser looked at his CO. “Bailout areas still the same?”

“They are,” Guru replied. “Anyplace rural and away from roads. Of course,anyplace north of I-20 is your best bet, as that's the front line. Ingress is along the Brazos River, which is the boundary between the Nicaraguans and the East Germans, and chances are, they're still not talking to each other.”

“Tankers?” Flossy asked.

“Tanker track EXXON is over Mineral Wells,” replied the CO. “Pre- and post-strike refueling, as usual.”

“Weather still the same?” Goalie wanted to know.

“Still good for today.”

“Which means at least four missions, maybe more, before that storm comes in,” Kara noted.

“Chances are? Yes.” Guru said. “We're all Corvette Flight on this one. Any other questions?” He saw heads shake no. “Okay, gear up and meet at 512.”

The crews went to their locker rooms and got into their G-suits and picked up their helmets. As Guru led his people out, they came across Frank, sitting at his desk. When they passed, he gave them a scowl. “What's that about?” Kara asked.

“Upset he's not SDO for today,” Guru said. “Keeping any unnecessary misery he inflicts to the bare minimum.”

“That's always good,” Sweaty quipped.

“It is.” Guru replied.

They headed on out, and went to the squadron's dispersal area. When they got to 512, the crews gathered around for Guru's final instructions. “Same drill on the radio, Boss?” Kara asked.

Guru nodded. “Call signs between us. Mission code to AWACS, tankers, and other interested parties.”

“And MiGs?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“Only if we can't avoid it, or if we jump a strike or recon flight on the way out. Keep the anti-Flanker drill ready if we need it.”

“Which means pray a 'teenage' fighter is around, holler for help from AWACS, and do a Doppler Break,” Preacher said.

“Add to that, 'get your ass north,” said Kara.

“That's pretty much it,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. He clapped his hand once. “Let's go get 'em. Mount up and let's hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went to 512, where the Crew Chief, Staff Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Major,” Crowley said, snapping a salute. “512's good to go.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru replied as he sketched a return salute. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then he signed for the aircraft. Then pilot and GIB mounted the aircraft and got strapped in. Then they went through their preflight checklist.

“No newsies,” Goalie noticed as she ran through her checklist. “What are they up to this morning?”

“Chances are, they're either chasing down Cosmo and Revlon, or are going off base,” Guru replied.

“Either one,” Goalie said. “First 'unmanned' F-4 in the squadron, if not the whole Air Force. Ejection seats?”

“That screams 'STORY' along with that mass grave. Armed top and bottom. Yours?”

“All set. And yeah, either one's what they're up to. Checklist complete.”

“Roger that, and time for engine start,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave him the “Start Engines” signal. Guru then fired up his two J-79 engines, one at a time. When the warm-up was complete, he called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower,” the reply came. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Lead rolling.” Guru gave his CC another thumbs-up.

Crowley signaled the ground crew, who pulled away the chocks from the landing gear, then he gave the CO the signal to taxi out.

Guru taxied the F-4 out of its revetment, and before he turned to the right, his CC snapped a perfect salute. He and Goalie returned it, then Guru taxied 512 to the end of the runway, where they held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. Then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Roger, Corvette Lead. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-four-zero at five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara taxied in right in beside him. Both crews exchanged thumbs-ups, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower replied as usual, not over the radio, but by flashing a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let's go.” Goalie replied.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, closing and locking his canopy, and Goalie did the same. Then he ran the engines up to full power, released his brakes, then 512 roared down the runway and into the air, with Kara in 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, then Dave and Flossy's. All six F-4s formed up, then headed south.

First mission, and making some Forgers go away, while the Wolverines' raid on a similar airfield has made the rounds among Soviet airmen:



0745 Hours Central War Time: Over Central Texas:


Corvette Flight headed south, past the I-20 and the FLOT. Guru had chosen an ingress route that skirted the boundary line between the Nicaraguans on the east side of the Brazos River, and the East Germans on the western side. The Nicaraguans were not prone to shoot at an aircraft unless it was a direct threat to them, while the East Germans always opened fire, whether it was from machine guns, MANPADS, all the way up to heavy SAMs like the SA-4 or SA-6.


Now, Guru was leading Corvette Flight past the town of Glen Rose on U.S. 67, and had given the nuclear power plant at Squaw Creek Reservoir a wide berth. And as usual, he was keeping his eye out for threats, while Goalie handled the navigation. And with the ARN-101 system, both found their jobs a lot easier, though Goalie still did it the old-fashioned way, with a map and stopwatch. “Two minutes to turn point,” she called.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. They were just inside the East German sector, a few miles west of the Brazos, but so far, no one had shot at them. Yet. “Crystal Palace, Corvette One-one,” he called the AWACS. “Say threat?”

“Stand by, Corvette,” a female controller replied. “Corvette, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-six-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing one-eight-five for seventy-two. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-nine-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy that, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. Then his RWR picked up radars ahead. They were search only, but with the Hillsboro SA-2 still going, and the Nicaraguan SA-6s out there, not to mention the East Germans....”Flight, lead. Music on.” That meant to turn on their ECM pods.

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

“One minute,” Goalie said. Their turn point was south of State Route 174, at a place called Lakeside Village, on the west side of Lake Whitney. One advantage of that was that it wasn't a bridge, and bridges had AAA sites defending them. Though they'd used bridges as nav points in the past, not today. Not with the ingress/egress route for this target.

“Copy,” Guru said as State Route 174 passed beneath the F-4. He glanced to his right, and saw Kara's bird right in with him in combat spread. “Turn point dead ahead.”

“Steady....” said Goalie. “And.....turn now!”

Guru put the F-4 into a left turn, then headed to the northeast. As he did, he saw Kara match his turn, and he knew that Sweaty's element, and Dave Golen's, were doing the same. “One minute to target?”

“One minute,” Goalie acknowledged.


Unknown to the strike flight, someone was sounding the alarm. In the town of Lakeside Village, the East German 18th Tank Regiment, an independent regiment that reported directly to the “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg” HQ, was headquartered. The regiment had been badly mauled during the retreat from Kansas and Oklahoma, and was now refitting and absorbing replacements, much to the disgust of not only the locals, but also the garrison, a company of Soviet Army rear-area protection troops from the 232nd Rear-Area Protection Division from Lvov. The East Germans had brought along their attitude, and a Stasi Security Company, with them, and both the locals and the Soviets-who were mainly older reservists from the Western Ukraine, resented the intrusion. The locals and the garrison had a “live and let live” understanding, but the Stasi didn't see things that way. And the Stasi found that the Soviets were not willing to conduct any serious anti-guerrila activities, much to their disgust.

When Corvette Flight made its turn over the town and the lake, the East Germans sounded the air-defense alarm, and informed the 5th SAM Regiment, who was the Army-level air defense force. And everyone's radars lit up.

“Got a lot of radars coming on-and they're behind us.” Guru said.

“Behind us?” Goalie asked. “Thirty seconds.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Set it up.” And Goalie knew what that meant. Set up the ordnance switches. There was a squadron rule: everything in one pass unless the threat justified it, or a FAC requested multiple passes.

“We're set. Good to go here.”

“Copy,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by to pull. Ready....Ready... PULL!” Guru put 512 into a climb, and as he did, he shot a glance to his Eleven O'clock. There it was, the dispersal field. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Lead's in hot!” He rolled 512 in, and went on his attack run.

In Covington, the Mayor had just come out of a talk with the Cuban Major who commanded the garrison. Some garrison; a company's worth of Cubans who were either too old for front-line duty, or men out of the hospital whose injuries prevented their return to the front. The second-in-command was clearly an example of that, with an eyepatch where his left eye used to be, and scars on his face. At least the man was decent, the Mayor thought. He had relayed a request from the Soviet Naval Aviation people south of town, asking for some local volunteers to work in the canteen the Soviets had set up for their men, in return for extra ration cards. The Mayor had replied politely that there wouldn't be many takers, but he would spread the word. At least they weren't grabbing people out of their homes and press-ganging them to dig trenches or bunkers.....then he saw some Cubans pointing to the south. F-4 Phantoms, it looked like. And they were rolling in on the Soviet base. The air raid siren sounded, but most people who were outside stayed outside to watch, while some of the Cubans ran for the shelters, much to the amusement of the locals.

In 512, Guru rolled in, and he was lining up the northernmost row of Forgers. He could see the individual camouflage netting, and lined up the middle of the row as his aim point. “Steady...” he muttered as he got ready. To his surprise, not a single flak burst was coming up. Good. “And...HACK!” Guru said as he hit the pickle button, sending twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes onto the target. He pulled 512 to the left, and called out, “Lead's off target.”

At the Soviet airfield, the AV-MF (Soviet Naval Aviation) crews were getting ready for another busy day. Their unit, the 37th Independent Shipborne Assault Aviation Squadron, had been in America since the beginning of the war, and, unlike a sister squadron that had been in Colorado in 1985-86, had hardly had any guerrilla attacks on its bases. The squadron commander, a Lieutenant Colonel of Naval Aviation, wondered how a guerrilla band made up of teenagers had managed to pull off the attack on a dispersal field of the 48th IshAE, destroying all four aircraft parked there. Shaking his head in disbelief, he left his tent and went over to the Operations Tent, for his squadron would be flying anti-guerrilla patrols, though there was hardly any such activity in this part of Texas. Maybe the Party hack was right, and the daily patrols, as a show of force, were having an effect. Then he saw an F-4 Phantom coming in from the Southwest, and, it seemed, right at him. “AIR ALARM!” He shouted, then jumped into a slit trench. He got there just as the first bombs exploded.

“SHACK!” Goalie called in 512's back seat. She strained her neck to see as Guru pulled a tight turn to get headed north. “GOOD HITS!”

“How good?”

“Got some fireballs!” Goalie shouted.

Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. “The bigger, the better,” he said as he set course back northwest, to the I-20 and friendly lines.


“Two's in!” Kara called from 520 as she rolled in. She saw the CO's bombs explode among the Forgers on the northern side of the field, and there were several secondary explosions as Yak-38s blew up, along with fuel and ordnance. She lined up the southern row, and like Guru, aimed at the middle of the row. As she did, Kara saw someone had gotten their act together, for some 23-mm flak was coming up. No way, Ivan....Kara lined up her aimpoint and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” She called, releasing a dozen more Snakeyes, then she made pulled out and went into her escape turn. “Two's off safe.”

In his trench, the AV-MF Colonel heard first,a dozen explosions as Guru's bombs went off, then came several sympathetic detonations, which signaled fuel and ordnance going off. He lifted his head to take a peek when someone pulled him down. The Colonel heard another F-4 come in, and a dozen more bombs went off in its wake.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called as Kara pulled away.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked as a MANPADS crossed their wake, she could see.

“How big do you want 'em?”

“I'll take your word for it,” Kara said as she picked up the CO's smoke trail and raced to catch up with him.


“Three in hot!” Sweaty called. She went in on the munitions storage, and the revetments the Soviets had built to shelter their ordnance were easy to pick out. Sweaty saw Kara pull away, and leave several secondaries in her wake, along with the wrecks of a couple of Forgers. The CO had done the same, she noted, then concentrated on her bomb run. Ignoring the 23-mm flak, along with machine-gun fire, that was coming up, she centered her pipper on a large revetment. “Steady....steady...and HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and a dozen more Mark-82s fell onto the Soviet base. She pulled out and away, calling, “Three off safe.”

The AV-MF Colonel got out of the trench, and saw that all eight of his aircraft were burning wrecks, having been tossed around like toys from the bomb blasts, and their fuel and ordnance had gone off as well. He shook his head, hoping that this was it, then his air-operations officer grabbed him and pulled him back into the trench. As they got to the floor of the trench, another F-4 was heard flying past, then a dozen more bombs went off. And there were several more large sympathetic explosions. Not the munitions storage.......

“RIGHTEOUS!” Preacher called from Sweaty's back seat.

“How righteous?” Sweaty asked the former seminary student.

“You gave somebody a belated Fourth of July show,” chuckled Preacher.

“Hope they enjoyed it,” Sweaty said, seeing an SA-7 fly beneath her nose, then she headed in the CO's and Kara's wake.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called. God, it felt to be good back in the air, and a brand-new bird to boot. He picked out the fuel dump, south of the dispersal area. That was covered in smoke and flames, and he saw Sweaty's bombs do their work, setting off the munitions storage area. Hoser saw and ignored the 23-mm flak coming up, as he lined up on the fuel storage. “And....HACK!” He called as he hit the pickle button, sending his bombs onto the fuel dump. As he pulled up and turned, he radioed, “Four off target.”


In the trench, the AV-MF Colonel heard Hoser's F-4 fly by, then not only did he hear bombs going off, but he felt the concussion as well. Then he-and everyone else in the trench, heard several large explosions, and he knew full well what that meant. The fuel storage point had gone up. He got up out of the trench, and surveyed the wreckage of what had been his field. Just as he was about to start issuing orders, he saw another F-4 coming in, and he jumped back into the trench.

“SHACK!” KT called. “You got some big secondaries!”

“How big?” Hoser asked as he banked north, heading on out.

“Really big!” KT replied. “And they're still shooting.”

“Their problem,” said Hoser as he picked up Sweaty's plane and he followed his element leader north.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called. He and Flossy had the truck part on the east side of Route 171, and he clearly saw the camouflage netting concealing the trucks. Did the Soviets-or whichever of their lackeys the trucks belonged to-think that the nets would protect them when any fool could see the truck tracks on aerial photos? Well, if they did.....they'd get a hard lesson. He lined up some trucks on the east side of the field in his pipper. “Steady....and....NOW!” Golen hit the pickle button, releasing his bombs. Unlike the others, who had to turn to the northwest, he had led Flossy around from the pop-up point, then turned so that they could make their run south to north. So egress was easy as he called, “Five off target.”

In his trench, the AV-MF Colonel heard Dave's F-4 come in, then again, he not only heard the explosions, but felt the concussion. At first, he wondered what this attacker's target was, then he remembered. The truck park across the highway. And he heard the rumble of secondary explosions.

“GOOD HITS!” Golen's GIB called.

“How good?” Dave asked as he picked up Sweaty's element ahead of him.

“Got some secondaries.”


“Six in hot!” Flossy called. She saw her element leader's bombs go off, and some secondaries follow, as she came in on her run. There was some flak from the airfield as well as the truck park's perimeter, but it was light, and she ignored it as she pressed home her run. Flossy lined up the western part of the truck park, where Dave's bombs hadn't hit. Dust clouds came up as some of the truckers were trying to get away....not so fast, Ivan or Fidel, she said to herself. “Steady....and HACK!” Flossy hit her pickle button, and a dozen more Mark-82s came off the racks. As she pulled up and picked up her element lead, Flossy called, “Six off safe.”


At the airfield, the AV-MF Colonel picked himself up from the trench. Some of his men were playing fire hoses on the burning aircraft, while others were tending to the wounded. He had heard and felt Flossy's run, and was actually glad that the American aircraft had not finished off his squadron, such as it was. Now, all he could do was pick up the pieces, and hope that replacement aircraft found their way to him. Because the last place he wanted to be stuck in for the rest of the war was this miserable place called Texas.


“SHACK!” Digger, Flossy's GIB, called from the back seat.

“How good?” Flossy asked as she headed north, catching up with Dave and the rest of the flight.

“Good secondaries.”

“I'll take that,” said Flossy, wincing as an SA-7 flew past her right wing.


Guru flew 512 past Rio Vista, then got close to Lake Pat Cleburne. He glanced to his right and found Kara right with him in Combat Spreat. She gave a thumbs-up, and he returned it. As they approached the lake, the flak sites at the dam opened fire. “Flight, Lead. Avoid the dam, and follow me.” He turned left, and Kara followed, like a wingman should. The lead element cleared the dam, and he headed on north. “Sweaty, you on us?”

“Right in your six,” Sweaty replied. “Hoser's with me.”

“Good,” Guru replied. “Dave, you on?”

“Lead, right behind Sweaty,” replied Golen. “I've got Flossy.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead, say threat?”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-seven-one for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing one-eight-four for sixty-seven. Medium, closing.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. Hassling with MiGs was not on the agenda. And unless the bandits were MiG-29s or Su-27s, the chances of a look-down/shoot-down engagement were slim. “Say bogey dope?”

“Corvette, first threat are Fishbeds, second threat are Floggers,” said the controller.

“Roger that,” Guru said.

“Two minutes to the Fence,” said Goalie. That meant I-20 and the front lines.

“Corvette, Crystal Palace. First threat now bearing One-seven-one for forty....stand by. Threat now going away. Second threat bearing one-eight two for fifty-five, closing.”

“Flight, Lead. Let's lead these guys across the Fence. And right into a wall of Eagles.” Guru said.

“Roger that,” Sweaty replied.

“One minute,” Goalie added.

Corvette Flight flew over the positions of the Nicaraguan II Corps, and the Nicaraguan soldiers were surprised to see American fighter-bombers coming from behind them. Before anyone had a chance to turn on a radar, or fire a weapon, the F-4s were gone. And the Nicaraguans saw four MiG-23s coming up from the South, chasing after the Yanquis.

Though the actual front line was a few miles south of the Interstate, I-20 was still considered by tacair crews to be the front line, as it was easily identifiable from the air. As the flight crossed the freeway, Goalie said, “Crossing the fence...now.”

“Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” Guru said. The last thing they needed was the Army air-defense people on the ground shooting first and asking questions later. One thing about all SAM operators, friendly and enemy, was that they had a tendency to shoot first and sort their victims out on the ground.

“Corvette, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing one-eight-zero for thirty-five. Medium, still closing,” AWACS advised.

“Roger that, Crystal Palace. Get the Eagles on 'em,” Guru replied.

“Brenda Three-one, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-eight-one for forty. Kill. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm, clear to fire.”

“Copy,” Three-one said. Then AIM-7F missiles came off of four F-15Cs from the 8th TFS, 49th TFW.

The Cuban MiG-23s were still trying to pick up the F-4s on their radars when their own threat receivers went off. In his MiG, the Cuban flight leader was concentrating on his HUD, which doubled as a radar display, and wasn't paying attention to his RWR. Only when a Sparrow missile flew past his MiG did he realize that his flight was in danger. Then two MiG-23s took hits and exploded. He ordered the break, only to fly right into another Sparrow. The man's last sensation was the explosion all around him.....only the number four MiG managed to escape back to friendly lines.

'Splash three,” Brenda Three-one called. “Strike flight is clear.”

“Brenda, Corvette,” Guru said. “Thanks, buddy. We owe you one.”

“Anytime, Corvette,” the F-15 leader replied. Then the Eagles reformed to resume their CAP.


Corvette Flight joined up at the tankers, and had their post-strike refueling. Then they headed back to Sheppard. When they got there, the flight had to wait as there were strike flights departing, and a pair of C-130s were in the pattern ahead of them. Once the C-130s landed, it was their turn, and the F-4s came in and landed.

As they taxied to their dispersal, and popped their canopies, Guru noticed something. “No newsies waiting.”

“Like you said, they probably went off base,” Goalie said. “You glad they're out of our hair for a few hours?”

Guru laughed. “I'd be lying if I said no. And I'll bet Cosmo and Revlon are glad. No annoying questions and a camera stuck in their faces.”

“Something you're dreading,” Goalie said, knowing that Guru had a appointment for an interview, TBD.

“You got that right,” Guru said as he taxied 512 into its revetment. He got the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief, and he shut down. He and Goalie went through the post-flight checks, then the ground crew brought the crew ladder over. “That was an interesting one.”

“First time in a while the F-15s came to the party invited,” Goalie said. “Remember the last time?”

“When some F-15 jock took our kill?” Guru asked. “I sure do. Still haven't found out who that asshole was.” He took off his helmet, handed it to Sergeant Crowley, his Crew Chief. “Glad that's done.”

“How's my bird, sir?” Crowley asked. Even though 512 was the Squadron CO's aircraft, the crew chief always “owned” the aircraft. And the crew only borrowed it for a mission.

“512's humming along, Sergeant,” Guru said as he and Goalie did a quick post-flight walkaround. “Pull the strike camera footage and get her turned around.”

“You got it, Major,” Crowley said. He turned to the ground crew. “You heard the Boss! Let's get the CO's bird ready for another one.”

“Thanks, Sergeant, and I'll let Captain O'Donnell know, but I'm giving you a heads-up. I know she's due for a hundred-hour check tomorrow. If you can, get started early.”

“The sooner we get started, sir, the sooner we get done,” Crowley nodded.. “Can I ask why?”

“If we lose the weather earlier than we expect, they'll give us some missions,” Guru told his CC.

“We'll get it done, sir.”

“Thanks, Sergeant.” Guru then went over to Goalie, who was waiting by the revetment's entrance. “One and done.”

“And how many more?” Goalie asked as Kara and Brainiac came over.

“I was about to ask the same question,” Kara smiled.

“Three more at least. More if they give us a hot turnaround.” Guru said. “How'd it go, Kara?”

“We each got four ground kills, looks like,” his wingmate replied.

“Too bad those don't count, like they did in WW II,” Goalie nodded. Then Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser and KT came over.

“Sweaty, how'd things go with you guys?”

Sweaty grinned. “Ammo storage plus Mark-82s equal several big booms.”

“I'll second that,” Hoser said. “And fuel dumps like to go boom as well.”

Guru nodded, then looked at Hoser and KT. “Glad to be back in the saddle?”

“Be lying if we said no,” KT said.

“That new bird did good,” Hoser added. “Works like a charm.”

Guru nodded as Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs came over. “Dave, how'd you and Flossy do?”

“There was a truck park,” Golen replied, matter of fact.

Flossy nodded. “Emphasis on was,” she added.

The CO nodded back. “Okay, let's go in and debrief. With this weather coming in tonight, we'll be busy.”

“How busy?” Hoser asked.

“Max effort busy,” Guru said. “Come on. Let's get the debrief done, and get set to go back out.”

The day goes on, and finding out CAS is the order of the day:



335th TFS Ops, Sheppard AFB, TX: 0900 Hours Central War Time:


The members of Corvette Flight were in their briefing room, waiting on their squadron's intel officer to come and debrief the mission. The usual wisecracks were being tossed around, and it was the usual post-mission release of energy. And it reminded Major Wiser of something he'd read, back in college. “Read this in college, guys. 'There is nothing more exhilarating than being shot at and missed,' or words to that effect.”

“Who said that?” Goalie asked. “Teddy Roosevelt?”

“I think so,” Guru replied. “Or maybe Churchill. It's been a while.”

“We've got more on them,” Sweaty pointed out. “They didn't have SAMs, triple-A, or MiGs to worry about.”

“No kidding!” Kara replied. “This wasn't a milk run, but you never know when that light-caliber stuff might bite you.”

“Tell us about it,” Goalie said. “That 23-mm stuff caused us to divert a couple of times with battle damage. Last time was before you came to the zoo.” She recalled a divert to Grand Junction, Colorado, with flak damage to an engine.

“Where is Darren?” Guru asked. “Normally, he's pretty punctual,” he said, referring to their intel officer.

“We were the first out,” Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “observer” reminded them.

“But not necessarily the first back,” Sweaty said.


Then their SIO came into the room, a little harried, and Capt. Darren Licon, call sign Sin, went to the Major. “Boss, sorry I'm late. The XO's and Van Loan's debriefs ran over.”

“That's OK, Darren,” Guru replied. “Let's get this done.”

“Yes, sir,” Licon nodded. He unfurled a TPC chart and brought out the photos of the target area. “How'd it go, Major?”

Guru showed his ingress route on the map, then pointed out the dispersal area on the photos. “Hit these guys here,” said, tapping the northern parking area with a pen.

“Results?”

“Got multiple secondaries,” Goalie said.

“I'll confirm that,” Kara added. “And we hit the southern dispersal.”

The SIO nodded. “What'd you get?”

Brainiac, Kara's GIB, nodded. “Several secondaries, just like the Boss had.”

“Okay,” Licon gestured to Sweaty. “How about your element, Sweaty?”

“Got the weapons storage,” she said, pointing to the WSA on the photos. “And before you ask, that place blew.”

“And righteously so,” Preacher, her GIB, added. “Looked like a Fourth of July in November.”

The intel nodded. “Hoser?”

“Fuel dump,” Hoser said. “And it blew.”

“Big time,” KT, his GIB, added.

“Thank you,” Licon said. He gestured to Dave and Flossy. “Major Golen? The truck park?”

“Put my bombs here,” Golen indicated the east side of the truck park. “Had a few secondaries,” he added, and his GIB nodded.

“Flossy?”

Flossy pointed out the west side of the truck park. “Put mine here,” she said.

“And we had some more secondaries,” Digger, her GIB, added.

The Intel nodded again. “Ground fire, folks?” He asked.

“Nothing heavy, if that's what you're asking,” Guru said. “Had some light stuff.”

“I'll second that,” Sweaty added. “23-mm or machine guns.”

“Any SAMs?” Licon wanted to know.

“Just MANPADS.” Kara said. That meant SA-7s or -14s.

“No heavy missiles?”

“Hillsboro SA-2 didn't shoot, if that's what you're asking,” Dave Golen said. “They were up, but didn't fire.” And heads nodded at that.

“And no MiGs,” Kara added, though there was a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“I'll write it up and get it off to MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force,” Licon said, standing up and gathering his materials. “This place is out of action.”

Guru nodded, then asked the Intel. “Good for now, but can they replace what we culled out?”

“Maybe, sir,” Licon said. “The Navy-both us and the Brits-are working on cutting the convoy lanes, but they're stretched like we are. Too many missions and not enough assets. Sometimes a convoy gets torn to pieces, sometimes they get through pretty much intact.”

“Roll of the dice,” Kara noted.

Guru nodded in the affirmative. “Bottom line?”

“Maybe, sir. I just don't know,” Licon said.

“All right, Darren. Thanks.”

The intel nodded, then headed back to his own office to write up the strike report.

“Now what?” Sweaty asked.

Guru looked at everyone. “Get something to eat and drink. Then check your desks for any paperwork, and get ready to go back out.” Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come in!”

Capt. Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, came in. “Boss, this just came down from Tenth Air Force. We're off the ATO and doing CAS until 12 Noon at least.” He handed the CO a message form.

“What gives, Don?”

“East Germans got a little uppity last night and this morning. They hit the boundary between 1st Cav and the 11th Airborne, and took a town called Lipan.” He showed the location on a map. “Here, at the junction of F.M. 4 and F.M. 1189. First Cav's getting ready to retake the place, but they need CAS.”

“Call the Hogs,” Kara said, and Sweaty nodded. “That's what they're there for.”

“They're all busy, Tenth AF says,” Van Loan replied. “So it's up to us and the Marines.”

“Okay, Don,” the CO said. “Ordnance loads?”

“Dave?” The Ops Officer nodded at Golen. “You and Flossy get Mavericks. Two AIM-7s, full 20-mm and ECM pods. Boss, you all get Rockeyes and full air-to-air.”

“Got you,” Guru said, and Golen nodded. “Anything else?”

“Everything else is unchanged from this morning. Tanker tracks, MiG threat, and so on.”

“Thanks, Don,” said Guru. “You going?”

“In ten.” Van Loan said. “You guys should be ready in twenty.”

“Okay, Don. Good luck.”

“You too, Boss.” Van Loan replied. They shook hands, then the Ops Officer left to brief his flight, then go out.

“More CAS?” Kara said. “Where are the Hogs?”

“Chances are, they're someplace else, and Ivan told the East Germans to take advantage of it,” the CO replied.

“And the threat is Divisional level at least,” Goalie said. She was looking at a paper Van Loan had left. “That means ZSU-23s and SA-9 on up.”

“Or -13s, and SA-6 or SA-8,” Hoser noted. “Wonderful.”

“And Army-level SA-4 if any are around. Remember, these won't be mobilization-only Russians. East Germans with good gear and they know how to use it,” Guru reminded everyone. “Dave? You and Flossy go in ahead of us. Kill any air-defense assets you find. Tell the FAC there's a flight right behind you with an antiarmor load if he asks.”

“Will do,” Golen replied. ”Call sign?”

“You're Camaro flight this time, Dave. And if you hit MiG trouble? Holler. We'll be there. One other thing.” The CO saw Dave and Flossy look at him. “Before you go? Get something to eat and drink..”

“Got it.”

“All right, Dave. You and Flossy? Good luck,” Guru said. He and Golen shook hands.

“You too,” Golen said, then he and his element went to gear up and man their birds.

After Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs had left, Kara asked, “What about us?”

“Like I told Dave: Get something to eat, something to drink. Then gear up. We meet at 512 in fifteen.”


After getting a bite to eat and some bottled water, Corvette Flight's crews geared up. As Guru and Goalie were heading out, they passed Frank Carson at his desk. He gave them a scowl, and they returned it. Then Guru asked Hacksaw, the SDO, “Any problems with him?”

“Not a one,” Hacksaw replied, then he sneezed. “Doc's got me on some pills.”

“Listen to him,” Guru said. “Doc, I mean. He outranks even me when it comes to that. As for Frank? Let me know if I'm not flying if he causes any trouble.”

“Got it, Major.” Hacksaw replied. “Boss, you'd think somebody told to take the day off and enjoy it would listen.”

“He probably won't listen to us peasants,” Goalie quipped.

“You're right about that,” Guru said. “You take it easy, now.” He told Hacksaw.

The SDO nodded. “Will do, Major, and good luck.”

“Thanks,” Guru said, then he and Goalie headed on out to the dispersal area. On their way, they saw two F-4s with AGM-65s on triple launchers taxi out. “There goes Dave and Flossy.”

“And we're right behind them,” Goalie said. It wasn't a question.

“That we are,” Guru nodded. They went to 512, and found the rest of the flight there. “Gather 'round, people,” Guru said, ready to give his final instructions.

“Same drill as usual?” Sweaty asked.

“Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us.”

“And if MiGs show up?” Kara asked.

“If you run across some of their people doing what we're doing?” Guru replied. He drew his forefinger across his throat. “Kill 'em. But don't go out of your way to do it, and watch for the Army down below. Don't want anyone drawing fire from an M-1 Gepard or a Stinger.”

“Got it,” said Kara, and everyone else nodded understanding.

“Anything else?” Guru asked.

“We doing this all day?” Hoser asked, and KT nodded.

“Even money bet,” the CO replied. “Any other questions?” There were none. He clapped his hand once. “All right! Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their own aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512. The CO nodded to his Crew Chief. “Sergeant.”

Staff Sergeant Crowley nodded. “Major, 512's ready to rock. The ordnance guys just left, and she's fueled up.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did a quick preflight walk-around, then they mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, they went through their preflight cockpit checks. “CAS....once more unto the breach.”

“I'd like to know where the Hogs are,” Goalie said as she ran through the checklist.

“You and me both,” Guru replied. “And probably everyone in the squadron.” They finished the check, then he gave his CC a thumbs-up. Sergeant Crowley then gave the “Start Engines” signal, and Guru started first one, then the other, J-79 engines. After the warm-up, he called the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, clear to taxi to Runway Three-Three Lima. You are number two in line. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower.” He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who returned it, and signaled the ground crew to pull the gear chocks away. Then Guru got the taxi signal. He taxied 512 out, and as he turned for the runway, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute. Pilot and GIB returned it, then 512 led the rest of the flight to the runway, with a Marine F-4 flight ahead of them. They waited for the Marines to go, then held prior to the runway for the armorers to remove the weapon safeties. Then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-seven at eight.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied onto the runway, and Kara in 520 followed. She got into the right wing position, and she and Brainiac gave their flight leader a thumbs-up. Guru and Goalie returned it, then did a quick final check. “All set front.”

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

“Tower, Corvette Flight requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower flashed a green light as usual. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said. He closed and locked his canopy, and Goalie did the same. Glancing to the right, they saw Kara and Brainiac had done the same. It was time. He released the brakes, went to full power, and 512 went down the runway and into the Texas sky. Kara and Brainiac in 520 followed, and thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser to follow.

Here's some more: CAS for the rest of the day.....



Over Central Texas: 1005 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight came off the tankers, and they had drunk enough fuel to get them through any lengthy loiter, then getting in and out of the target area, then back to Sheppard without having another refueling. After the refueling, Guru had contacted the AWACS, which then passed the flight off to the EC-130E ABCCC orbiting north of I-20, call sign Tampa. Then the flight was told to “Get in line at 25,00 and wait your turn.”

The various strike flights were stacked up at 1,000 foot intervals, from 5,000 on up. As they waited, and took their turn in line, the usual banter came over the radio.

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “How long we going to wait?”

“Until it's our turn,” Guru replied. They were at 15,000 feet at the time. “That long enough?”

“Lead, it'll have to do,” Kara said.

In 512's back seat, Goalie had a grin on her face, even if Guru couldn't see it. “She wants it over and done.”

“Don't blame her myself, and she's not the only one,” Guru said. “I'd like to know where the Hogs are myself.”

“You, me, and everyone else ahead and behind us,” Goalie reminded her pilot.


Soon, they were down to 7,000 feet, and both Dave and Flossy had just been cleared to a FAC. The FAC was glad to have a couple of Maverick shooters, and they went to work with a vengeance. It wasn't long until both were Winchester-out of ordnance-which meant time to return to base. A Marine F-4 flight went in, then it was Corvette Flight's turn.

“Corvette Lead, Tampa. Contact Nail Six-nine for tasking,” the ABCCC controller called.

“Copy that, Tampa,” Guru replied. “Nail Six-nine, Corvette Lead.”

“Corvette, Nail Six-nine. State your aircraft and ordnance, please,” the FAC replied.

“Roger that. Corvette Flight is four Foxtrot-Four Echoes, with twelve Rockeyes and a full air-to-air load each airplane. Can give you one pass only,” Guru said to the FAC. It was a long-standing squadron rule that strike birds only had one pass at the target, unless the threat level allowed multiple passes.

“Roger, Corvette,” replied Nail. “Threat is regimental level and above. And bandits around, both fast-mover and choppers.”

Hearing that, several ears in Corvette Flight perked up. A chance to splash a MiG or a chopper was always welcome. “Copy that, Nail,” Guru replied. “What's the target?”

“Armor moving north on F.M. 1189, south of the town. Regimental strength at least,” the FAC called back.

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Can you mark the target?”

“Affirmative, Corvette,” Nail called. In their cockpits, Guru and the others in the flight saw an A-7K rolling in, and firing two WP rockets. “That's your target. Bad guys own the town, be advised.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Making our run south to north. Flight, Lead. Music on, switches on, and let's go get 'em. Follow me.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara replied, followed by Sweaty and Hoser.


Below, the East German 35th Motorized Rifle Regiment, 20th Motor-Rifle Division, was moving towards Lipan, or what was left of it. The division had caught the Americans unawares, and had driven in between the First Cavalry Division and the 11th Airborne Division, and the divisional commander knew full well that the Americans would respond The regiment, the division's BMP regiment, was to move into the town, and be prepared to support the 33rd and 34th MRRs as necessary, with the 20th Panzer Regiment in support.

In his command BMP-1K, the regimental commander was pleased. The area had only been defended by a few American outposts, and the defenders had either been overrun or had withdrawn. Now, his regiment would move into its positions, and either support one of the other two regiments, or be prepared to lead a divisional counterattack. So far, so good. Then his Chief of Staff tapped on his shoulder. He pointed to the south. Aircraft inbound, and smoke trails. “Disperse!” He shouted into his throat microphone. “AIR ATTACK WARNING!”


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in. He saw a regimental-sized formation on the road, and picked out the lead battalion, though further ahead, there was the regiment's advanced guard from the lead motor-rifle battalion: a company of APCs, a tank platoon, an artillery battery, and both engineer and ADA assets. Too bad, but maybe the FAC might get someone down on those fellas, he thought. Guru put the lead battalion's main body in his pipper, and came down the chute. “Flares and chaff,” he called to Goalie.”

“You've got it,” Goalie replied. “Switches set back here.”

“Good girl,” he said as he came in. He lined up several APCs in his pipper and hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Twelve Mark-20 Rockeye CBUs came off the racks, and he immediately pulled up and away. “Lead's off target.”


“DISPERSE!” The East German Major called as Guru's F-4 flew over his command element, and released its bombs onto First battalion's column. He watched helplessly as what looked like a thousand firecrackers went off ahead of his BMP, only that they were CBU bomblets going off, and several fireballs erupted as tanks or BMPs took hits and exploded. He called up his air-defense platoon as his Political Officer pointed to the south. Another F-4 was coming in.

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

“Anybody shooting?” Guru asked as he headed north for I-20.

She strained her head, looking left, then right. “You're clear.”

“Good to hear.”


“Two's in!” Kara called. She saw where the CO had placed his bombs, and decided to do the same. She picked out the rear of that battalion column, and lined up the artillery battery in her pipper. She saw the 122-mm 2S1 SP howitzers, and smiled. Your bad day, Franz, she thought. “Flare and Chaff program?”

“Got it,” Brainiac called.

“Steady,” she replied. The Howitzers were suddenly trying to get off the road. Not today....”And....HACK!” Kara hit the pickle button, sending another dozen Mark-20s down onto the armor. She pulled up and rolled out, leaving flares and chaff in her wake. “Two off safe.”

“NEIN!” The East German Major shouted. The verdammt Ami F-4 had hit the artillery battery covering the advanced guard, and several of the howitzers fireballed. Then at least one blew apart as the fuel and 122-mm ammunition exploded, and several other howitzers soon followed. “GET OFF THE ROAD! MOVE!” He yelled into his throat mike.

“Man, look at that!” Brainiac yelled. “Big secondaries!”

Kara strained to see, then grinned beneath her oxygen mask as she saw another large explosion. “Big enough!” She yelled with approval. Then a missile, probably a SA-7 or -14 came up after 520. She banked to the right, leaving some more flares in her wake, and the SAM tracked a flare and exploded. Chastened, Kara set course north, following the CO's smoke trail.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came down onto the target. She picked out the tank battalion, and saw the T-55s beginning to deploy off the road. “No way,” she muttered to herself. “Get the flares and chaff going,” she told Preacher. “We're gonna take fire.”

“Got it,” Preacher replied. “It's going.”

“Roger that,” Sweaty said. She lined up the lead tank company, still in road march formation, in her pipper. “Steady....HACK!” Sweaty called as she hit her pickle button, putting her CBUs onto the East German tankers. As she pulled away, she saw tracer fire from the tanks coming up, but it was falling behind. “Three's off target.”

The regimental commander turned to look as Sweaty's F-4 blew past, and he groaned as his tank battalion's lead company was covered in CBU explosions. The two lead tanks came through all right, but several others had been hit, and were disabled at least. The Major watched through his binoculars as tankers tried to escape burning T-55AMs. Some got away, but some didn't before their tanks exploded. Where was the air-defense platoon?

“SHACK!” Preacher yelled. “Multiple secondaries!”

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she headed north.

The ex-seminary student grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Righteous ones!”

“That's good enough,” Sweaty replied, then she saw an SA-9 fly past her left wing. “More flares,” she called.

“You got it.” Preacher dumped some more flares, and Sweaty headed north to the I-20.


Hoser called, “Four in hot!” Then he rolled in. God, it felt good to be back in the saddle, though the last time he and KT had been on a CAS run, they had to go skydiving. Not today. Besides, this was a brand-new bird, and it'd be a shame to break it or come back with some 23-mm holes. He went down the chute, and lined up some more of the tanks that his element lead had hit. He saw a tank and a couple of APCs trying to get off the road, and that meant a command group. Hoser grinned, called to KT to drop some flares and chaff, and lined the vehicles up in his pipper. “Steady....and HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and released his CBUs. A dozen more Mark-20s fell onto the East German tank battalion. Hoser pulled up and away, and as he leveled out, called. “Four off target.”

“DAMMT!” The East German Major yelled as Hoser's F-4 flew by. More CBU explosions followed as his tank battalion had been hit again, and this time, the Major tried calling the tank battalion commander. No response. Several fireballs in the distance told him that it wasn't just a CBU bomblet blowing off an antenna. The Major turned to his deputy commander and told him, “Go to the tank battalion. Rally the survivors.”

“At once!” The deputy replied, then headed off in his own BMP.

After the deputy left, the Major turned to his staff and began shouting orders. When he was finished, he took his canteen and had a sip of water. This was turning out to be a bitch of a morning. Not what he was briefed to expect by the Divisional Commander.


“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled as Hoser turned away from the target.

“How good?” Hoser replied as some 23-mm fire flew above the cockpit. Somebody down there was a good shot. But not good enough.

“Got some fireballs.” his GIB said as the F-4 turned to follow Sweaty.

Hoser nodded as he rolled away, and a missile-an SA-9 by the size of it, flew past. “Time to get the fuck out of here,” he said, turning back to the egress course.

“I'll second that.”


“Nail, Corvette Lead,” Guru called the FAC. “How'd we do?”

“Corvette, Nail,” the FAC called back. “I give you a four-decimal-zero on that one. The Army says 'thank you.'”

“Tell 'em 'you're welcome,'” Guru replied. “Nice doing business with you.”

“Same to you, fella.” Nail said. “See you later.” Then Guru saw the A-7K turn and make another WP run. More customers.

“Two, Lead, where are you?” Guru called Kara. Time to get the flight back together.

“On your five,” Kara replied.

Guru turned, and a quick glance showed 520 tucked in combat spread. “Got you. Sweaty?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me.” Sweaty called.

“Corvette Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS called. “Bandits inbound your location. Threat bearing one-six-five for ten.”

“Where'd they come from?” Goalie asked .

“Lead, Sweaty. BREAK!” Sweaty called. “Bandits on your five.”

Instantly, Guru and Kara did a cross-turn, with Guru breaking right and high, while Kara went left and low. As he turned, Guru saw two Su-22 Fitters, and one of them fired a missile. The Fitters flew past, revealing their tail insignia to him and Goalie. East German AF. “Sweaty, you on them?”

“Coming in,” Sweaty replied. She armed her Sidewinders and went to burner, and Hoser followed. She saw the two Su-22s break, and latched onto the element leader. “I've got the leader.”

“Hoser's got the other one,” Hoser added.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Get some. We'll cover you.” He and Kara rejoined, and as they did, he armed his AIM-7s. “Can you pick them up?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Negative,” Goalie replied. “Too much ground clutter. Where the fuck did those guys come from?”


In her F-4, Sweaty lined up the East German element leader. She put the pipper on the Fitter's tail and selected a missile. It didn't take long for the AIM-9P's seeker to acquire the Fitter's red-hot exhaust. A loud growl came into her headset. “FOX TWO!” She called, pulling the trigger and shooting her first Sidewinder.

In the Fitter, the East German element leader was angry. His wingman had gotten too eager, and shot an R-60 missile at the two F-4s without checking to see if there were any more Ami fighters around. Finding out that the F-4s had friends around had not been pleasant, and he turned to see if anyone was on his tail. He caught a quick glimpse of an F-4, and a missile trail coming. The Captain tried to break right, only to suddenly feel a sharp jolt to his tail. Then, the last thing he felt was heat as the Su-22 exploded around him.

“SPLASH!” Sweaty yelled as the Sidewinder flew up the Fitter's tailpipe and exploded. She saw the Fitter's tail disintegrate, and the rest of the plane plunge into the ground Neither she or Preacher saw a chute.

“Good kill, Sweaty,” Guru said.

Hoser was chasing the second Su-22, and he armed his AIM-7s. “Go boresight,” he told KT. That meant lock the radar to the gunsight.

“You're set,” KT replied. She was working the radar controls, trying to get a lock.

Hoser tried the auto-acquisition on his throttle control as he centered the pipper onto the Fitter's wing root, then he got a full system lock. “FOX ONE!” Hoser called, ripple-firing two AIM-7Es at the Su-22. He saw the Fitter break right, avoiding the first missile, but the right break solved the problem for the second.....the Sparrow speared the Fitter right through the canopy, and the big Sukhoi blew in half. Both halves of the aircraft tumbled down in flames, fireballing on impact with the ground. Again, there was no chute. “SPLASH!”

“Good kill, Hoser!” Kara called. She had been above, covering him, and hoping that the Fitter would come to her altitude, and then she might take a shot. Not this time. Oh, well....

“Good work,” Guru said. “Corvettes, form up and let's egress,” he called.

The flight acknowledged, and formed up on him. They went to the tanker track north of Mineral Wells, and got their post-flight refueling taken care of. Then they set course for Sheppard. When they got there, the pattern was busy as flights were outbound, and those coming in had to wait. Corvette Flight was fourth in line, and when their turn came in the pattern, both Sweaty and Hoser did victory rolls, then the flight came in and landed.

As they taxied in, canopies raised, the crews noticed the ground crews clapping as Sweaty and Hoser held up single fingers to signal kills. And both Guru and Goalie noticed the TV crew filming as they taxied in. “Well...looks like the Newsies are back,” Guru said.

“Maybe that mass grave was too much?” Goalie asked as Guru taxied 512 into its revetment.

“If that's where they went,” Guru said. As he parked 512 and shut down, he noticed the ordnance people waiting nearby. And more Rockeyes loaded onto fresh MER and TER racks. “Going back out again.”

“What do you mean-” Goalie said, then she saw the ordnance people as well. “More CAS.”

“That's a given.” Guru said. Both pilot and GIB went through their post-flight checks then he took off his helmet and stood up in the cockpit as the ground crew brought the crew ladder.

“How'd it go, Major?” Sergeant Crowley, his CC, asked.

“Pretty good, Sergeant. Made some East Germans have a bad day.” Guru said as he climbed down.

“Good for them, sir,” Crowley said. “You got a quick turnaround, Major. They already told us.”

“Okay, 512's working like a champ. So don't waste any more time talking to us. Get her prepped and ready.”

The crew chief let out a grin. “You got it, Major!” He turned to the ground crew. “You heard the man! Get the CO's bird ready to go.”

Guru and Goalie left the ground crew to their work, and walked to the revetment's entrance. They found the other crews coming towards them, and both Sweaty's crew and Hoser's were animated, going over the kills the same way fighter pilots did the world over, with their hands. “Sweaty, Hoser? Good kills.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Sweaty said, and Hoser nodded, along with the GIBs.

“How soon until we go back out?” Kara asked.

“Half-hour at the most,” Guru said. Just then a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup arrived, and Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon, the Intel Officer, came out. “Darren, or Sin, should I say. What's up?”

“Tenth AF just passed the word. We're on CAS until sundown,” the Intel said. “The Exec's getting ready to leave. Major Golen and Flossy are turning around, and the Ops Officer just left. You can debrief out here, sir.”

“Let's get it done,” Guru said. He turned to the revetment, and saw 512 being fueled. Once that was done, the ordnance guys would go to work.

“Yes, sir,” Licon said. He spread out a map on the hood of the truck. “Could you show me what happened?”

The crews went over the mission, showing where they had attacked the East German ground force, and going over the two Su-22 kills. “And that's that,” Guru said.

“You guys had a pretty good one,” Licon nodded. “And eyeballs on the kills, besides the shooters?”

Both 512's and 520's crews raised their hands. “Three sets of eyes total,” Kara said.

“That good enough?” Asked the CO.

“It is, Boss. That's seven now for Sweaty, and four for Hoser,” Licon said. “I'll get this all off to MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force. There's cold drinks and sandwiches in the truck.” Licon nodded to one of his NCOs, who brought the food out.

“Get some food and something to drink,” Guru said. And the crews took his advice. “Anything else, Darren?”

“That's it, sir. Good luck on the next one.” The Intel said, then he and the NCO got into the truck and went to debrief the next flight.

“One more, Hoser, and you and KT are aces,” Kara said.

“Don't remind us,” Hoser replied. He and KT knew that when they made ace, they were likely to be too buzzed the next morning to fly. Unless they got their fifth later in the day, then they could sleep things off during the stand-down.

“Just don't go trolling for MiGs,” Guru said. “You might run into somebody looking for his fifth.”

“There is that,” Sweaty nodded as she attacked a tuna sandwich.

“More roadkill sandwiches?” Goalie asked.

“Some Pork tri-tip, Tuna, Ham, Turkey, Pastrami, and something brown that sits there.”

“At least there's no BLTs,” Guru nodded as he took a Turkey sandwich. “Nothing in any of those that will look back.”

Kara looked at the CO. “I'll drink to that, even if it's Gatorade,” she quipped as she took a drink of the orange sports beverage. “Who handles the sandwiches?”

“Marines,” Sweaty said. “I overheard somebody asking that a couple days ago. They handle breakfast and snacks, but when it comes to the lunch and dinner menu? Those restauranteurs handle the meal planning and prep.”

“At least they know how to cook, unlike some of those Marine mess people,” KT said. “The chow in OTS was better than some of the swill the Marine cooks had.”

“Be nice,” Guru reminded them. “Some of those Marine cooks are all right. Not many, but some.”

Then Col. Allen Brady, the Marine who commanded MAG-11 came over. He was in full flight gear, and everyone knew that he took his share of combat flying, when the battle of the bureaucrats wasn't occupying his attention. He also had Kodak Griffith with Ms. Wendt and camera crew in tow. “Major.”

“Colonel,” Guru said, sketching a salute. “Going out, sir?”

“Getting ready to go back out,” Brady said. “Already had one CAS run this morning, and those bureaucratic slugs can wait. Going with 134.” VMFA-134 was one of MAG-11's Marine F-4 squadrons. “Can't lead you all from behind a desk.”

“Like the way you talk, Colonel,” Guru replied, and the other crewers nodded. Colonel Brady was one senior officer who was one of them. And they knew that though he had his bureaucratic battles to fight, he was up flying at least twice a day, if not more.

Brady let out a grin. “So do I. You be careful out there. It's shaping up to be a brawl with First Cav coming on those East Germans.”

'Will do, Colonel, and you take care yourself, if you don't mind my advice,” Guru said.

“I'll do just that,” Brady said. Then he headed off to mount his aircraft.

“How often does he fly?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“When he can,” Guru replied. “He's like a Wing Commander in the Air Force. And the Wing CO may only fly once or twice a day.” Guru paused, then added. “Usually.”

“If you don't mind my asking,” the reporter looked at Guru. “How bad is it out there?”

“They were doing some shooting,” Sweaty said. “Missiles-some shoulder-fired, some heavy stuff, some guns, and some small-arms fire for all we know.”

“And the East German AF came to the party,” Kara added. “We tangled.”

“And they lost,” finished Guru. “Sweaty and Hoser each got a kill.” Then Guru saw his Crew Chief come over. “Sergeant?”

“Major,” Sergeant Crowley said. “512's ready to rock. And so are the others.”

“Okay,” Guru told his flight. “Finish up what you've got, take care of business at the latrine, and let's get ready to go.”

The crews took their CO's advice, and then came back for his final instructions, ignoring the camera crew, who was filming them. “Same as last one, Boss?” Sweaty asked.

“You got it. Ground-to-air threat and MiG threat levels are the same, as are bailout areas and weather. Be careful, though. A 155 shell and your F-4 in the same airspace do not mix. Don't be surprised if you see gunships on both sides. If you can take a shot at a Hind or Hip, do it. Anything else?”

“We getting a break in the action?” Kara asked.

“That's up to First Cav and the Reds,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no at that. “Okay,” Guru said, clapping his hand once and grabbed his helmet. “Mount up and let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and both the CO and his GIB went over to 512, not noticing the TV crew following them. Guru and Goalie did the pre-flight walk-around, then mounted the aircraft.

They went through the preflight checklist, and as they did, Goalie noticed the news crew. “We're famous again.”

“When she wants that interview, don't be surprised if she wants you there as well,” Guru told his GIB.

“What for? Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. She might be wondering how you got the job.”

“So I'll tell her the truth. You came back from the E&E, Colonel Rivers paired us up, and the rest is history,” said Goalie.

“That it is,” Guru said. “Preflight complete?”

“Checklist complete and ready for engine start,” Goalie replied. “Back to business.”

“It is that,” the CO said. He gave his CC a thumbs-up, and got the “Start Engines” signal in reply. It wasn't long until both J-79 engines were up and running. Then Guru called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Charlie. You are number three in line. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied. He gave another thumbs-up, and Sergeant Crowley motioned to the ground crew. They pulled the chocks away from the landing gear, and the CC signaled Guru to taxi. The CO taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he turned towards the runway, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. Guru taxied to Runway 33C, and the other three F-4s in the flight followed. A 335th two-ship, and Guru noticed it was Dave and Flossy, taxied and then took off, then a Marine F-4 flight went next, then it was their turn. Guru taxied to the runway, then the armorers pulled off the weapon safeties.

“Time,” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi and takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-one at six.” The controller called.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied for takeoff, and as usual, Kara in 520 was right with him. They exchanged thumbs-ups, then Guru made the final call. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower flashed a green light, as usual, then both CO and GIB closed their canopies, with Kara and Brainiac doing the same. Guru then pushed the throttles forward, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right alongside. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, and Corvette Flight was on its way.

More CAS.....


Over North Texas, 1115 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight had just come off the tankers, and Guru had then checked in with the AWACS. The AWACS controller on Warlock had then passed the flight off to Tampa, the EC-130E ABCCC, and just like the last one, had told him to “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.” Ahead of them were several Marine strike flights, either F-4s or A-4s, along with at least two 335th flights. Guru heard the Exec's flight cleared in, then Dave Golen and Flossy, followed by Marines. They were at 9,000 feet when Kara called Guru. “Lead, anything?”

“Negative, Two,” Guru replied. “Just like last time: Hurry up and wait.”

Then they heard a call of SA-4 up, then SA-6, and Weasels going in. “Magnum” calls followed, and the offending radars went off the air. But the Weasels still orbited, while two Marine F/A-18 flights orbited on a TARCAP. Then it was their turn the controller on Tampa called. “Corvette Lead, Tampa. Contact Nail Six-five for tasking.”

“Roger that, Tampa,” Guru replied. “Nail Six-five, Corvette Lead. How copy?”

“Corvette, Nail Six-five. Say type of aircraft and ordnance, please.” the FAC replied.

“Nail, Corvette Flight is four Foxtrot-Four Echoes with twelve Rockeyes, full load twenty-mike-mike, and full air-to-air,” Guru told the FAC.

“Copy that, Corvette. Got some tasking for you. Northeast of the town, along F.M. 1189. Troops and APCs with some armor dug in south of the road. Need you guys to make them go away.”

“Roger that, Nail,” Guru replied. “Can you mark the target?”

“Can do, Corvette,” the FAC said.

“Any friendlies in range who can engage enemy air defense?” Asked Guru.

“Good question,” Goalie said from the back seat.

“Negative,” Nail replied. “How many passes can you give?”

“One pass only,” Guru said. Hearing those SA-4 and SA-6 calls only reinforced the squadron's rule about multiple passes in medium- and high-threat areas. “South to north.”

“Your call, Corvette,” Nail said. “Marking the target.” Then Guru and the others in the flight watched an A-7K roll in and fire two WP rockets. “Target is marked.”

“Roger that, Nail,” Guru replied. He led the flight past the target, then turned north. “Set it up,” he told Goalie. “Everything in one go.”

His GIB worked the armament controls. “You're set.”

Guru checked his EW repeater. All clear. “Copy that. Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and time to go to work.”

“Roger that, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Three copies,” Sweaty added.

“Four, roger,' Hoser said.

Guru turned on his ECM pod, then rolled in.



Below, and northeast of Lipan along the road shown on his map as F.M. 1189, the commander of the East German 34th Motor-Rifle Regiment was going up and down his regiment's positions, talking to his battalion commanders and giving encouragement to the men. The regiment, and the rest of the division, had missed the Battle of Wichita, and despite the retreat south, the fighting spirit of the troops was still high. Though more than one officer had asked, “What do we tell the men? We're supposed to be somewhere up in Kansas or Missouri by now, and here we are, back in Texas.” The Major had no real answer, other than to tell the men it was a temporary setback, and that next year, the war would be over and the men would return home in triumph.

The Lieutenant Colonel was with Second Battalion, talking with the Captain who was commanding the battalion, and complementing him on how his men and their BTR-60PBs and the supporting T-55 company were prepared when the battalion's air-defense platoon began firing the machine guns on their BTRs and preparing their Strela-3 (SA-14) missiles. Air attack coming in.

“Comrade Colonel, you should take cover,” the battalion commander said.

The Colonel nodded, then jumped into a trench just as the first of the Fascist aircraft flew over.....


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his attack run. As he went down on the target area, he saw tracers coming up, and even a missile-a small one like an SA-7 or SA-14, fly by. Not enough, Franz. Not today. Guru picked out several APCs south of the road, and decided they would to. “Steady....steady....and....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, sending a dozen Mark-20 Rockeye CBUs down onto the East Germans. He pulled level and headed north. “Lead's off target.”

“What now?” The East German Colonel yelled as Guru's F-4 flew by, and then the sound of explosions behind him as the aircraft had left its deadly payload. “What did he hit?”

“The explosions came from the mortar platoon's area, Comrade Colonel,” the battalion commander said. He poked his head up from the trench and saw another aircraft coming in. “Get down!”


“SHACK!” Goalie called as Guru pulled away. “We got secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Guru replied as tracers flew by his canopy. Small ones-.51 caliber most likely, he thought.

“A couple of big ones!” His GIB yelled, then she ducked in her cockpit as a SAM flew over the top of the F-4. “That was close.”

“Too close,” Guru said. He'd seen the missile too late. SA-7 or -14 again.


'Two's in!' Kara called as she rolled in. She saw the CO's bombs going off, and the secondaries that followed, tossing bodies in the air and flipping APCs. What'd he hit? Kara picked out some tanks, and they drew her attention. And she'd drawn notice of tank commanders, for several of them began shooting at her with their machine guns. “Not enough....steady.....and.....HACK!” Kara hit her pickle button, and a dozen Mark-20 Rockeyes came off of 520's racks. She pulled up, leveled out, then headed north. “Two's off safe.”


“NEIN!” The regimental commander shouted as Kara's F-4 flew overhead, and he heard the explosions of the CBU bomblets going off, and several tanks exploding as a result. His tank battalion had been right behind the motor-rifle battalions, ready to move in a counterattack, and now....He stood up, looking north, and was startled as the battalion Sergeant-Major threw him back into the trench. “What?”

“More aircraft coming in, Comrade Colonel!”


“Whoa!” Brainiac shouted. “Secondaries going off!”

“What kind?” Kara said as a SAM flew past her left wing.

“Big and good!”

“I'll take your word for it,” Kara said as she dodged some tracers, then headed north after the CO.


Sweaty was next. “Three's in!” She called, and rolled in. She saw Kara's strike, and the secondaries as tanks exploded. Deciding the tanks had had enough, she picked out some guns-towed artillery pieces set up and ready to fire. Ignoring the tracers now coming up at her, she lined the guns up in her pipper. “Okay,....steady....steady....HACK!” A dozen more Rockeyes fell onto the East Germans, and Sweaty pulled away as tracers and an SA-14 came up after her and Preacher. “Three's off target.”


“What was that?” The East German Colonel shouted above the din. He looked up and saw Sweaty's F-4 fly over, and a missile go after the Fascist aircraft, only to fall short. The Colonel cursed, and lifted his head to take a look. He saw explosions and flame from where his artillery battalion was set up, and cursed yet again. Where were the division's SAMs? They were supposed to provide the division with heavy SAM cover. Then he saw it himself. Another Fascist F-4 was coming in. “COVER!” He yelled, jumping back into the trench.

'”Sierra Hotel!” Preacher called as Sweaty banked to avoid some tracer fire, then headed back north.

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as a missile flew past her right wing.

The ex-Seminary student yelled, “Great ones!”

“Good for them!” Sweaty said as she followed Kara's bird out of the target area.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he rolled in. He, too, ignored the tracer fire as he came down onto the target. He saw some APCs to the left of where the CO had hit, and selected them as his target. More tracers came up, and though he didn't see it, KT ducked involuntarily in her seat as a missile came up past their left wing. Not now....Hoser lined up the APCs in his pipper. “Steady....and HACK!” Twelve more Rockeye CBUs descended onto the East German regiment. As he pulled out, Hoser ignored the tracers, saw a missile trail fly past his left wing, and called, “Four's off target.”


“VERDAMMT!” The Colonel shouted as Hoser's F-4 flew by. Unknown to the Fascist pilot, he had just hit the First Battalion's positions, and the Colonel saw several fireballs as BTRs took hits from the CBU bomblets and exploded. At least the Colonel saw some Strela-3 missiles and machine-gun fire go up after the attacker, though none scored. Then he got up, and with his aide, a young Senior Lieutenant, took a look around. Burning APCs, a few trucks, and to the south, burning tanks, all intermixed with dead and maimed men. He turned to the aide and said, “Well, let's get some order out of this mess. And fast. The Amis will be here any time now.”


“SHACK!” KT called. “Good hits!”

“How good?” Hoser asked as he headed north,

“Got a few fireballs.”

“Good enough,” Hoser said, following his element lead out of the target area, and he grimaced as a shoulder-fired missile flew past his left wing.


“Corvette, Nail, Good work, fella.” Nail called Guru.

“Nail, Corvette Lead,” Guru replied. “How'd we do?”

“Good bombs on target,” the FAC said. “Thanks a lot, buddy. Maybe we can do this again.”

“Anytime, Nail,” Guru said. “Two, where are you?”

“On your five,” Kara replied. She was right there in combat spread, with the lead element headed north and headed out.

“Got eyeballs on you,” said Guru. “Sweaty, how about you?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me.”

“Roger that. Form up and let's egress.” Guru told his second element.

All four F-4s formed up and headed north. They took a quick drink of fuel from the tankers, then headed back to Sheppard. Once again, they had to wait their turn in the pattern as both inbound and outbound traffic made things pretty busy. Soon, though, it was their turn, and Corvette Flight came in and landed. As they taxied in, canopies raised, the crews noticed the TV crew again, filming them.

“We're famous again,” Goalie muttered as Guru taxied 512 past the cameraman.

“Have to check AFN and Walter Cronkite in a couple days,” Guru noted. “They send their stuff to Australia first, remember?”

“Forgot about that,” Goalie said.


Guru taxied 512 to its revetment and he got the “Shut Down” signal from Sergeant Crowley. He shut down the engines, the ground crew put the chocks around the landing gear, and they brought the crew ladder to the cockpit. “Three and done.” Guru said.

“Looking to break the record? PRAIRIE FIRE Day One had seven, remember?” Goalie reminded her CO. That had been one hell of a day, she knew, and so did Guru.

“Days two and three had the same,” said Guru. “Did it all over again when Phase II kicked off.” He stood up in the cockpit, stretched, then climbed down.

“Don't I know it,” Goalie nodded as she climbed down from the aircraft. She and Guru did a quick post-flight walk-around, then she saw Crowley coming over. “CC's here.”

“Shit hot, Sir!” Sergeant Crowley said. “How'd things go?”

Guru had a grin on his face. “Taught some East Germans a lesson,” he nodded. “The ones who lived.”

“Gave 'em a mid-morning wake-up call they'll never forget,” Goalie said.

The Crew Chief had a smile on his own face. “The ones who survived, Ma'am?”He asked, and saw Goalie nod. “How's my bird, sir?”

“512's still truckin', Sergeant. We took some small-arms and machine-gun fire on the way out. Didn't feel any hits, though.”

“That's good, Major. We'll give her a good-going over. Ordnance guys aren't here yet, so we got some time.”

“Okay, Sergeant. Let's get her ready for the next one,” Guru told his crew chief.

Crowley grinned. “You got it, Major!” He turned to the ground crew. “All right, people! Let's get the Major's bird ready to go.”

As Guru and Goalie walked to the revetment's entrance, Guru said, “Remind me to check his spot in the R&R Rotation.”

“Still want to move him up?” Goalie asked.

“If I can. Been a little busy this morning.”

Goalie poked him in the arm. “You noticed,” she grinned.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But if I bump him up, he may not take it. He'd probably want to go when it's his regular turn, not before.”

“What if you make it an order?”

“That's one order I don't want to give,” said Guru. Then they got to the revetment's entrance, and found Kara, Sweaty, and the other crews coming there. “How'd it go for you all?”

“Pretty good,” Kara said. “Made some tanks go away, and I don't know what you hit, but whoever they were, they blew.”

“Some fool must've parked some guns or mortars where they shouldn't have,” replied. Guru. Just then, a Crew-Cab pickup pulled up, and not only did the SIO come out, but the Exec as well. “Mark, Darren,” he nodded.

The Exec nodded back. “Boss,” he said. “You guys have to debrief out here, and the crew from the Chow Tent will be bringing lunch in a few. You'll be going out again in forty-five minutes. I'll be out in thirty.”

“Okay, Mark,” the CO said. “Anything going on I should know?”

“Nothing command wise,” the XO replied. “But Ryan Blanchard's CSPs did a routine perimeter sweep, and found somebody in a bombed-out house north of the base. That person had a notepad, a pair of binoculars, and a radio with one-time pad. They took him alive.”

“Spetznatz? Kara asked.

“Nope, and not Cuban or East German, either,” Ellis said.

Guru looked at his Exec. “Then who?”

“Ever hear of the PSD?”

“Yeah,” Sweaty replied. “That traitor Hall has his own KGB. Those guys, right?”

“That's right, and this chump's from that bunch. Ryan's with the MAG-11 Intel People, having a few words with him,” said Ellis.

“That does explain what you said a few days ago, about somebody taking an interest in this base,” Guru pointed out.

“It does, but they're not through with that,” the XO said.

The CO nodded. “Okay, Mark. Ryan knows not to kick this guy's balls into his throat, right?”

Ellis laughed. “She does, Boss.”

“Colonel Brady knows, I take it?”

“They told him the first thing after he landed,” Ellis said. “Don't be surprised if you see CSPs, Marines, and even Resistance out, checking the perimeter.”

Ms. Wendt heard that. “They haven't disarmed the Resistance people?”

“Ma'am, this isn't Colorado, New Mexico, or parts of Arkansas. They're more like a militia now, but they do come in handy when it's time to look for downed Soviet pilots, or going after collaborators,” Kodak Griffith said.

“Think France, 1944,” Guru added. “Just because an area had been liberated didn't mean the Resistance there didn't turn in their guns right away.” He turned to the XO. “Anything else, Mark?”

The XO nodded. “Apache Trackers will be here tonight. If there's anyone else around, they'll find 'em.”

“Heard some horror stories about those guys when we were at Nellis,” Scott, the cameraman, said.

'They're true. If you are a Soviet or other ComBloc pilot or SOF? Do not get caught on the Reservation. There's a true story about a Tu-22 Blinder crew that bailed out over the San Carlos Apache Reservation in Arizona. It took a couple days for the Army and AF to get people up to that part of Arizona, and the Indians were very cooperative: they showed the team where the wrecked Blinder was, some of the Indians taking parts of the plane away-hell, one of the engines was being loaded onto a trailer to be put on display outside the Tribal Headquarters.”

“What about the crew?” Ms. Wendt asked.

Guru's expression turned grim. “They showed the crew to the team too: all three Russians had been scalped, staked out in the desert, and flayed alive. The desert critters were already at work....”

“They killed the crew?”

“Slowly,” Goalie said, and Sweaty nodded. Neither one had been in the squadron long when that incident happened.

Ellis nodded as well. He'd been Guru's assistant Ops Officer when that had gone down. “Took some convincing, but the tribes finally understood that the military needed downed aircrew or SOF alive. Can't interrogate corpses.”

“If you think that's bad, try the tribes in Eastern New Mexico,” Guru added. “Ivan or Fidel would send a company out on a sweep, and find nothing. A platoon goes on a patrol, and nobody comes back. Reaction force goes out, finds the ambush site, and anyone who'd been taken alive or had been wounded? They weren't for long.”

Ms. Wendt gulped. She'd heard stories about Ivan's atrocities, but this was new. “The Resistance killed prisoners?”

“Speaking from experience,” Guru replied. “You couldn't keep prisoners for long, and you couldn't release them. No other choice.”

“No doubt,” Goalie said. She'd heard the story enough times.

“Okay, Mark,” Guru said, changing the subject. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Van Loan says T-Bone's crew is working out fine, and no change in either tasking or the weather,” Ellis said.

“All right. You get some food inside you, the same goes for your crews, and get ready to go back out.”

The XO shook the CO's hand. “Will do, Boss.”

“And Mark?” Guru said. “Be careful out there. Don't want to break in a new Exec and a new Ops Officer.” If anything happened to Mark, Don Van Loan would fleet up to Exec, and Kara would be the new Ops Officer.

Ellis grinned. “Will do, Boss, and you too. I don't want squadron command just yet..” Then Ellis headed off to where his flight was parked.

“Major?” Darren Licon, the SIO, asked. “Can we debrief?”

“Yeah, kinda forgot about that,” Guru said. “Come on, folks. Let's get the debrief taken care of.”

The debrief didn't take long. Just a recap of how things had gone, and noting the ground fire that had come up, and their estimate on BDA. “Any MiGs?” Licon asked.

“No MiGs, no choppers,” Kara said, a note of disgust in her voice.

The CO put his hand on her shoulder. “Can't get 'em if they're not flying.” He turned to the Intel. “Anything else?”

“No, Boss, and I'll get this off to Tenth Air Force. I'll have a look at the strike camera film as well.”

“Okay, Darren,” Guru said, just as a Deuce-and-a-half arrived, and Marine Mess people climbed down. “Chowtime.”

“It is that, Boss. I already ate. The cheeseburgers are bison, and they're pretty good. But the 'Suggestion of Roast Beef' sandwiches? Stay away.” Licon warned everyone.

“Will do,” Kara said.

The mess people arrived, and a Sergeant asked, “Major, what'll it be? Got cheeseburgers and fries with cole slaw, Roast Beef sandwiches, or Fried Chicken with all the fixn's.”

The crews got their food, and ate right there in the dispersal area. While they ate, talk was about what was in store for the rest of the day. “How many more?” Sweaty asked.

“Three, at least,” Goalie said. “That's a guess, though.” She nodded towards the CO.

“Three, probably,” Guru nodded. “For one thing, we don't have as much daylight as we did with PRAIRIE FIRE.”

“And the other?” Asked Kara.

“Depends on the Army and the Reds. If the Army pushes those East Germans back, game over. If the Reds make a fight of it, different story.” Guru reminded them.

Heads nodded. “Well, at least it's not Clovis,” Sweaty quipped.

“What's that?” Ms. Wendt asked. She and the crew had decided to eat with the aircrews, get some footage, and maybe, some remarks in the process.

Kara looked at the reporter. “Clovis, New Mexico. Eight days of Close-air-support or interdiction strikes. Sometimes it was take off, orbit, strike where the controller wanted the bombs, then come in, land, rearm, and go back out. Unlike here, you'd be in the air all of fifteen minutes.”

“Most of that, the Marines did, but we did our share,” Hoser said.

“That we did,” Guru added. “But the highways going from Clovis into Texas? We took care of those. Plenty of burned-out trucks along U.S. 60 and U.S. 84 to show for it.”

KT spoke up. “Worst was the smell. Not the battlefield smell, but from the stockyards. God! You could smell that in the cockpit, it seemed.”

“And that place changed hands several times,” Goalie pointed out. “Then the Marines took it for good.”

Then Kodak Griffith said, “Ms. Wendt, if you want, we can arrange a visit to 5th Marine Division. They took that place.”

The reporter nodded. “One of these days, sure. That would be a story for an entire episode of our 60 Minutes.”

“Just say the word, Ma'am, and I'll arrange it.”


The crews were still chatting when the Ops Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, came over. “Boss? Your birds are locked and cocked. Ready when you are.”

“You going out again?” Guru asked as he got up.

“Right in front of you. Dave and Flossy are right behind you.”

“All right,” the CO said. “What's our loadout?”

“Twelve Mark-82s each airplane,” the Ops Officer replied. “Your wing TERs have the Daisy Cutters.”

“What's that?” Ms. Wendt asked, back in “Reporter” mode.

“Fuze extenders, Ma'am,” Sweaty said. “They go off a few feet above the ground. Not much of a crater, but lots of blast and shrapnel. These East Germans are in for it.”

“That they are,” the CO nodded. “Okay, people! Let's get back to work. Take care of any latrine business, then get back here.”

After taking care of business, the crews came back to 512's revetment. “Anything new, Boss?” Kara asked.

“Negative. Bailout areas, MiG threat, weather, still unchanged. Remember what I said about staying clear of any artillery, and watch for friendly choppers. First Cav has Apaches, and so does III Corps, so be careful about engaging any helos you see. Since the Hogs are busy elsewhere, I bet every AH-64 in III Corps is headed to 1st Cav's AO. Anything else?”

“Can those guys take out any Shilkas or mobile SAMs?” Hoser asked. He had every reason to ask that, recalling his own shoot-down a few days earlier.

“I'll ask whichever FAC they give us to do just that. Anything else?” Heads shook no. The CO grabbed his flight helmet. “Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their own aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512, with the camera crew following. “Major,” Sergeant Crowley said, saluting. “We're good to go. 512's ready to rock.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru replied as he and Goalie returned the salute. They did their pre-flight walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. They got strapped in, then the ground crew removed the crew ladder while pilot and GIB did their preflight checks.

“I need to see how much paperwork I have in the morning,” Guru said as he did the preflight. “Maybe I can postpone the interview until afternoon. After I sleep in,” he added.

“You, me, and everyone else in the squadron,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours. I'm not getting up until 0800 at least.”

“Don't blame you,” his GIB replied. “Seats armed top and bottom. Ready to go.”

“Ready for engine start,” Guru said. He gave Sergeant Crowley the thumbs-up, and the Crew Chief gave the “Start Engines” signal in return. The reporter and camera crew quickly got out of the way as one, then two J-79 engines were started. They warmed up, and when the warm-up was finished, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Flight, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-five Lima. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Flight rolling.” Guru gave the thumbs-up again, and Sergeant Crowley gestured to the ground crew. They pulled the chocks away from the wheels, and the Crew Chief gave the taxi signal. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, the CC gave a perfect salute. Both pilot and GIB returned it, then Guru taxied to the runway. Van Loan's flight was ahead of his, and ahead of Van Loan's was a four-ship of Marine Hornets. The F/A-18s went, then Van Loan's, then it was their turn. Guru taxied to the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then it was time to taxi for takeoff.

“Tower, Corvette Flight requesting clearance to taxi for takeoff.” Guru called the Tower.

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-zero at ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. The wingmate crew gave the thumbs-up to the Flight Lead, and the CO and his GIB returned it. Then it was time. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

Guru and Kara looked to the Tower, and they saw a green light flash. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Ready to rock,” Goalie replied. “Time to do it.”

“Let's go.” Guru pulled down his canopy and Goalie did the same, while Kara and Brainiac did the same in 520. Then Guru went to full power, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right alongside him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn. Corvette Flight met up, then headed south.

Another CAS run, and an AF legend drops by:


Over Central Texas: 1250 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was in a holding pattern, as usual, and waiting on Tampa, the EC-130 ABCCC, to hand them off to a FAC. So far, things had gone just as they had the whole morning. Namely,once you got in the holding pattern: hurry up and wait. Now, they were down to 7,000 feet, and had watched Don Van Loan's flight go in. A Marine A-4 flight was ahead of them, then it would be their turn.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “Anything?”

“Have a look above us,” Guru replied. “Not slacking off anytime soon.”

Several of the crewers in the flight glanced above them, and noticed the F-4s, A-4s, and A-7s orbiting above them in the pattern, while F-15s and Marine Hornets flew the CAP. “Looks like LAX on any day of the week,” Goalie said.

“Before the balloon went up, if there were this many fighters in LAX's pattern?” Guru asked his GIB. “ATC would be having a coronary. Not to mention the good citizenry of L.A.,”

“Hey, I'm a SoCal girl myself,” Goalie replied. “And you called it.”

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “They going to send us in, or just wait up here?” Typical Kara, and it kind of summed up his mood as well. Tired of waiting, and wanting to get on with the job at hand.

Before he could respond, Guru's radio crackled with a call from Tampa, the EC-130E command plane. “Corvette, Tampa. Contact Nail Six-four for tasking.”

“Roger, Tampa,” Guru replied. “Nail Six-four, Corvette Lead, how copy?”

“Corvette, Nail Six-four. Say type of aircraft and ordnance,” replied the FAC.

“Nail, Corvette Flight is four Foxtrot-Four Echoes with twelve Mark eight-twos each airplane, and full air-to-air.”

“Roger that, Corvette,” Nail said. “Stand by one.” Barely a minute passed when Nail came back. “Corvette, Nail Six-four. I have tasking for you. Your target is at the F.M. 1189-F.M. 145 junction. Target is artillery deployed to fire.”

Guru frowned underneath his oxygen mask. No doubt there'd be some air defense assets to protect those guns. “Copy Nail,” he replied. “Say surface-to-air threat.”

“Corvette, threat is mixed. There have been Ganef, Gainful and Gaskin reported. Weasels are active in the area.”
That meant the SA-4, SA-6, and SA-9 SAMs. And throw in the usual Triple-A that the ComBloc was so fond of.

“Roger that, Nail. Can you mark the target?”

“That's affirm, Corvette,” Nail replied. The A-7K rolled in, and fired two rockets, and WP smoke billowed up from the ground. “There's your target. How many passes can you give?”

Don't these guys know by now? Guru thought. “Nail, Corvette. One pass only. South to north.”

“Your call, Corvette.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead,” he called. “We've got a target, so follow me in.”

“Copy, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Three copies,” Sweaty.

“Four, roger,” Hoser.

Guru led the flight in past the target, and the WP smoke was still visible. He glanced down as he flew past, and saw artillery pieces set up to fire. Can't have that, he thought. “Flight, Lead. One pass, south to north. Switches on, music on, and time to go to work,”

In 512's back seat, Goalie was already working the armament control panel. “Switches set back here, and all squared away. We're good to go.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied. He did a 180, then was ready to go. “Let's go!” Guru said as he rolled in on his bomb run.

Below, the artillerymen of the 2nd Battalion, 40th Artillery Brigade, had set up their M-46 130-mm field guns and were now shooting their first fire missions of the day. They had only just arrived at their firing position after what one might call a major traffic jam on the two-lane country roads that were all too common in this part of Texas, and the battalion commander was still irate, as the engineers had promised that several bridges that had been blown up-either by Imperialist air attack or by the bandits who called themselves the American Resistance-would be repaired, and they had not. It had taken them half the morning to get where the battalion was supposed to be to support the 20th MRD, but finally, they were ready. His air-defense platoon, with a mix of ZU-23-2 AA guns and Strela-3 (SA-14) SAMs, was getting into position, but no matter. The guns began to fire their first mission when the deputy battalion commander pointed to the south. Aircraft coming in, and both men recognized the head-on silhouette of the F-4 Phantom. “AIR ATTACK WARNING!” The commander shouted as both men jumped into a foxhole as the Fascist aircraft came in.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled 512 in on his run. As he went down the chute, he saw some light flak-probably 23-mm, coming up at 512, but not close enough to worry. He picked out a battery of guns that were firing, and they looked like big ones. Either 130-mm or 152-mm, he thought. You'll go up with a few bangs, Franz.....and his only regret was that they had Mark-82s instead of CBUs. Next time....Guru lined up the battery in his pipper, and ignored the 23-mm flak coming up. “Steady....Steady....and.....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 five hundred-pound bombs came off 512's racks. He pulled level and then up and away. “Lead off safe.”

The East German artillerymen had largely paid the air raid warning no heed. With all the battalion's guns firing, the shouted warnings had been lost in the din. The first indication that anyone knew they were under air attack was when Guru's F-4 flew past, and First Battery's positions were engulfed in smoke and flame, and then there were secondary explosions as stacked ammunition, and ammunition trucks, exploded, tossing guns, trucks, trailers, and bodies like rags in the wind. A few brave air-defense soldiers tried to fire back with Strela-3 missiles, but they were too little, too late.


“SHACK!” Goalie called from the back seat. “And we got secondaries!”

“Big ones?” Guru asked as a missile, probably an SA-7 or -14, flew past the left wing.

“They are.”

“Somebody just had their last afternoon,” said Guru as he headed north for I-20.


“Two's in hot!” Kara called as she rolled 520 down the chute. She saw the CO's bomb run, and not just the bombs going off, but the secondary explosions as well. Grinning underneath her oxygen mask, she picked out a another battery's worth of guns, and they, too, were firing. You guys are going away-in pieces, she thought. Like the CO's run, there was some light flak coming up, and she, too, ignored it. “Steady.....” Kara muttered as she lined up the battery in her pipper. “And...HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and a dozen more Mark-82s came down on the East German guns. She pulled out and away, calling, “Two's off target.”

“DAMMT!” The battalion commander yelled as a second F-4 came in and released its bombs. This time, the explosions were on Second Battery's position, and just as with First, there were many secondary explosions as ammunition went off. Where was the air-defense that Army had promised? The commander looked to the south, where the battalion's command section had deployed, along with Third Battery and the air-defense platoon. So far, they were unscathed. He started to get up, only to see another F-4 coming in. He didn't need his deputy this time, for he dropped back into the foxhole.

“Whoa!” Brainiac yelled. “Got some secondaries!”

Kara glanced back, then rolled away to avoid a shoulder-fired missile from somewhere. “Good ones?”

“Better than that,” her GIB replied.

Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “That's good,” she said, following the CO on the way out.


“Three's in!” Called Sweaty. She rolled in, and saw Kara's bombs going off, and 520 on its way out. Ignoring the 23-mm coming up, and even a missile that flew harmlessly by her right wing, Sweaty picked out what looked like several command vehicles, and she knew those would be the battery command section. As she lined them up in her pipper, another missile came up, and flew past her left wing, and Preacher involuntarily ducked in his back seat as the missile was a little too close for comfort. “No way, Franz. Not today,” muttered Sweaty. Then it was time. “And.....HACK!” Twelve more Mark-82s fell on the East German gunners, and Sweaty pulled up and away. “Three's off safe.”

The East German battalion commander heard Sweaty's F-4 go by, and explosions behind the foxhole as bombs landed in the battalion's command area. Then a bomb landed next to the foxhole, and exploded. Neither the commander or his deputy had a chance to scream......

“Good hits!” Preacher yelled.

“How good?” Sweaty asked as she followed Kara out.

The ex-seminary student grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Big and good.”

“Righteous!” Sweaty replied as she headed north.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called. As he rolled in, there was the 23-mm flak coming up to meet him, and even a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, none of which got anywhere close. Brand-new bird, and the CO won't like it if I broke this one, he thought. Hoser noticed an untouched gun battery, just south of where Sweaty's bombs had hit, and decided to take those. Ignoring the flak, he lined the guns up in the pipper. “Steady....steady....and, HACK!” More Mark-82s fell onto the hapless East Germans, as Hoser pulled up and away. “Four's off target.”

Below, the Captain commanding the Third Battery had a gut feeling that he was now in command of the battalion, as Ami bombs had blown the battalion's command point apart, tossing vehicles and bodies like toys. He glanced to the south, and saw another F-4 coming in. “TAKE COVER!” He yelled, and then jumped into a slit trench just as the first bombs landed on his guns.

“SHACK!” KT yelled as Hoser pulled away.

“Secondaries?” Hoser asked, glancing above as a missile passed above the big Phantom.

KT glanced back again. “Great ones!”

“OK, now let's get the hell out of here,” replied Hoser as he set course north.


“Two, Lead,” Guru called. “You on us?”

“Right with you, Lead.” Kara replied as she put 520 right in combat spread with the CO.

“Got you,” replied Guru. “Sweaty?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me,” called Sweaty.

“Corvette, Nail,” the FAC called Guru. “Outstanding work, people! I give you guys a four-decimal zero. Great bombs on target.”

Guru smiled. “Roger that, Nail. And we are outta here.”

“Copy that, Corvette, and we can do this again sometime.”


Back at the artillery battalion, the East German Captain staggered out of the trench he'd jumped into. He took a look around, and knew full well that this battalion was no longer combat effective. He turned to his deputy. “Rally the battery. I'll go to First and Second and see what can be done. And find a radio.”

“Comrade Captain?” the deputy, a Senior Lieutenant, asked.

“We need to tell brigade this battalion's out of action.”

Nodding, the deputy glanced at the command area. “There's one good thing about this,” he said, pointing to a BTR-60 APC that had been ripped open by a bomb blast and tossed on its side. With several bloody corpses nearby and in the troop hatches.

“And that is?” The Captain asked. It had been a miserable day.

“We don't have a political officer to worry about.”


Corvette Flight formed up just before reaching I-20 and then headed to the tankers. They did their post-strike refueling, then headed back to Sheppard. Before they got there, Dave Golen and Flossy had joined up with them. They had gone out with Mavericks again, and had done some tank-killing. When they got to Sheppard, they had to wait as both inbound and outbound traffic was ahead of them, but soon, it was time to come in. After the flight landed, Guru noticed a C-141 on the ramp. “Hope there's something for us on that bird.”

“You still looking for a new PAO?” Goalie asked.

“We'll have to give Kodak back to the Marines,” Guru reminded his GIB as he taxied 512 to dispersal.

Goalie nodded. “Kinda forgot about that. For a jarhead, he's a nice guy.”

“That he is,” the CO acknowledged. And he noticed the news crew filming them. “And the newsies are still there.”

“They going to fly?”

“Soon as a check flight's needed. But will Frank fly her? No fucking way,” Guru said firmly.

“Good for him. And her, too,” Goalie quipped.

The CO nodded as he taxied 512 into its revetment, and got the “shut down” signal from his Crew Chief. He and Goalie popped their canopies, and the ground crew brought over the crew ladder. Both pilot and GIB did their post-flight checks, then dismounted from the aircraft. After a quick post-flight walk-around, Guru nodded to Sergeant Crowley. “She's doing good, Sergeant. Get her turned around and ready for the next one.”

“Will do, Major,” Crowley replied. “What'd you guys hit?”

“Made some East Germans regret they were artillerymen,” said Guru.

“Briefly,” Goalie added.

“And not a scratch on 512, Sergeant,” Guru told his CC.

“Thanks, Major!” Crowley said. Then he turned to the ground crew. “All right, people! Let's get her ready for the next one.”

Guru and Goalie left the ground crew to their work, as the rest of the flight, plus Dave, Flossy, and their GIBs, came over. “How'd it go with you guys?” Guru asked Dave.

“Shot some Mavericks and killed some tanks,” Golen said. “And no MiGs, sadly.”

“You're not the only one feeling that way,” said Kara.

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “You upset, or Flossy? One more and she's an ace.”

“You could say that, Boss,” Flossy replied. “Still angry over that call sign. And Cosmo was one of my best friends.”

Sweaty came over. “Just remember, if you don't like it, we'll find one even more embarrassing.”

“That we will,” Kara grinned.

“Just remember, folks,” Guru told them. “Jumping a strike flight or recon run, or taking out a Hind or two is one thing. Trolling for MiGs is something else, and ain't our job. Not today.”

Nodding, the crews headed back to the squadron offices, and to their briefing room, where Sin Licon was waiting. “Boss,” he nodded. “And Dave. How'd it go?”

“Made some artillery pieces go away,” Guru said.

“And killed some tanks,” Golen added.

The intel pulled out a map and some photos of the area. “Could you show me, please?”

The crews went over their strike runs, and noted the lack of heavy SAMs and MiGs-of any type. “Where's the MiGs?” Kara asked.

“I'd like to know that myself,” Guru said. “What's the word on that?”

“A couple of the MiG fields got hit,” Licon replied. “That's part of it. CAP gets involved as well.”

Sweaty nodded. “That answers that, but where's the Hinds?”

“They're getting cagey. When the fast-movers are around, they're not. When you guys RTB, the Hinds come out. There's been some Apache v. Hind fights, in case you're wondering. And Hellfires tear Hinds apart pretty good, they tell me.”

“That's our job,” Flossy spat.

Guru nodded. He agreed with her, but had to put his CO's face on. “Steady, girl. We can't be everywhere at once. Don't be surprised if somebody gets the idea to put Sidewinders on Apaches.”

“I wouldn't be, either, Boss,” Licon said. “Okay, I'll get this off, and check the strike camera footage.”

“Any idea what's next?” Hoser asked.

“CAS the rest of the day, remember?” Kara spat. “Boss, can't they pull us off that and get back to the ATO?”

“If the Hogs show, yeah. But if they're still busy....” Guru said.

“Lovely,” KT said.

“Okay, back to business,” Guru said. “Check your desks,and deal with any paperwork. Get something to eat, and if you can, take a nap. We'll be back at it in an hour or so.”

“Got you,” Kara nodded.

The crews headed to the locker rooms to get out of their flight gear, and then went to deal with their squadron business. When Guru got to his office, he found Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, and a Major he had never seen before talking. “Here he is,” Ellis said to the new Major.

“What's up, Mark? And who's this fella?” Guru asked.

“Got a VIP here, sent by General Tanner. Major Kinney here is his aide,” the XO said, nodding at the Major, who was clearly young for the rank. Just like Guru is, he thought.

“Major,” Guru said, shaking Kinney's right hand. He also noticed the cast on his left. “Flying a desk for a while, I see. Matt Wiser.”

“Brandon Kinney,” the new Major said. “Normally, I'm an F-16 driver. But had a ground ejection from a main gear collapse from battle damage, and so...” Kinney looked at Guru's hand. No ring. “Let me guess: OTS?”

“You guessed right,” Guru said. “How about you?”

“AFROTC. Went to MIT,” Kinney said.

“Going to be an astronaut?” Guru said. He once had similar hopes, but when he couldn't handle some of the math, the C in Physics he got was good enough to get him flight training and then F-4s.

“When this war's over,” Kinney said. “Now, General Tanner is sending us to the various fighter bases in Tenth Air Force. Check on things and see how things are going, and just plain observing.”

Guru nodded. “Colonel Brady know?”

“Met us on the ramp,” Kinney said. “And we watched your flight come in.”

“Okay....so, Mark, who's the VIP?” Guru asked.

“He's in your office, and waiting.” Ellis said.

Nodding, Guru knocked on his office door. He'd only done that once since taking over the squadron-when General Tanner had to use it a couple of times during his visit.

“Come in,” a gruff voice said.

Guru entered his office, and found a one-star general in undress blues with his back to him, looking at the map on the wall showing the battle lines in the lower 48. “Sir, Major Matt Wiser, CO, 335th TFS.”

“I know all about you and your squadron, Major,” the General replied. “Bob Tanner told me all about you and your squadron, From what I've been told and read about, I could've used you and your people with me back in the day. Going Downtown, MIGCAP, you name it.” He turned, and Guru saw a familiar face from a photo on a different part of the wall. . The mustache was gone, but the balding head, the voice, and the firmness in his tone of voice said it all. The undress blues simply had command pilot's wings and a nametag that read OLDS. “Glad to meet you, Major,” Brig. Gen. Robin Olds said, offering his hand.

“Sir, the honor's mine.” Guru said, shaking the hand of a legend.

And the CAS routine presses on:



335th TFS HQ, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1345 Hours Central War Time:


“General, if you don't mind my asking, but what brings you to Sheppard and the 335th?” Guru asked General Olds.

“Well, Captain, Bob Tanner wanted me to have a look at all his fighter bases, check in on his 'kids'-his phrase, mind, see how things are shaping up, and just have another pair of eyes. And from what I've read and heard, you people are doing a hell of a job,” General Olds replied. “I could've used you and some of your people over Pack Six twenty years ago.”

That, Guru realized, was high praise, indeed. And who was he to argue with a legend in the Air Force, and probably the best fighter leader the AF ever had. Though leaders like Hub Zemeke, Garry Garrison, and Bob Titus came very close. “If you say so, sir.”

“The other thing, Major,” Olds said, “is that you and I have something in common. A disdain for needless bureaucrats and regs that get in the way of getting the job done.”

“General, that was my predecessor's idea. Colonel Rivers laid the foundation, and I'm just building where he left off.”

“I know, Major,” Olds nodded. 'Tanner told me everything. It's too bad about Colonel Rivers, but Tanner said he did a hell of a job, and recommended that you get the squadron in case anything happened.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir. That he did.”

“Good. And I don't see any reason to disagree,” Olds said. “Regardless of what others may think. And I do know about a certain officer who is a thorn in both your side and General Tanner's.”

“Yes, sir. If it wasn't for needing warm bodies in cockpits, he'd be grounded by now, if not transferred. Or both,” Major Wiser said.

General Olds nodded understanding. “For what it's worth, Major, you're not the only CO in similar circumstances. It's come up elsewhere on a couple of occasions. Now, in case you're wondering, yes, I have had a flight physical, but check flights only. Tanner's orders. And, probably, he got his from the Chief of Staff.”

Guru let out a sigh of relief, even though he was trying not to show it. The last thing he needed was trying to explain to General Tanner, and then the Chief of Staff, how an AF legend got killed on his watch. “I understand, sir. I'm sure you'd like to get that fifth MiG, but....”

“Ivan's probably got a 'wanted' notice out on me. The GRU supposedly has a list of that sort. So....when's your next mission brief?” Olds asked.

“In thirty, sir. With all due respect, I've got some dealings with the 'other enemy' to take care of before then.” Major Wiser said, gesturing to the IN box on his desk.

Olds nodded understanding. From his time as a squadron and then Wing CO, he knew the bureaucratic hassles. “Good. Take care of that, and I'll see you then.”

“Yes, sir,” the CO said. He turned to his Exec. “Mark, we have room in VIP Billeting?”

“That we do,” Ellis replied. “The newsies are in officer or NCO quarters, so we've got room.”

Guru nodded. “All right, then. Mark, escort the General and his aide to VIP billeting, then have someone from my flight-Preacher,'ll do-escort them to the briefing room in twenty.” The CO paused, then turned to General Olds. “If the General has no objections?”

“None at all, Major,” Olds nodded.

Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?” Guru asked. “Come on in and show yourself.”

The office door opened and Goalie came in. She had a paper bag from the Chow Tent in one hand and a large Styrofoam cup in the other. She started to say something, then saw the General and came to the same attention she did when back at the Academy. “Sir!”

“Ah, introductions,” Guru said. “Sir, my GIB, First Lieutenant Lisa Eichhorn, call sign Goalie,” he nodded. “Lieutenant, Brigadier General Robin Olds.”

General Olds put out his hand. “Lieutenant. I've read the mission reports sent to Tenth Air Force. A pleasure to shake the hand of a backseat ace.”

“General,” Goalie said, shaking the General's hand.

“Just so my aide knows,” Olds said. “How many do you have together?”

“Kills, sir?” Goalie asked. “We've got five. He's got three more from his first WSO and prior to his E&E.”

“Major, while I'm here, I'd like to hear some of your stories. Not just your kills, but that E&E.”

“Sir, I saw stuff on that I'd rather not talk about, and did a few things that I'm not too really proud of,” Major Wiser said.

“I know. I've read your SERE report,” Olds said. He turned to Goalie. “Taking care of your pilot?”

“Sir, the Major told everyone in the flight to get something to eat and drink before the next mission,” Goalie said.

“That I did,” the CO nodded.

Then you'd better take your own advice, Major,” Olds said firmly.

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, you're a bit busy, then your mission brief. We'll get out of your hair. Major,” the General nodded. “See you in twenty.”

“Sir.”

Salutes were exchanged, then the Exec escorted the General and his aide out of the office and to VIP Billeting, leaving the CO and his GIB in the office. Goalie turned to Guru. “The Robin Olds?”

Guru nodded as he went to his desk. “The one and only. Not every day an AF legend drops by.” He looked at Goalie. “What's in the bag?”

“BBQ Chicken sandwich. Or, as is likely, suggestion-of-chicken.” She handed Guru the bag. “And lemonade. How long's he going to be here?”

“Few days,” Guru nodded as he checked the papers in the IN box. “An Air Force legend, and a news crew on the same base. Lovely.”

“Is he going to fly?” Goalie asked. “If anything happens.....”

“Check rides only, just like our reporters,” Guru said. He attacked the sandwich, and said in between bites. “The paperwork that would result if he did go on a combat mission and something bad happened? I don't want to think about that.”

Goalie chuckled. “Not to mention packing your woolen underwear and Cold-Weather gear.”

“It's Frank we want shoveling snow, not me,” Guru said firmly. “But if he's on a check ride and there's MiGs on a sweep, or they run across a recon element or a strike flight......”

“Different story, and he gets his fifth MiG,” Goalie said. “Or maybe more than that.”

“What do you mean? I know about his losing a MiG kill due to that shitty AIM-4 Falcon. And having his brand-new F-4Ds rewired to carry Sidewinders within twenty-four hours of that.”

“Word has it that he got more than four MiGs, but either didn't file the claim, or let his wingman take credit.”

Guru looked at his GIB. “Where'd you hear that? The Academy?”

“Yep. And he was in at least ten more dogfights after getting number four, but never had his fifth kill. Officially, that is.”

Guru nodded. “Officially?”

“Yeah. Word is that DOD told him that if he did get his fifth MiG, he'd be pulled out of combat and sent Stateside as a publicity asset. You know: Johnson Administration, 'light at the end of the tunnel', and all that.”

The CO put a palm to his head. “Oh, boy. DOD means the Edsel Mechanic. And he didn't want to leave his men in the lurch while the politicians made hay of his acedom. And that explains why it wasn't until '72 that we had aces. Steve Ritchie and Randy Cunningham.”

“That's about it,” Goalie said. “So, you going to ask him in the O-Club?”

“If we're swapping stories...” Guru said. “I might as well.” He glanced at the last paper in the IN box. “How many trees has Frank butchered with paperwork?”

“Too many,” Goalie nodded. “What now?”

“He refiled his complaint about Flossy flashing him when she came out of the shower.”

“With the history those two have......”

“Yeah....She can't slug him because that means a court-martial, but she gets even anyway she can. And I sure as hell don't blame her,” the CO nodded.

“So what about his complaint?” Goalie asked. “Sending it where it belongs?”

“Right you are,” Guru said, feeding the offending paper to the office shredder. “Anything else he sends me, other than a transfer request, goes there.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, round up the rest of the flight and get them to the briefing room. I'll get to Ops, and see if we've got a real mission instead of CAS.”

“Not likely, as you said,” Goalie reminded him.

“I know, but still....” Guru said. “Get everyone over there.”

“On my way,” Goalie said, standing up. “Wait. What's General Olds going to say about Kara?”

“That,” Guru said with a little trepidation, “is a very good question. We'll find out shortly, won't we?”

“We sure will,” Goalie said. “See you in a few.” Then she headed on out.

“And so we will,” said Guru to himself. Oh, well. He left the office, had a chat with the admin folks, and ran into Hacksaw, the SDO. “Hacksaw,”

“Major,” Hacksaw replied. “Saw the VIP come in. Is it who I think it is?”

“Just the best fighter leader the Air Force has had, Robin Olds. How he convinced the powers that be to reactivate him, I have no idea,” Guru said. “How's the cold?”

Almost on cue, Hacksaw sneezed. “Just started the pills Doc prescribed. They help, but they knock me out.”

The CO nodded sympathetically. “Do what Doc tells you, take the pills, and you'll be back flying in no time. Take it from me: 'Been there, done that.'”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“Just take care of yourself, and you'll be back in the cockpit.”

“Will do, Boss.”

Guru nodded, then went to the Ops Office. He found Kara there in her capacity as Assistant Ops Officer. “Kara, any news?”

“Made a couple of phone calls. We're still on CAS until sundown,” she spat. “Lovely.”

“Oh, well. You tried. Don's out?”

“Left ten minutes ago,” nodded Kara. “Time for a brief?”

“Just about. Goalie's rounding up the rest, and we''ll have VIP company sitting in.”

“VIP? As in 'get out of my way, scumbag reporter'?”

“Nope. As in Robin Olds. They reactivated him, but he's still a one-star,” Guru said.

Kara looked at her CO. “The Robin Olds? As in Operation BOLO, the mustache, four official MiG kills, and who knows how many unofficial ones?”

“The same,” Guru nodded. “He'll be with us for a few days. So no, uh, 'debt collections.' If someone loses to you? Take a check.”

“And if he challenges me to the pool table or poker?” Kara asked.

The CO looked at his wingmate. “If he does, go ahead. Just remember to be gracious in defeat if that happens. Smile, nod, pay the man, get drunk, and plot your revenge for the following night. And if you win?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't gloat.”

Kara nodded, then got up from her desk, telling one of the Lieutenants who was also in the office. “Keep things humming until either I or Van Loan get back.”

The two then headed to the briefing room, and found Preacher coming, with General Olds and his aide in two. “General,” Guru said, saluting. And Kara did the same.

“Major,” Olds said. “Had a nice talk with Preacher here. It was interesting to learn how a seminary student wound up a fighter crewman.”

“Yes, sir. He told us when he reported here,” replied .Guru.

“And this must be The Wild Thing,” Olds said, nodding at Kara.

'Sir, may I present my wingman, Captain Kara Thrace,” the CO said.

“Captain,” Olds said, offering his hand. “Your reputation precedes you. General Tanner's told me about you.”

“Sir,” Kara nodded politely, and trying to stay modest.

“He says you're the best stick in the squadron.”

“General, she is the best I've got,” Major Wiser said. “When it comes to flying, she's the best in the squadron. The only reason she's not an Element Lead? We haven't lost anyone in those slots.”

“Sooner or later, that time will come,” Olds reminded them. “You hate to fill a dead man's shoes, but that's war.”

Both CO and wingman nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And General Tanner told me how he managed to outhustle you at the pool table, Captain.”

“Well, sir,” Kara replied. “I smiled, nodded, paid the fifty bucks, shook his hand, then went and got sloppy drunk before twelve-hour kicked in.”

“Both times. Uh, sir,” Guru said.

“And he's told me about some of her other.....craziness.”

“Sir, I can assure you that some of those yarns are wildly exaggerated,” said Guru.

“But some have a degree of truth?” Olds asked.

“Some of them have....varying degrees of truth, sir.”

“Well, the story Tanner said was about a rented beach house on Oahu, a dozen other officers of both genders, and a wild beach party weekend,” laughed the General.

“Sir...” Kara started to explain.

“As long as the property was returned to its owners somewhat intact, and there were no felony arrests, who are we to judge?”

Guru nodded. “Precisely my sentiments, sir.”

“Good, Major. Time to brief?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said, putting his 'game face' on. “At your convenience.”

“Let's get it done, Major.” Olds said, putting on the same face.

Nodding, Guru opened the door for the General. As the General went into the room, Guru turned to Kara. “What happened at that wild weekend?”

“Do you want to know?” Kara's expression went coy. And Guru knew that same expression, when Goalie was in the mood.

“How about when the war's over?”

“Fair enough.”


As they went in, Goalie saw the General, and shouted, “Ten-shun!”

“As you were,” Olds said. “I know, you don't get Generals dropping in, but as General Tanner said, 'the shooting has started, so we can dispense with the jumping up-and-down nonsense.”

“Sorry, sir, but old habit.”

“Good to have in the rear, but not here, and not now.”

“Okay, people,” Guru said. “You've seen his photo on my office wall, but he's here and now in the flesh. Brigadier General Robin Olds. You know, Operation BOLO, killing MiGs, the mustache, and the whole nine yards.” Guru then introduced everyone to the General.

“So what's up?” Sweaty asked.

“If you were hoping for a regular mission instead of what we've been doing all day? Forget it,” Guru said. “We're on CAS until sunset.”

“Hogs still busy?” Hoser wanted to know.

“That's my guess,” the CO said. “And those East Germans haven't given up yet.”

“Major, if they're like their grandfathers forty-plus years ago, they won't. Not easily,” General Olds pointed out.

“Sir, we know from experience. They're tough bastards-both in the air and on the ground,” Major Wiser said. “Questions?”

“Threat level?” KT asked.

“Good question,” replied the CO. “Ground threats are still the same: regimental level on up to Army-level assets. Two MiG fields have been hit, but they may be back up. Hoser?” Guru pointed to his number four. “I know, you and KT are one kill away from acedom, but no trolling for MiGs. If we come across a strike flight or a recon bird, or choppers? Different story. Same thing if we get jumped. Other than that, we lure anyone coming our way to the I-20, and a wall of Eagles.”

“Bailout areas?” Brainiac wanted to know.

“Anyplace rural and away from roads, and that's easy in this part of Texas,” Guru replied. “Anyplace north of I-20 is still your best bet, though. Tanker tracks are unchanged, and before you ask,weather's starting to cloud up. That storm's coming in on schedule, and will be here tonight, and linger until tomorrow afternoon sometime.”

“You just answered my question,” Goalie said.

“Good to know,” Guru said. “Okay, we've got daylight for this one and one more,” he told the flight. “No complacency, and treat this one and the next one as if they're the first. Got it?”

“Got it, Major,” Kara nodded.

“Anything else?” There wasn't any. “Okay, gear up, and see you at 512.”

As people got up and headed to their locker rooms to gear up, General Olds came to Guru. “Major, good brief. Glad to see you reminded your people about complacency.”

“Yes, sir. General Tanner was insistent on that when he was here,” Major Wiser replied.

“Good to hear. Now, Major?” Olds said. “Good luck, and bring everyone back.”

“Thank you, sir, and will try,” the CO nodded. Then he went to the locker room to gear up. When he came out, Goalie was there, waiting and ready. “Ready?”

“Let's get it done,” Goalie said.

The two left the squadron's building and went over to the dispersal, where they found the rest of the flight waiting at 512's revetment. Before he could give his final instructions, Maj. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer”, his wingmate, Flossy, and their GIBs came by. “Dave, Flossy,”

“Guru,” Golen nodded. “Word has it we have company for a few days.”

“You heard right,” Guru said. “Robin Olds is here. He'll be around for a few days. We'll talk about that later. You guys going out?”

“Right behind you. We're Cobra Flight.”

“Corvette for us,” Guru said. “If you hit trouble, holler. And Flossy? No trolling for MiGs. I know, you've got four, but you might run into somebody out for his fifth. The same goes for Hoser,” the CO nodded in Hoser's direction.

“Got you, Major,” Flossy replied.

“Okay, good luck, and have a good one,” Guru said, shaking hands with Golen.

“You too,” Golen nodded. Then he and his element headed to their own aircraft.

“All right, people,” Guru said to his flight. “Gather around.”

“Usual drill on the radio?” Sweaty asked.

“You got it. Mission code to AWACS and other parties. Call signs between us.”

“Still the East Germans?” KT wanted to know.

“As far as Intel knows? Yes,” replied the CO. “Anything else?”

“One more after this one?” Preacher asked.

“Hopefully,” Guru said. “Any more questions?” There weren't any. “Okay, let's go. Time to hit it.”

The flight crews headed to their own aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting. “Major,” he said, snapping a salute.

“Sergeant,” Guru replied as he and Goalie returned the salute. He noticed the ordnance loadout. “Rockeyes again.”

“Sir, they just load what they bring over,” Crowley said.

“I know,” Guru replied. He and Goalie did the walk-around, then Guru signed for the aircraft. He and Goalie then mounted the bird, and got strapped in. After the ground crew pulled the crew ladder away, both pilot and GIB did their preflight.

“Ever think you'd ever meet General Olds?” Goalie asked as she went through the checklist.

“No, never,” Guru admitted. “How about you?”

“Saw him at an Academy lecture,” replied Goalie. “From the back of the lecture hall. Never got a chance to meet him up close and personal.”

“Well, he'll be here for a few days, so you'll find out if those stories are true. Ready for engine start?” Guru asked as he got to the end of the checklist.

“That we will,” Goalie agreed. “Ready for start.”

Guru gave the thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who gave the “Start Engines” signal in reply. First one, then both, J-79 engines were soon up and running, and after the warm-up, Guru contacted the Tower. “Tower, Corvette Flight with four, ready for taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Flight, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the runway,” the tower controller replied.

“Roger, Tower. Corvette Flight rolling.” Guru called back. He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who waved to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the landing gear. Then he gave the taxi signal, and Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment. As Guru cleared the revetment, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. Then Guru taxied to the runway, with the other three F-4s in the flight following, and held prior to the runway so the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. And this time, they were first in line. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower,” the reply came. “Clear for taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-eight for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said. He taxied 512 onto the runway, with Kara in 520 following. She taxied 520 right into position on his right wing. Then both crews exchanged thumbs-ups, then 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?” Guru asked Goalie.

“When you are,” Goalie replied.

“Let's go,” Guru said. He pulled his canopy down and locked it, and Goalie did the same. He glanced to his right, and saw Kara and Braniac do the same in 520. “And now,” said Guru. He ran the engines to full power, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara on his wing in 520. Then it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, and after their takeoff, Corvette Flight joined up and set course south.

A mix this time: more CAS, but the 335th gets two new ace teams, and an "unmanned" F-4 gets a kill:



Over North Central Texas: 1430 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was orbiting at 12,000 feet, after their pre-strike refueling, and checking in with the ABCCC. As usual, it was “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn,” from the controller on the EC-130.

When 512's crew heard that, Goalie asked, “Ever hope you'd get here and just be first in line?”

“Always,” Guru replied. “Seems like we get here at the wrong time.”

“Or everyone else has the same idea. Get here before the rest.” Guru looked over the flight, and everyone was in formation. Then he glanced to the West, and saw the clouds coming. That storm would be there tonight, and the wind and rain it would bring would bring air ops on both sides largely to a halt-the A-6s, F-111s, and Su-24s being the exception.

Eventually, they dropped down to 6,000 feet, as strike flights ahead of them went in on their runs. Then Kara called, “Our time yet, Lead?”

“Won't be long now, Two,” Guru replied. “Patience.”

Then Tampa, the ABCCC, called. “Corvette Lead, Tampa. Contact Nail-Six-eight for tasking.”

“Roger, Tampa,” Guru said. “Nail Six-eight, Corvette Lead.”

“Corvette, Nail, Say aircraft and type of ordnance,” the FAC called.

“Nail, Corvette Lead. Got four Foxtrot-Four Echoes with Mark-two-zero Rockeyes and full air-to-air, each airplane Can give you one run only.”

“Copy that, Corvette. Need you along F.M. 4, southeast of the town. Got some traffic on the road that the ground-pounders want gone,” Nail said.

Guru began to turn, and the rest of the flight followed. “Copy. Say sierra-alpha threat?”

“Corvette, Ground threat is mixed. Weasels are working the area, and the Army's helped some,” Nail replied.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Can you mark the target area?”

“Negative, Corvette,” Nail replied. “You should have the road in sight by now,” the FAC said. “I have a visual on your aircraft now,”

Guru looked below, and saw the road, and orbiting nearby, an A-7K. “Copy, Nail. I have visual on you.” He glanced at the road and saw nothing, then called Goalie on the IC. “Anything down below?”

“Wait one,” she replied. Then she scanned the area with a pair of mini-binoculars. “Nothing yet....wait. Got some traffic on the road. Moving towards the town.”

“Nail, Corvette. Got some vehicles on the road. Can't tell exactly.”

“Corvette, Nail,” the FAC replied. “That's what we're looking for. Make them go away, son.”

“Roger that,” Guru called back. “Set it up,” he told Goalie

His GIB worked the armament switches, then replied, “All set. You're good to go.”

“Flight, Lead. Got some traffic on the road headed to the front line. I'll take the lead element, Two, you take the rear. Sweaty? You and Four hit who's in between. Time to go to work, people! Switches on, Music on, watch for anyone shooting, and let's go in.”

“Roger that, Lead.” Kara called.

“Three copies,” replied Sweaty.

“Four, roger.” Hoser said.

“Copy all,” Guru said. He rolled in on his attack run. “Let's go.”


Below, on F.M. 4, the East German 37th Independent Motor Rifle Regiment was moving forward. They were newly-arrived in Texas, and the Regiment was made up of reservists who had previously served in the Frontier Troops. Since personnel were being retained in their current duty posts until the “war emergency” was over, the Reservists were assigned to either the five mobilization-only divisions or other reserve units, and the regiment, raised from reservists who were from the city of Rostock, had been formed up shortly after the outbreak of war. After being raised, and six months of pre-deployment training, the regiment had been sent by ship to Cuba, and then, after the twin disasters of Wichita and Pueblo, to Texas. Their equipment was dated, with a single battalion in BTR-60P APCs, and the rest in older BTR-50s. The tank battalion had a company with PT-76s, while the rest of the tanks were T-55As that had not been upgraded, and the regimental artillery was equipped with the D-44 85-mm gun. As for air defense, the regiment's air defense battery was equipped with BTR-152s mounting ZU-23-2 AA guns, and no SAMs, other than Strela-2 (SA-7) shoulder-fired missiles.

The regimental commander, a former instructor at the Frontier Troops school in Suhl, cursed his unit's deficiencies, but was eager to prove his regiment in action. Though the orders he had received from the Kampfgruppe command had been vague: “Move to reinforce 20th Motor-Rifle Division and place your unit under their command.” That had not been what the Colonel was expecting, and when he arrived at the division's field HQ, he found the place a shambles of burning and wrecked vehicles and dead or maimed men, with medics trying to save who they could. A junior officer told the the Colonel that an Ami air strike had just come in, then he managed to contact the division's deputy commander, who then ordered the regiment to cover the northeastern flank. The 11th Airborne Division had recovered from the advance the previous night, and had received some reinforcements. Who those reinforcements were was unknown, but the Ami paratroopers were pushing down from that direction, while a brigade-sized force from the First Cavalry Division was coming in from the north and northwest. The Colonel was also warned that bypassed groups of Ami paratroopers had been ambushing supply columns moving north, and that air strikes were a certainty.

In his PZSH-IV command vehicle, the Colonel checked his map. He was to take some local road, then find F.M. 1189, then dig in. He was confident that his regiment, though not as heavily equipped as a first-line Motor-rifle Regiment, would give a good account of itself in the battle to come. He poked his head outside the hatch, and scanned the area. Every unit was moving in perfect road march order. Then he saw soldiers pointing to the southeast. Smoke trails in the air, and then his heart froze as he recognized the F-4 Phantom.. Air strike coming in. The Colonel grabbed his mike. “AIR ATTACK! DISPERSE!”

“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in. As he dove, he could see a large unit along the road, moving along as if they were fat, dumb, and happy. You guys must think you own the sky. Well, you'll find out the hard way you don't, Guru thought. He lined up the lead element in his pipper, and noticed vehicles trying to get off the road, and some tracers coming up after him. “Steady.....Steady.....and HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button and a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off the racks. He pulled up and away, calling as he did, “Lead off target.”

“NEIN!” Yelled the Colonel as Guru's F-4 pulled off its run, and the CBUs rained down on First Battalion. Those BTR-60Ps were open-topped, and several vehicles fireballed as bomblets landed in or on top of them and exploded. Each fireball meant a vehicle and a dozen troops had died, and he knew it. He looked around, and saw his air defense battery's BTRs pulling off the road into a field and starting to fire at a second F-4 that was coming in.

Goalie turned in the back seat as 512 pulled away, and she saw the CBUs going off, followed by several fireballs as vehicles exploded. “SHACK!”

“We got secondaries?”

“That we did,” she replied. “And nobody's shooting.”

“Not for long,” Guru noted as he headed north.


“Two in hot!” Kara said as she went in. She saw the tracers from the 23-mm, as well as from tank machine guns and probably APCs as well start to come up. Kara picked out a battalion bringing up the rear, and went down on that unit, still strung out along the road. “No way.....not today,” she muttered as tracers came up. “HACK!” Twelve more Rockeyes fell on the East Germans, then Kara pulled up. She went level, and overflew what looked like a whole regiment strung out on the road. Once she got clear, she called, “Two off safe.”


The East German Colonel ducked as Kara's F-4 flew over the Regiment, and he wondered where the air defense fire was as the Ami Phantom flew past. Two soldiers got up from a roadside ditch and fired Strela-2 missiles, but they missed. He ordered his driver to get off the road, and as he looked to the south, he saw several smoke clouds as vehicles burned, then he saw it. A third Phantom coming in.....

“Sierra Hotel!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Kara asked, glancing back as an SA-7 flew past the left wing.

“Some.”

Kara nodded as she followed the CO north. “Some's better than none.”


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she rolled in.. As she did, Sweaty noticed a number of trucks pulling guns behind them. Regimental artillery? Good. You guys blow up nice, she thought. Ignoring the 23-mm and machine-gun tracers coming up, she centered a battery in her pipper....”Steady....and....HACK!” She yelled, hitting the pickle button and sending a dozen more CBUs down on the East Germans. As she pulled away, both Sweaty and Preacher saw tracers over and around their bird, but she was able to get off and away. “Three's off target.”

“Schiesse!” The Colonel yelled as Sweaty's F-4 flew over the artillery battalion and released its bombs. CBU bomblets rained down on his artillerymen, and not only did fireballs signal the end of trucks pulling guns, but several explosions meant that ammunition carriers had taken hits. Of all the.....The Colonel was giving orders into his radio, not noticing the Political Officer tugging at his sleeve. “WHAT?”

The man pointed south. Another F-4 coming in. “That, Comrade Colonel.”


“GOOD HITS!” Preacher yelled.

Sweaty glanced back and saw several large smoke clouds. “Righteous?” Then she turned to follow Kara and the CO north.

“Righteous fire!”


It was then Hoser's turn. “Four's in hot!” He called as he rolled in. As he did, he noticed a large group of vehicles between where the CO had gone in, and where Sweaty had placed her CBUs. “You're selected,” he muttered. Ignoring the light flak coming up, Hoser went down the chute, and lined up several APCs in his pipper. “Steady.....Steady......HACK!” Twelve more CBUs came down on the East Germans.


The Colonel winced as Hoser's F-4 came over, and hit the lead company of Second Battalion. Several BTR-50s took CBU hits and fireballed, while several others were damaged, with the troops and the crewmen bailing out. The Colonel muttered some choice curses, then turned to his Political Officer. “This can't be happening.”

“With all due respect, Comrade, it has,” the Political Officer replied calmly.

“It has,” the Colonel nodded. “Go to the artillery battalion, and rally the survivors. I'll go to First Battalion.”

“Comrade Colonel,” the Party man nodded.


“SHACK!” KT called as Hoser pulled away.

“What'd we get?” Hoser asked, seeing some golf-ball sized tracers fly past. 23-mm, he knew.

“Not sure, but there's secondaries.”


As Corvette Flight pulled away, and the East Germans tried to put themselves together, the whole thing had been watched from a distance. The 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment had been in III Corps reserve, until the East German attack that morning. Now, the regiment had moved into position to launch a flanking attack, while the 11th Airborne had a battalion ready to follow up behind the Cav Troopers and handle any mopping up that needed to be done. At 2nd Squadron, the Squadron Commander looked through her binoculars. Those Air Force jet-jockeys had done a good job, she said to herself. Then she took a look around. The last thing she'd expected was to be a squadron commander, but because of casualties, she had gotten the job, which explained why a Captain was running what should've been a Lieutenant Colonel's unit. And the regimental commander had promised her that, if she got through today's engagement, she'd get some rank to go with the job. Then her radio crackled. Regiment ordered the advance. Though her proper place was in the TAC CP vehicle, she left it in the hands of her new deputy, then mounted her M-1 tank. Plugging in her CVC Helmet, Capt. Monica Vansen gave the order, then waved to a Hummer with a set of loudspeakers. A Psy-war crew normally broadcast surrender messages or other messages, but now, they played a tape of a bugle call. And the sound to charge echoed as 2nd Squadron moved forward.

The East German Colonel was with First Battalion, rallying the survivors. He ordered his regiment's reconnaissance company, which was unscathed, to move forward to a nearby crossroads and check to make sure the way ahead was clear, then they were to hold and await further orders. Then he noticed dust clouds to his unit's right. The Colonel scanned with his Zeiss binoculars, and what he saw caused his heart to freeze. M-1 tanks and M-2 Bradleys closing. Then two more F-4s came in, hitting his regiment with Napalm. One of the canisters engulfed his command vehicle just as the American tanks opened fire. The Colonel, and his vehicle crew, screamed as Napalm engulfed the APC. As he screamed, there was a loud explosion, then nothing......

“Target!” Captain Vansen's gunner said as a 105-mm shell tore the burning APC apart.

“Steady,” Vanesen replied. “Find me another target.”

Her gunner grinned, then laid onto a BTR-60......


As Guru pulled away, he called, “Two, where are you?”

“Right behind you,” Kara replied.

Guru glanced to the right, then left, then back to the right, and as he did, he saw 520 coming into combat spread.
“Got you,” he said. “Sweaty?”

“In your six, and Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called back.

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Nail, how'd we do?”

“Good hits on target, Corvette. And the Army says 'Thank you'. They're moving in on those chumps.”

“Roger that, and tell them 'You're welcome.'” Guru replied.

“Will do, Corvette, and you guys are cleared to RTB,” the FAC said. “Nice doing business with you.”

“Copy that, Nail,” said Guru. “Flight, Lead. On me, and time to get out of Dodge.”

Corvette Flight reformed just short of the I-20 and headed north, but just before they cleared the Interstate, a call came from the AWACS. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing Three-four-seven for twenty-five, low, closing.”

Heads perked up in cockpits. “Did she say Three-four-seven?” Goalie asked Guru.

“She did,” Guru said. “Roger that, Crystal Palace. Flight, Lead. On me.” And Guru turned 512 to meet the threat, and the rest of the flight matched him.

“Lead, Two. Can't pick them up,” Kara called. “These guys are in the clutter.”

“Roger that, Two,” Guru replied. “See if you can pick them up,” he told Goalie as he pulled 512 up to 5,000 feet.

“Can't pick them out,” Goalie replied.

“Lead, Three,” Sweaty called. “Two hits at twelve.”

“Got 'em!” Goalie added.

Guru checked his scope. Sure enough, there they were: two targets on the scope at twelve miles. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Judy.”

“Roger, Corvette,” the AWACS controller said. “Clear to arm, clear to fire.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He went to the auto-acquisition on his throttle, and armed his two AIM-7E Sparrows. “Go boresight,” he told Goalie.

“You got it,” she replied. She was still working the radar controls, trying to get a full system lock.

“Lead, Three, I've got lock!” Sweaty called.

“Three, Lead. Take the shot. If anybody else locks up, take the bandit..”

“Roger that!” Sweaty replied. “FOX ONE!” She ripple-fired two AIM-7s at one of the bogeys.

“Two's got lock!” Kara added. “FOX ONE!” And two AIM-7s came off of 520.

Both flights closed, and then Corvette Flight was able to ID their opponents. “Bandits are Floggers.” Hoser called. That meant MiG-23s.

“Damn it!” Sweaty yelled. Her first Sparrow had burned out all of a sudden and fell away, while her second had simply exploded halfway to the target.

Then it was Kara's turn to curse. “Mother-humping.....” One of her Sparrows had simply failed to guide, while the second had flown past the MiG and exploded well behind the bandit.

“Looks like we'll merge,” Guru called. “Going heat.” He switched to Sidewinders as both flights closed at well over a thousand miles an hour. Then came the merge, and Guru saw a camouflaged MiG-23BN pass by him. And he recognized the tail insignia. Cuban. “What's he doing here?”

“Who?” Goalie asked.

“The MiGs. They're Cuban,” Guru said as he turned to get behind the MiGs. As he did, he heard a familiar call.

“Corvette Lead, Cobra. Break!” It was Dave Golen.

Instinctively, Guru broke right and high, while Kara broke left and low, and as they did, both saw Sweaty breaking low, while Hoser went high, then they saw them. MiG-21s coming down, and two F-4s coming in behind the MiGs. “Thanks, Dave.”

“My pleasure,” Golen called as he centered his pipper on the lead MiG-21. He noticed the insignia on the wings. East German. Not today, he thought as the Sidewinder growled loud in his headset. Missile lock. “FOX TWO!” He pulled the trigger and sent an AIM-9P after the East German fighter.

But the East German flight leader was good. He heard a shouted warning from his wingman, and broke hard left. He went into a 6-G turn, and defeated the Sidewinder. Now where was that Ami F-4?

In her F-4, Flossy was closing in the East German wingman. He, too, was in a tight left turn, following his leader, then suddenly, he reversed his turn and slowed down. The Sidewinder's seeker growled in her headset, then went loud. “Got lock,” she muttered, then Flossy pulled the trigger. “FOX TWO!” An AIM-9P went off the rail and went after the MiG-21, and the Sidewinder flew up the MiG's tailpipe and exploded. The MiG fireballed, and both she and Digger saw the MiG pilot bail out. To their horror, they watched the seat separate from the burning aircraft, but the pilot didn't get seat separation from the seat, and he fell to his death. Shaking her head, she called. “Cobra Two's got a splash!”

“Hear that?” Goalie asked. “Flossy's an ace!”

“Celebrate later,” Guru said. He was trying to line up one of the Cuban MiG-23s. “Still got a fight here.” He got good tone and fired a Sidewinder, only to see that MiG break hard right and defeat the missile. “These chumps are good.”

“Go Sparrow,” Goalie suggested.

“Two, Lead. You with us?”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara said, bringing 520 in to support her Lead. “Six is clear.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He told Goalie to go Boresight again, which meant lock the radar to the gunsight.

“You're set,” she replied.

He centered the pipper on the MiG-23's wing root, and got a lock. “FOX ONE!” Guru sent two AIM-7s after the MiG. Or thought he did. The first one simply fell away, a dud, while the second appeared to track, then did a barrel roll off to the left. “DAMN IT!”

“We going to have to gun this guy?” Goalie wondered out loud.

“Maybe,” Guru replied. He went back to HEAT and called up another Sidewinder as the MiG broke hard right again, then leveled out and lit his afterburner. Then he heard another familiar voice.

“Corvette Lead, Mustang Lead. Mind if we come to the party?” It was Mark Ellis on the radio.

“Mustang, we're having all this fun here, you might as well come along,” Guru replied.

“Roger that!” Elis said. “FOX ONE!” He fired two AIM-7s, and this time, both missiles tracked to a MiG-the same MiG that Guru had been trying to kill. Both Sparrows tracked down the Flogger-H and it blew apart. “SPLASH!”

“Good kill, Mustang Lead,” said Guru. “Where's the other one?”

Hoser answered that question. “Hoser's on a Flogger,” he called. He had pitched up into a High Yo-yo, rolled inverted, then came down behind the second MiG-23. Rolling back level, he lined up the Cuban in his gunsight and got good tone on his Sidewinder. “FOX TWO!” He fired two Sidewinders. The first missed as the MiG tried to break, but that slowed him down, and that solved the problem for the second missile, as the AIM-9P flew up the MiG-23's tail and exploded. “SPLASH!”

“Good kill, Hoser!” Sweaty called. She had lost sight of the MiGs at first, and when Hoser called the second MiG, she had dropped in behind to cover him.

“Two aces,” Goalie reminded her pilot.

“That we do,” Guru replied. “Where's the other MiG-21?”

“Mustang Two-four's on a Fishbed!” A female voice called. It was Cosmo and Revlon on their first mission. “FOX TWO!” Cosmo called,firing a Sidewinder.


In his MiG-21bis, the East German leader had heard his wingman's death cry, and saw not just his death, but the two Cuban MiG-23BKs that they had tried to help. Though the Political Officer at the base might accuse him of cowardice, this was a fight he couldn't win, as there were at least six F-4s around, and maybe more. He got out of his turn, did a barrel roll to try and clear his tail, and saw an F-4 closing in as he got out of the roll. The Ami fired a missile, which tracked to his tail and exploded. Every warning light seemed to come on at once, as he lost control of the aircraft. Cursing his bad luck, he fired his KM-1 ejection seat, and he was soon hanging in his parachute. Then he saw the Ami F-4 come around again, and for a moment, the thought that he would be gunned in his chute came to mind. But the F-4 simply flew past him, and he saw the two Ami pilots looking at him. Then the F-4 turned and headed north. Now, as he descended to the ground, he hoped the U.S. Army would find him before those animals who called themselves the American Resistance. Stories of how those bandits treated captured soldiers and pilots had been told not just by the Political Officer, but by intelligence officers as well. And none of them good.


“SPLASH!” Cosmo called. “SPLASH ONE FISHBED!”

“Good kill, Cosmo!” Flossy called. Her old roommate back at Kingsley Field had a kill. That meant she'd be buying for her friend, even if folks would be buying for her. Not every day you made ace, and now she forgave Cosmo for her call sign suggestion.


In 512, Guru was grinning beneath his oxygen mask. “Well, I'll be damned.”

“Two aces, with Cosmo and Revlon having their fisrst kill,” Goalie said. “The Club's going to rock.”

“One thing at a time,” Guru said. “Still got time for one more,” he reminded her.

“Kinda forgot about that.”

“Easy to do,” Guru noted. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. We are clear of bandits. Clear for tankers and RTB?”

The AWACS controller replied at once. “Corvette, Crystal Palace. You're clear.”

“Roger that and thank you,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's egress.”

Corvette Flight reformed, then headed for the tanker track. First it was their turn to refuel, then Cobra, then Mustang, then all three flights made the trip to RTB. When they got to Sheppard, the pattern was busy. It took a few minutes, but then the Tower cleared all three flights to come in. After landing, the crews popped their canopies as they taxied to the squadron's dispersal area. And the MiG-killer crews held up fingers to signal kills to those lining the taxiway.

As Guru taxied 512 to its revetment, he noticed the news crew filming, and they not only had Kodak Griffith with them, but General Olds and his aide. “Well, I wonder how that went?”

“General Olds and the newsies?” Goalie asked. “I'd like to know that myself. And that reporter's going to be after Flossy and Digger like a mountain lion onto a goat.”

“Ace crew,” Guru acknowledged. “And she'll have more reason to chase Cosmo and Revlon.”

“First mission, first kill,” Goalie replied. “That didn't happen with us.”

“No, and it didn't for me and Tony Carpenter on Day One,” Guru said. He taxied 512 to its revetment, and after shutting down and going over the post-flight checklist, stood up in the cockpit to stretch. “One more.”

“We've had five today,” Goalie reminded him. “Won't beat PRAIRIE FIRE.”

“This time.”

The ground crew came with the crew ladder, then both pilot and GIB climbed down. After they did the post-flight walk-around, the Crew Chief came over. “How'd it go, Major?” Sergeant Crowley asked.

“Tore some East Germans new holes, Hoser and KT are aces, so are Flossy and Digger, and the all-female crew got one.”

“Shit hot, Major!” Crowley said. “How's my bird?” Crew chiefs always felt they “owned” the aircraft, and that the crew only “borrowed” it.

“No problems with 512,” the CO said. “We've got time for one more run, so get her ready.”

The Crew Chief let out a grin. “You got it, Major! You heard the man, let's get her ready for one more.”

As the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie headed out of the revetment, and they found Kara and Brainiac. “Boss, we both should've had a kill there,” Kara grumbled.

“You and I can't get them all, we both know that,” the CO pointed out. “Not our turn today.”

“Guess so,” Kara said, still grumpy. “Damn Sparrows.”

Guru nodded sympathetically. “I'll see if we can't get some AIM-7Fs.By hook or crook. Come on, we've got two ace crews today.”

Kara grinned. “Let's go.”

They went to Sweaty's revetment, and found Sweaty and Preacher talking with her crew chief. “Got the buckets of water ready,” Sweaty nodded.

“Let's go,” Guru said. He and the others picked up a bucket of cold water, and went over to Hoser's revetment, where he and KT were talking with his crew chief. The CO nodded, then the Crew Chief backed away. “Hoser and KT?”

“Yeah, Boss?” Hoser asked, then both he and KT turned and saw their flight mates coming at them. “Oh, shit.”

Both pilot and GIB were drenched by their flight mates, and Kara yelled, “You guys only make ace once!”

“There is that,” KT muttered. She was drenched from head to toe.

“How's it feel, Hoser?” Guru asked.

“Feels good, Boss, but couldn't you guys have gotten some warm water?” Hoser replied. “God, that's cold!”

“Supposed to be,” Goalie said.

“Get those buckets refilled,” Guru told the crew chief. “We need to pay Flossy and Digger a visit.”

“Yes, sir!” The CC replied.

After the buckets were refilled, Corvette Flight's crews went to Flossy and Digger's revetment. They found the new ace crew talking with Dave Golen and his GIB, going over the dogfight with hand motions, and the latter tapped on Golen's shoulder. Golen nodded, then both he and his GIB stepped back. “Flossy, you and Digger have other business.”

“What other business?”Flossy asked. Then she saw the CO and his flight coming at her with water buckets. “Oh, shit.”

“Flossy, Digger? Congratulations!” The CO said as the water flew, drenching the other ace team of the day. “Remember, you only make ace once!”

Flossy grinned. “I know, Major, but God, that's cold!”

“Supposed to be,” Major Wiser said. “Now we've got four reasons to celebrate tonight. First, Hoser and KT are aces. Second, you and Digger are aces. Third, Cosmo and Revlon got their first kill, and last is that weather stand-down.”

“Always a good reason, Major,” a gruff voice said. Guru turned, and it was General Olds, with Colonel Brady and the news crew. “How'd it go?”

“General,” Guru said, sketching a salute, and the others did the same. “Tore up some East Germans, then we had a nice little furball on the way out.”

“I heard,” General Olds replied. “Your Ops Officer told me. So you've got two ace crews?”

“Yes, sir,” Major Wiser said, introducing the two ace teams to the General. “And our IDF 'Observer' Major Dave Golen. He's done more than 'observe,' General. He's saved the asses of me and my GIB at least twice.”

“Major,” Olds said, shaking Golen's hand. “I imagine the CO here is glad you're still around.”

“He's said that more than once, General,” Golen nodded.

Then a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup pulled up, and Mark Ellis and his flight piled out. “General,” he nodded. “Boss, glad we came to the party?”

Guru nodded back. “Yeah. I was thinking if the Sidewinders weren't going to work, maybe I'd have to gun him.”

“Well, he tried to get clear, and, well.....it didn't work,” Ellis said. “Sparrow worked for me just fine.”

“Still giving trouble, Major?” Olds asked Guru. “AIM-7F and -M seem to work fine, I hear.”

“I've heard the same thing,” Colonel Brady said, speaking for the first time. “My F/A-18s use F, and it's working, well, most of the time.”

“General, we're still using AIM-7Es, and won't get Fs until we run out. Colonel Rivers talked with General Tanner about it, and his hands were tied,” Guru said.

“I'll talk to General Tanner when I get back to Nellis, and see if we can't change that. You guys need better Sparrows, and we'll get them for you. By hook or crook.”

Major Wiser let out a sigh of relief. “Sir, I'm glad to hear that, because I was about to turn my scroungers loose with the same orders.”

“I understand, Major,” Olds replied. “Hold off on that until you hear from General Tanner.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded. Then he gestured to Cosmo and Revlon. “General? My, well, uh, 'unmanned' F-4 crew. He introduced them to the General, adding, “First mission, first kill.”

“Well done,” Olds told the pair, shaking their hands. “Not many can say that.”

“Though someone here can,” Goalie turned to Kara.

Kara nodded. “Right place, right time. That's all I can say.”

The General looked both of them over. Both could easily be his daughter. “First mission together, and you get a kill, Not bad.”

Cosmo nodded. “Thank you, sir,” and Revlon echoed that.

“Well, what can I say, Major?” Olds turned to Guru. “The Air Force has changed, and people like me have to accept it.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. Then he turned and saw Sin, his Intel Officer, looking at him. “General, my intel wants to talk with us. We need to debrief, and have time for one more run.”

“Then I'll get out of your hair, Major,” Olds said. “I'll see you when you get back.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Major Wiser. “All right, people! Let's get debriefed, get something to eat and drink, and get ready to go again. We've got time for one more mission. Get back into game mode.”

Ellis, the XO, nodded, then clapped his hands. “You heard him, people! Let's get back in the war.”


As the crowd broke up, Goalie came over to Guru. “Have we had two ace teams in the same day?”

“Don't think so,” Guru admitted. “But the club's going to rock, no matter what.”

“It will,” Kara grinned as she passed by. “Two ace teams, an all-female crew with a kill, and a stand-down tomorrow? Four good reasons to get a little crazy.”

“Remember what I told you,” the CO reminded her.

“Not a problem, Boss,” replied Kara. “So, one more CAS run?”

“That's a given,” Guru said. “Let's get debriefed, then get ready to get back in the game.”

In between missions, and getting ready for the last one of the day:



335th TFS HQ, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1525 Hours Central War Time:


After debriefing the mission, and Sin Licon confirming the kills, Major Wiser went into his office. He checked his IN basket, and found a couple of things that required his attention. After taking care of the paperwork, there was a knock on his door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The door opened, and it was Doc Waters, the flight surgeon for the 335th, “Major,” he said. Hearing that, Guru gave him his full attention. People called him by his rank only if it was something important. “Need to remind you of something.”

“What is it, Doc?” The CO asked. “I'm not due for a flight physical yet.”

“Not that, the flight surgeon said, laughing. “You guys haven't been working out as often as you should. People need to find some time, even if it's only an hour or so, in the fitness center.”

“Doc, you know as well as I do that we try. But when it's a max effort like today....” Guru reminded his flight surgeon.

Doc nodded. “I know, Boss. Just, with the stand-down tomorrow, I'd like to see that tent filled. Remember that I outrank all of you when it comes to medical matters, even if I'm only a Captain.”

“Don't remind me,” Guru said. “Hacksaw's pissed off he's grounded with a cold. So's Kerry, for that matter. And last March? You had me and Goalie grounded with colds.”

“You remember,” Doc said. “Just remind people, okay?”

“Will do, Doc,” the CO nodded. “Now, can I ask you a question? You're one of Frank's few friends. What's he been saying?”

“The usual,” Doc replied. “Just still can't wrap his head around the fact that you have the squadron, and Mark is your Exec. Not to mention that anything he sends JAG, OSI, or the IG's office gets labeled as frivolous and they don't take any further action.”

“Well, Doc, their shredders get a workout, like mine. Anything else?”

“He said he'd try writing his dad again. See if he can do anything.”

“Boo hoo,” Major Wiser said. “Lot of good that'll do. Unless he's got Teddy Kennedy or John Kerry in his pocket, and there's no way they'll hold up Air Force Officer promotions in the Senate just because Richard Carson's son didn't get his own fighter squadron. Because if they tried? It'll be on the front page of The Boston Globe so fast they won't know what hit them. And Ted's in trouble, according to CNN. He's been against weapons systems that are saving this country, and the voters aren't happy with that nowadays. Same with Kerry, too.”

“I watch CNN, too, Boss. Just letting you know,” Doc reminded him.

“Gotcha. Just do me a favor and keep watching him. The slightest reason you can find to ground him and send him somewhere for some tests takes a big load off my mind and him out of my hair.”

Doc nodded. “I know, but he's the poster child for perfect health. He aced his flight physical, as you know.”

The CO sighed. “One can dream...Still, if you do find something.....”

“I'll let you know,” replied Doc.

Guru nodded. “Thanks, Doc.”

As Doc opened the door to leave the office, Goalie was there. “Doc,” she nodded. After the surgeon left, she came in. “Got some news. Birds are just about ready.”

Guru checked his watch. “How time flies. Listen, something just popped into my mind. We should be doing better with Sparrow shots and today.....our flight fired eight Sparrows and not a one found a target. Mark fired two, got both to guide, and got a kill.”

“We're doing everything right in the cockpit,” Goalie pointed out. “Wait a minute. You think we've got some bad missiles?”

“Maybe. We're using up the last of the AIM-7Es. The 'teenage' fighters have F or better. When we get back, remind me to talk to Kerry Collins. I know, he's night SDO, but he's normally Frank's assistant as Ordnance Officer. We need to find out when those Sparrows we've been using rolled out of the factory.”

Goalie thought for a moment. “So you think they're past their shelf life?”

“Possible. And if they are....”

“Then you tell General Olds, and he personally relays that to General Tanner, and we-along with everyone else still using Es-finally get AIM-7F. No way will they give us Ms. F-14s and F-15s have first call on those,” Goalie finished.

Guru let out an evil-looking grin. “How right you are. Okay, you said our birds are just about ready?”

“They should be by now,” Goalie said.

The CO nodded, then stood up. “All right: round everybody up and tell them to get ready to fly. We'll meet outside.”

“Got you,” Goalie said. “This our last one today?”

“Should be. Let's get it over and done.” Both CO and GIB left the office and as they did, the Ops Officer found them. “Don,”

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “Still haven't been released. CAS until sunset.”

“Figured that,” The CO said. “Where's Mark?”

“His flight's just about to leave. They went out to dispersal ten minutes ago,” Van Loan replied. “I've got T-Bone and Fridge working in Ops until both Kara and I get back.”

“Good. Remind me that we need to find them permanent ground jobs,” Major Wiser said. “Dave Golen go out yet?”

“Not yet, Boss,” the Ops Officer said. “Why do you ask?”

“Because if we have the MiG activity we had earlier this afternoon, I'd like to have him and Flossy around. Have 'em meet us outside”

Van Loan understood. “Gotcha, Chief. I'll round them up.”

“Okay, Don. You have a good one, and remember: be careful out there,” Guru told his Ops Officer.

“You too, Boss.”


After gearing up, the flight members met outside the Squadron HQ, and when the CO got there, Sweaty turned to him. “What's up, Boss?”

“We are. One more CAS run, then that's it. Weather's coming in, as they said,” Guru told his flight. “And both Dave and Flossy are coming with us.”

“Let me guess,” Kara said. “You want them around if MiGs show up.” It wasn't a question, by her tone of voice.

“That's about it,” Guru replied. “And Dave's shot more MiGs off of us than anybody else.”

“Ordnance load?” Hoser asked.

“Whatever they brought us,” the CO said. “Be glad it's just a CAS run instead of a Scud hunt.”

Heads nodded at that. They'd flown their share of Scud hunts, and sometimes, they had gone after opportunity targets because the Scuds were too well hidden. “And' we'd be still out there until it got dark,” Preacher nodded.

“You're right there,” Guru said. “Okay: same drill for the radio. Call signs between us. Mission code to AWACS and other parties. Weather's getting here on schedule, and bailout areas are the same.” Just then, Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs arrived. “Dave, Flossy.”

“Guru,” Golen nodded. “Don told us to find you.”

“Good. You guys are coming with us. Keep your call sign from last time, launch separately, but stay close. If the MiGs are still active....”

“It'll be a pleasure,” Golen had a grim smile, and so did Flossy.

Major Wiser looked at everyone. “Still, no trolling for MiGs. If you bounce a strike flight, or run across a Hip or Hind? Different story. Same thing if AWACS vectors us onto somebody, or we get jumped. Got it?”

Heads nodded again. “Got it, Major,” Kara said.

“All right: anything else?” Guru asked. Just before he was about to send them to their aircraft, Master Sergeant Ross came to him with a message form. “Sarge?”

“Glad I caught you, sir. The Exec's left, and so has the Ops Officer-”

“They went ahead of us,” said the CO. “What's the poop?” He indicated the message form.

“Sir, I don't know how they do this, but...” Ross handed his CO the form.

Guru looked at the form, then at his senior NCO. “This on the level?”

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “Who'd have the pull for something like this?”

Goalie looked at her pilot and CO. “What's this all about?”

Guru handed her the form. “Have a look.”

Goalie read the message, and looked at Guru. “This a joke?”

“No, Ma'am,” Ross replied. “I even called to make sure it wasn't. This is on the level.”

Goalie handed the form to Kara, and she passed it around. “Who's got the pull for something like this?”

“Whatever the Chief of Staff wants, he gets,” Sweaty said. “He can do that.”

“Or the Vice-Chief,” Kara added.

“Good point,” KT said. “Did they fly together?”

“Don't know for sure,” Guru admitted. He turned to Ross. “Find out. Make a couple of phone calls, but find out.”

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “I know a few people. And I also know what you're thinking. Make sure no one sees this until tonight.”

“Good man, Sarge,” Guru said. “Go.”

“Sir,” Ross nodded, then he went off in search of a phone.

“Now we'll have another reason to get crazy tonight,” Brainiac noted.

Guru nodded. “We will, but business before pleasure. Still got one more mission. Anything else, mission-wise?” He asked his flight. When no one answered he added, “One more thing, people. Do NOT get sloppy or complacent. That gets people killed or worse, so treat this one as if it's the first one. Got it?”

Heads nodded, then Kara spoke. “Got it, Major.” And when she-or anyone else-used the CO's rank, they were very serious about the subject at hand.

“All right: anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay, then. Mount up and let's hit it.” The crews then headed to their aircraft, and both Guru and Dave Golen shook hands. “Good luck.”

Golen nodded. “You too.”

When Guru joined up with Goalie, they went to 512, and found the ground crew ready, and the Crew Chief waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru said.

“Major,” Sergeant Crowley said, snapping a salute. “Just waiting for you, sir.”

Guru and Goalie returned the salute. “She's ready?”

Crowley nodded. “512's locked and cocked. All ready for you, sir.”

Guru nodded as both he and Goalie noticed the ordnance load. “Rockeyes again,” the CO noted.

“Going after armor, I'd bet,” Goalie said.

“Even money bet,” Guru said as they started the pre-flight walk-around. After they were finished, Guru signed for the aircraft, then both pilot and GIB mounted the aircraft and got strapped in. As they went through the cockpit preflight, Guru asked his GIB, “Ever think that would happen?”

“To be honest? No,” Goalie admitted. “Never.”

“Like Brainiac said, we'll have another reason to get wild tonight,” the CO said.

Goalie nodded in her cockpit. “That we will,” she said, going through the final items in the checklist. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He gave a thumbs-up to his CC, who gave the “Start engines” signal in return. First one, then the other, J-79 engines were up and running, and when the warm-up was completed, the CO called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Corvette Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Charlie. Hold prior to the active.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. “Corvette Flight rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up, and Sergeant Crowley returned it. Crowley signaled to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the landing gear, and then Crowley gave the taxi signal. Guru taxied 512 out of its revetment, and as he did, Crowley snapped another perfect salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. In quick succession, all four F-4s from Corvette Flight, plus Golen and Flossy in Cobra Flight, taxied to the runway. For once, they were out front, though two Marine F-4 flights, and a pair of F/A-18 flights, were behind them. Once the armorers pulled the weapon safeties, Guru called the Tower again. “Tower, Corvette Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Roger, Corvette,” the Tower Controller replied. “Clear for takeoff. Winds are two-six-nine at eight.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said. He taxied 512 onto the runway, with Kara in 520 following. He glanced at his Five O'Clock, and found 520 tucked right in, with Kara and Brainiac giving their thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, then Guru called the tower. “Tower, Corvette Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The Tower flashed the usual green light in reply. Clear for Takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Let's go.” Goalie acknowledged. “Canopy coming down.”

Both pilot and GIB closed and locked their canopies, and saw that 520's crew had done the same. Then Guru ran the engines to full power, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right alongside. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, then Cobra Flight followed. And both flights set course south for the FEBA.

The last CAS run of the day, and some Russians get theirs:



Over North-Central Texas: 1610 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight made its tanker rendezvous, and after topping up, was orbiting at 15,000 feet. Below, the crews could see other strike flights going in, while off to the west, they could see storm clouds approaching. “Be a good day tomorrow,” Guru said. “No flying, and we can get caught up on sleep.”

“What makes you think we'll be doing anything besides sleeping?” Goalie asked, and by her tone of voice, Guru knew what she was hoping to get.

“Steady, girl. Not while General Olds is on base.” Guru said. “Not that I wouldn't mind some.”

“Hey Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Anything yet for us?”

“Not yet,” Guru replied.

The flight soon descended as strike flights ahead of them were handed off to FACs, and soon, they were at 5,000 feet. Then Tampa, the EC-130 Airborne Command Post, called. “Corvette Lead, Tampa. Contact Covey Six-eight for tasking.”

“What's Covey?” Sweaty asked.

“Ground FAC, I think,” Guru replied. “Roger, Tampa. Contacting Covey Six-eight.” He then called the FAC. “Covey Six-eight, Corvette Lead.”

“Corvette, Covey Six-eight,” the FAC replied. “Nice to hear your voice, fella. What kind of birds and ordnance you bringing?”

“Covey, Corvette Flight has four Foxtrot-Four Echoes, with twelve Mark-two-zero Rockeyes and full air-to-air each airplane,” said Guru. “Can give you one run only.”

“Roger, Corvette. Got some armor moving north on Route Foxtrot-Mike Four,” Covey told Guru. That meant F.M. 4, the road that went southeast of Lipan towards the Brazos River. “Need you guys to slow 'em down.”

“Roger that, Covey,” Guru replied. “Can you have ground-pounders take out any air defense?”

“Stand by one, Corvette,” the FAC said. There was a brief pause, then the FAC came back. “That's affirmative, Corvette.”

“Roger, Covey. Any bogey fast-movers around, or helos?”

“Negative at the moment,”

“Copy that.” replied Guru. He glanced over to his right, and saw the armor moving north. Looked like a regiment at least. Then he saw several friendly helos going in, and then fireballs erupted as they engaged the oncoming armor with TOW missiles.

The FAC then called, “Corvette, Covey. Those Cobras took care of the air defense they could see. You're cleared hot.”

“Roger that, Covey,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Music on, switches on, and time to go to work.”

“Roger that, Lead,” Kara called.

“Three's ready,” Sweaty chimed in.

“Four, roger,” Hoser said.

“Roger, Flight,” Guru said. He led them around so that they would make their runs from south to north. “Covey, Corvette, Going in hot.”

In his Hummer, the AF Captain grinned to his ETAC and the 3rd ACR Troopers around him. “Fast movers coming in.” Then he called Corvette. “Roger, Corvette.”

In 512, Guru asked his GIB. “Switches set?”

“All ready back here,” Goalie replied. “You're good to go.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. He rolled 512 in on the bomb run.


Below, on F.M. 4, the Soviet 138th Independent Tank Regiment was moving forward. Normally a Front-level asset, they had been refitting and absorbing replacements of personnel and equipment when the order came to move to support the East Germans. The Colonel in command had been cursing all afternoon, wondering who had decided to pull the Nymesti out of a fire they had gotten themselves into, but those were his orders. His regiment had originally been in GSFG, but had not deployed to America until the previous winter. Delays with shipping, including having one of the freighters carrying a battalion's worth of tanks, plus other equipment sunk, meant that the regiment had missed Wichita, and from what he'd heard from several fellow officers who'd been there, that had been a disaster, and now, his regiment was finally going into combat, not to exploit a breakthrough, but to pull someone else out of a fire of their own making. The fact that it was the East Germans who were in need of help brought a grim smile to his face. In his own dealings with East German officers, the Colonel had found them to be quite arrogant. Now this East German division had gotten stuck in a fire of its own creation, and needed to be pulled out. And when this was done, the East Germans would be properly humbled-and that was not counting whatever the Americans had done to them.

The Colonel had sent a tank battalion and a motor-rifle company ahead as an advanced guard, for he'd been told that there were possible American forces blocking this Farm-to-Market Road he had been ordered to use. That left him with four tank battalions and a full motor-rifle battalion to work with, and if his lead battalion found the enemy, he'd strike with the full force of his regiment, send these Yankees running north, and pull these East Germans' chestnuts out of the fire. Not even seeing several of his air defense vehicles take hits from American attack helicopters discouraged him. The Colonel found those thoughts very appealing, when his Political Officer screamed “AIR ATTACK WARNING!”

Cursing the man, the Colonel stood up in the hatch of his command tank and scanned the sky ahead with his binoculars. Nothing there, but the warning was repeated. “What are you babbling about?”

The Zampolit, standing in the hatch of his own command BTR-60, pointed to the south. “THERE!”

The Regimental Commander turned, and saw an F-4 Phantom coming down towards him. “Bozhe moi.....” Then he yelled into his throat mike. “GET OFF THE ROAD! DISPSERSE!”


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in. He could see fireballs erupting below, as some of the tanks were evidently running into the Army, but there were a lot more tanks and APCs moving up this road. Well, Ivan or Franz, you're in for a world of hurt. As he went down the chute, Guru noticed tracers coming up, and his EW repeater was showing a GUN warning. A ZSU-23 was still down there, and it was trying to lock him up. Hopefully, the ECM pod was doing its work, and they'd never have a chance. He picked up a column of tanks trying to get off the road, and lined the middle of the column up in his pipper. Nice try, whoever you are.....”Steady, steady......and HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and twelve Rockeyes came off 512's racks. He pulled up and away, and as he did, Guru called, “Lead off target.”


“DAMN IT!” The Colonel shouted as Guru's F-4 flew over the Regimental Command Group and released its CBUs onto Second Battalion's column. Several T-64Bs blew up as bomblets either exploded on top of the turret, penetrating into the ammunition carousel, or set off the external fuel tanks. Several others merely caught fire as the insidious CBU munitions ignited on the engine decks, and a few staggered off the road, tracks broken. The Colonel radioed Second Battalion's commander, and also ordered engineers forward to clear the road. He was interrupted, though, as he saw a second F-4 coming in.


“BULLS-EYE!” Goalie yelled from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

Guru nodded as he banked to avoid more tracer fire. “I'll take your word for it.” Then he set course for the I-20 and the FEBA, keeping an eye out for either enemy helos or fast-movers.


“Two in hot!” Kara called. She saw the CO's run, and as she rolled in, she spotted what looked like SP artillery pieces pulling off the road, with their ammo carriers right behind them. May not get all of you, but some of you are going up, she said to herself. Ignoring the tracer fire coming up, and even a couple of SA-13s, Kara lined up one gun battery in her pipper. “Steady.....HACK!” She hit the pickle button, sending another dozen CBUs down onto the Russians below. She pulled away and headed after the CO, calling, “Two's off safe.”

The Soviet Colonel, standing in the hatch of his T-64BK, yelled into his throat mike, ordering his driver to get off the road and all vehicles in the Command Group to disperse. He had hardly finished that when Kara's F-4 flew past, and behind him, the Colonel heard explosions as the CBUs found targets. One battery of 2S1s had been covered by the CBUs, and he saw several of the SP guns or their Ural-375 ammunition trucks, explode, and the trucks, filled with 122-mm rounds, simply disintegrated in the clouds of smoke and flame, with only a few pieces flying away as if they were rubbish in the wind. His tank driver got the tank off the road, and as it moved into a field, the Colonel saw another F-4 coming in. Where was the Air Force?

“SHACK!” Brainiac called. “You got the ammo trucks!”

Kara glanced back for a moment, and saw several large clouds and a few smaller ones. “Those'll leave a mark,” she grinned beneath her oxygen mask. Kara then dodged a MANPADS, probably an SA-14, then headed north. As she did, she was hoping for more MiGs. It's been a while since I got one, she said to herself.


Sweaty rolled in on her run. “Three's in hot!” She lined up what looked like a battalion's worth of armor on the road, and decided it was the lead element's turn to eat Rockeyes. Sweaty went down and lined up the leading tanks. She, too, drew fire on the way in, and not just machine guns, but 23-mm from ZSU-23s, as the GUN warning light on her RWR came up, and the strobe showing the radar's location. But the ECM pod did its job, and the 23-mm fire was inaccurate. Sweaty lined up a company's worth of tanks in her pipper.....”Steady, steady.....and HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and a dozen Rockeye CBUs fell onto the Soviet battalion. She pulled up and as she headed away, called, “Three's off target.”

The Colonel cursed as Sweaty's Phantom flew right over his head, and he saw the explosions to his rear, as Third Battalion's lead company had been the aircraft's target. Two tanks erupted in flames as their external fuel tanks exploded, drenching the engine blocks in burning fuel, and igniting the internal tanks as well. Two more tanks staggered to a stop as their tracks had been broken by the bomblets, and another tank simply fireballed as bomblets struck the thin top armor of the turret to set off the ammunition carousel. The Colonel was shouting for his air-defense battery to come in and give some cover when he noticed his Chief of Staff in his BTR-60 pointing south. He turned, and saw yet another F-4 incoming.

“GOOD HITS!” Preacher yelled.

“How good?” Sweaty asked as she turned north, and saw what looked like machine-gun tracers falling away short of her aircraft.

“Got some secondaries,” the GIB replied.

Sweaty nodded, “Good for them,” She banked to avoid more tracers, then headed north.

“Four's in hot!” Hoser called. He rolled in, and as he did, he saw the mass of vehicles on the road. Seeing where Kara and Sweaty had put down their bombs, he picked out some more tanks where Sweaty had made her run, and selected those as his target. As he went down the chute, he saw the flak coming up, and even a missile fly past, but he ignored the ground fire as the tanks grew larger in his pipper. Hoser noticed the tanks trying to get off the road, and smiled underneath his oxygen mask. Not today, comrades. He lined up a platoon's worth of tanks in the pipper....'Steady....and...and....HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, and a dozen Rockeyes came off the racks. He pulled up and away, and as he did, more 23-mm fire followed him, but failed to connect. Hoser then called, “Four's off target.”


“Sookin-sin..,” the Soviet Colonel muttered. “Son of a bitch!” He yelled into his mike, demanding to know where his air-defense battery was as Hoser's F-4 flew right over him, leaving more CBUs going off in its wake. Several more tanks from Third Battalion exploded or caught fire, and as they did, a platoon of ZSU-23-4s arrived, firing on the departing F-4. They missed, and the Colonel contacted the platoon commander directly, ordering him to remain close by the regiment's command group. The Senior Lieutenant acknowledged, and after he did, the Colonel shook his head. This was shaping up to be a bitch of an afternoon, and who knew what the evening would bring. Hopefully not those dreadful AH-64 Apaches. For if they came, they could shoot their missiles out of AA range, and flew just as good at night as they did in the daytime. And the first indication his regiment was under attack would be the first vehicles blowing up. Shaking his head, he called for his Chief of Staff and the Zampolit. Time to get some order out of this mess.


“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled from Hoser's back seat.

“We got secondaries?” Hoser asked as he headed north, and and grimacing as a missile-maybe an SA-13, flew past. He and KT had been shot down once already, and neither one wished to repeat the experience. Hoser picked up Sweaty's exhaust trail, and followed her north.


“Four in, four out,” Guru said as he cleared the area.

“Always good to hear,” Goalie replied.

“Corvette, Covey,” the FAC called. “Good bombs on target, fella. Nice work.”

“Roger that, Covey,” Guru said. “Good luck down there,”

“Roger that, Corvette,” Covey replied. “And thank you,”

Guru then called his wingmate. “Two, Lead. Where are you?”

“On your five,” Kara replied.

Guru glanced to his right, and saw 520 right there in combat spread. “Got visual on you. Sweaty?”

“Coming on your six, and Hoser's right with me,” replied Sweaty.

“Roger that, Sweaty,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threat.”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Negative threat.” The AWACS controller told him.

“Copy, Crystal Palace.” Guru sighed as he replied to the controller. “No MiGs around.”

“Disappointed?” Goalie asked her pilot. She had five backseat kills, while he had eight kills total. But any fighter driver, even those primarily tasked with air-to-mud as they were, wanted a chance at some air combat.

“You could say that,” Guru said as they crossed I-20. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on. Those Army air-defense pukes like to shoot'em down and sort it out on the ground,”he called, then turned on his IFF.

It wasn't long until the tanker track, and as they refueled, Cobra Flight came to drink some fuel from the KC-135s. “How'd it go, Corvette?” Dave Golen called.

“No bandits,” Guru replied. “Too bad.”

“Same thing here,” Golen said.

After refueling, the two flights headed home to Sheppard, and as they did, the crews could see the weather closing in. But that wouldn't stop the A-6s or F-111s, and even though the rest of MAG-11 would be having the stand-down, along with most of Tenth Air Force's strike elements, the deep-strike guys would still be out.

When they got to Sheppard, the two flights didn't have to wait in the pattern. Cobra went in first, then Corvette, and as they taxied in, the crews saw General Olds, along with the camera crew, watching them. Guru could see the General sigh as no one displayed fingers to show MiG kills, but he knew that you couldn't get a MiG every time you went up. And so did the General.

Guru taxied 512 to its revetment, and then shut down. After going through the post-flight checklist, both pilot and GIB unstrapped themselves, then stood up in their cockpits. “Six and done,” Guru said after taking off his helmet.

“Almost like PRAIRIE FIRE, Day One,” Goalie nodded. “Seven flights that day.”

And seven each the next two days,” Guru reminded her. “When Day Three was over, they had to lift us out of the cockpit, we were so tired.” He got down the crew ladder and Goalie followed. “Get some food, something to drink, and get to bed..”

“Good idea,” she said.

“And sleep,” said Guru.

“Wanna bet?” Goalie said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Steady, girl,” Guru nodded. “Not while the General's on base. I'll make it up to you when he leaves.”

“Fair enough,.”

Then Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, came over. “Major, how's my bird, and how'd it go?”

“Sergeant, 512's still humming right along, and don't know who they were, Russians or East Germans, but we made some Reds have a bad afternoon,” Guru told his CC.

“Good for them, sir! Major, we'll get something to eat, then we'll get going on the hundred-hour check.”

Hearing that, Guru was surprised. “Sarge, you guys don't need to get going now. Enjoy the evening, and get going first thing in the morning.”

“Major, you never know if you'll need her once the storm clears. Let us pull the all-nighter, and we can sleep in,” Crowley said. “Don't worry about it, sir.”

Guru shook his head, but then again, the Crew Chief “owned” the airplane, and he and Goalie just borrowed it. “Fair enough, Sergeant,” the CO said. “Don't be surprised if you get bumped up in the R&R rotation.”

The Crew Chief was indignant. “Major! I'd just be taking somebody's slot, sir. I'll go when it's my turn.”

When he heard that, Guru was surprised. “Sergeant, I'd like to do something more for you than just a handshake, a pat on the back, and an 'Attaboy' for keeping 512 in the air.”

“Major, you don't need to,” Crowley said. “All you and Lieutenant Eichhorn have to do is keep puttin' the heat on the Reds, and that's good enough, sir.”

“Okay, Sarge. Just try not to burn too much of the midnight oil. Got that?”

“Gotcha, Major,” Crowley said. Then he and the ground crew went to work.

Guru shook his head, then went to the entrance of the revetment, where Goalie was waiting. “Well? Still going to bump him up in the R&R rotation?”

“I'd like to,” Guru said. “I might just do it anyway.”

“And if he says no?” His GIB asked.

“I'll make it an order.”

Goalie thought for a minute. “Okay, so...'Enjoy your two weeks of R&R. Have fun, and oh, by the way, that's an order.' And he can't say no.”

The CO grinned. “Something like that.”

“Thought you didn't like having some of the power of a CO.”

Guru looked at his GIB and lover. “Well, sometimes it's a help. Come on, let's round everyone up, do the debrief, and then....”

“And we have several reasons to get crazy in the Club,” Goalie finished.

“You got it.”

Guru and Goalie then went to the revetment's entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac there, talking over the mission. “Kara, Brainiac,”

“Boss,” Kara said. “Where'd the MiGs go?” She was agitated to say the least that there was no MiG activity, after the excitement of the previous mission.

“I'd like to know myself,” the CO replied. “Remember, Sin Licon said that some of the MiG fields got hit today, and maybe the rest got hit as well.”

“Couldn't have they left one field alone?”

“Want that to be a Flanker base?” Goalie asked.

Kara thought about that for a moment. “Now that you mention it? No.”

“Good,” Major Wiser told his wingmate. “In the air, those are the last guys we want to see.”

Just then, Sweaty and Preacher arrived, along with Hoser and KT. “Boss,” Sweaty said. “Glad we're having that stand-down.”

“Had enough flying for the day?” Kara asked.

“Enough,” replied Sweaty. “I was wondering if we'd break PRAIRIE FIRE's record.”

'Not with this much daylight,” Guru nodded. Then he noted Hoser and KT. “You guys ready to rock tonight?”

Both Hoser and KT grinned. “More than ready, Boss.”

“Remember, you won't be alone. Flossy and Digger made ace with you guys, and we'll be celebrating Cosmo and Revlon's first kill as a team.”

Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs came over. “Guru, well flown today,” Golen said. “A pity the MiGs didn't come for the last one.”

“We were just talking about that,” Guru said. “Maybe somebody put some holes in their runways.”

“To be hoped for,” said Flossy. “Looking forward to tonight, though.”

“A night to get a little drunk, act a little crazy, and not worry about twelve-hour,” Kara grinned.

“Steady, girl,” the CO reminded her. “No 'debt collections' while General Olds is on base.”

“I know, Boss. Take a check. Or I could, well.....”

“Well, what?”

“Defer until he leaves,” Kara grinned.

“Kara?” Guru asked. “Just take my advice and take a check.”

“Okay, Boss.”

“Come on: Let's debrief, then check your desks, then we can hit the Club.”


The crews walked over to the Squadron's offices and when they got there, they found the Intel Officer, Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon, waiting for them. “Major,” he said. “You guys are the last in.”

“Didn't lose anyone?” the CO asked. That was always a concern.

“Not today, Boss.”

“Come on, people, let's get the debrief out of the way.” They went into their briefing room-a former classroom used by a T-37 unit prewar, and went over their missions.

“Okay, Major,” Licon said. “I'll get this off to MAG-11 and Tenth AF. And Major?” Guru looked at him. “Found out who you guys hit earlier today.”

“The last one?” Guru asked.

“Soviets or East Germans, they don't know, but the one before that? East Germans. A Cat B unit that was fresh off the boat,” Licon said.

“Army tell you?” Kara asked.

“They told the AF Intel people with III Corps, and they passed the word along. Anyway, they were reservists, but here's the kicker.”

Ten pairs of eyes looked at him. “What do you mean?” Flossy asked.

“They were Frontier Troops,” Licon replied.

“Who are they?” Brainiac asked.

“They're the guys who sit in a bunker or watch tower along the Inner German Border or the Berlin Wall and shoot their own people trying to escape,” Dave Golen spat. “No different than their grandfathers.”

“Border guards?” Asked Preacher. None of the squadron's current members had ever served in West Germany in the days before NATO broke up.

“Not quite: they do that, but they patrol the border, and they have shoot-to-kill orders on anyone trying to escape.” Licon said.

“Well, that's something,” Guru said.

“What?” Goalie asked.

“Look at it this way: it's one thing to sit in a bunker or a watch tower and shoot your own people trying to get to the West-and they can't shoot back. It's another thing to face real soldiers,” said the CO.

“It is that,” Licon nodded. “3rd ACR overran those chumps, and anyone not overrun? They got into the waiting arms of First Cav.”

“Couldn't happen to a nicer crowd,” Preacher said.

“Not arguing that,” Guru nodded, then turned to his Intel Officer. “That it?”

“It is for now, Major,” Licon said.

“Okay, see you in the Club.”

The Intel nodded, got his materials, and left the room.

“People? Before you hit the Club? Get out of your flight gear and check your desks. Make sure they're clear before you mosey on over there.”

“Gotcha, Chief,” Sweaty nodded.

“And one more thing: Doc Waters talked to me earlier today. He wants everyone to find some time tomorrow to spend in the fitness center. I know, we've been getting that in when we can, but no one's flying tomorrow, so find an hour or so to get a workout in,” the CO told the crews.

“Will do, Major,” Kara said, and the others nodded.

“Okay, see you all in a few,” said Guru, and they went on out to their locker rooms. Guru went with the guys, got out of his G-suit and harness, then went to his office. When he got there, he found the female Staff Sergeant who was his unofficial secretary waiting. “Sarge,”

“Major,” she said. “The Exec's in your office.”

Nodding, Guru asked. “Anything from Major Carson?”

“No, sir. And I'm glad about that.”

“You're not the only one, Sarge,” the CO said. He went into his office, and found the XO there. “Mark,”

“Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis replied. “Got a few things for you.”

Major Wiser nodded as he checked his IN box. For once, there was nothing. “Okay, lay them on me.”

“First, we'll only have eight birds until 1400 tomorrow at least. Twelve birds have...”

“I know: hundred-hour checks,” the CO finished. “And my bird's one of them. What else?”

Ellis handed him a clipboard with some papers. “Evening report for MAG-11,”

Guru nodded, then signed where necessary. “Anything else? Say, personnel wise?”

“Ross is still looking for that, well, special officer you want.”

The CO looked at his Exec. “There's nobody in the F-4 replacement pool with journalism or PAO experience?”

“Not yet,” Ellis replied. “And before you ask, Ross is still looking.”

The CO nodded. “Okay. Got a weather update?”

“Just off the fax,” Ellis handed his CO a paper.

“Light rain after 1900....steady rain, heavy at times, past 2200. Up to an inch of precip expected, and the storm clears out by late tomorrow afternoon,” Major Wiser said, reading from the paper. “One good thing: No thunderstorms expected. One thing that can wreck this base better than an Su-24 strike is a tornado. We are at the lower end of Tornado Alley, and Wichita Falls got smacked big time in '79, MAG-11's weather people say.”

“What do we do if we get a warning?” This was the first time the Exec had heard of the possibility.

“Colonel Brady told Colonel Rivers and all other squadron commanders and Execs after we got here. If someone sees a funnel cloud headed this way?”

“Yeah?”

“We flush everything on this base,” Guru said with due seriousness. “And get everyone else to the bomb shelters.”

“Wouldn't that be a present for our Down Under guests? A for-real Tornado?”

“I'd rather have an air strike than a tornado,” Major Wiser said firmly. “At least you can shoot the bastards down. Not a twister. Anything else?”

“That's it,” Ellis said.

Nodding, Guru said, “Thanks.” Then he pulled a paper out from his desk drawer. “Have a look at this. Ross showed it to me before I left on the last one.”

Ellis took the paper and read it. Then he stared at his CO. “This for real?”

“Ross says it is,” Guur said, then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

The door opened, and the Staff Sergeant was there. “Major? Chief Ross is here.”

“Come on in, Chief,” Major Wiser said. Ross came into the office and closed the door. “You have anything new?”

“Yes, sir,” Ross said. “I made a couple of phone calls. The Chief of Staff didn't fly with him, but the Vice-Chief did. General Cunningham was with him from April '67 to end of October. His own tour ended two weeks after that.”

“Sundown Cunningham flew with him?” Ellis asked. “So that's when he got his hundred missions to the North.”

“Yes, sir,” Ross nodded.

“Okay,” the CO said. “Still looking for that other officer I'd like?”

“Sure am, Major,” replied Ross. “No guarantees I'll find one, but I'm still looking.”

The Major nodded. “Okay, Sarge. Just don't fall into the trap of making promises you can't keep.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, Sarge. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. That'll be all.”

“Sir,” Ross saluted, then left the office.

After he left, Ellis looked at his CO. “So, you going to announce this in the Club?”

“Why not?” Major Wiser asked. “We've already got four reasons to get crazy tonight: a weather stand-down, our 'unmanned' crew got their first kill, and two ace teams: Hoser and KT, plus Flossy and Digger.”

“And in that case,” Ellis laughed. “I can't wait to see the look on Frank's face when he finds out Flossy's an ace.”

Major Wiser nodded. “You, me, and everyone else on this base,” he pointed out. The CO folded the paper, then put it in a flight suit pocket. “Come on, let's hit the Club.”

And an AF legend gets honored in the O-Club:



Sheppard AFB Officer's Club Tent: 1705 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser and his Exec came into the O-Club Tent, and they bellied up to the bar. Guru glanced over at a table, and found the members of his flight already there. He and Goalie exchanged nods, then he motioned to the barkeep. “Sam Adams for me, and Bud for my Exec.”

The barkeep produced the bottles, and opened them. “Here you go, Major.”

“Thanks,” Guru paid the man, then turned to Mark. “Well, what'll we drink to, besides being alive?”

“How about a crazy night tonight, and a lazy day tomorrow?” Ellis said. “We're due for both.”

The CO nodded. “I'll drink to that.” Both took a drink from their bottles, then Guru noticed Colonel Brady. “Need to talk with him for a few.”

“And I have a good idea what that's about,” nodded Ellis. “Ever do anything like this?”

“No,” Major Wiser said. “And I doubt he has, either. Your ROTC instructors ever tell you 'When in doubt, improvise'?”

“They did, Boss.”

“Good,” the CO nodded. “They did in OTS.” He looked around, and saw Cosmo and Revlon come into the Club. “You'd better round them up. Those two won't be able to buy their own drinks tonight.”

“Gotcha, Chief,” the XO said. “Colonel Brady coming.” The Exec nodded at the MAG-11 CO as he came up to the bar.

“Major,” Colonel Brady nodded. “I understand some history was made today.”

“Yes, sir,” Major Wiser said. “First kill by an all-female F-4 crew in the Air Force. At least, that I'm aware of.”

“Well, the Corps will soon be doing the same thing. Heard today that the first female Marines have their wings of gold, and two of 'em are going to F-4s. Whether or not they come here...”

The Major nodded. 'Is up to the paper-pushers. What'll you be drinking, sir?” He motioned to the barkeep.

“Bud for me.”

“Heard that, Colonel,” the barkeep said, opening a bottle and putting it on the bar.

Guru paid him and then nodded. “Colonel?” He opened a flight suit pocket and unfolded the message form that he'd gotten earlier. “Anything like this ever come up in the Marine Corps that you know of?”

Brady took a look at the message form. “This on the level?”

“My Master Sergeant says it is, sir.”

Brady nodded, then reread the form. “Something like this in the Corps would come from the Commandant or the Deputy Commandant. This is whose idea?”

“Vice-Chief of Staff's, we found out. They flew together in SEA,” Major Wiser said. Then there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned, and Don Van Loan was there with a package. “Don?”

“Got a couple things to tell you,” the Ops Officer for the 335th said. “First, I've got a roster for the guys sitting alert tomorrow, and before you ask, no one who sat alert last time is on it, and nor are any of the crews being honored tonight.”

“Good man, Don. What's in the package?” Major Wiser asked.

“Came in on the westbound C-141, and it's for you. From the Vice-Chief of Staff.”

Guru took the package. “What's Sundown Cunningham want with little ol' me?” He wondered aloud. “Is it ticking?”

“No, Boss,” Van Loan laughed.

Nodding, Guru opened it. There were some papers, and a jeweler's case. “Let's see...there's a note. “Dear Major. Hope you got the message earlier, but in case it got held up in message traffic, here's a duplicate.” Guru checked the original form and the copy. “Don, they identical?” He asked his Ops Officer.

“Concur,” Van Loan replied. “Both are identical.”

“It's the least I can do for the man who got me through a hundred missions to North Vietnam, and what I learned from him, I applied in LINEBACKER. Took some convincing, but I got the Chief of Staff and the Secretary of the Air Force to go along. The second paper officially confirms a MiG kill he claimed on 2 June 1967. Did some digging, and found out the NSA was eavesdropping on NVAF communications, and they verified that all three MiG-17s claimed that day crashed. He had one of the three. It makes him an ace. I know, Steve Ritchie got there first, officially, but he'll appreciate the company.”

Hearing that, Van Loan whistled. “About damned time,” he said. “Had an uncle who flew with him in SEA, and got shot down by a MiG-17. They say my uncle was the only wingman he lost in two wars.”

“It goes on,” Major Wiser said. “”The case has what you'll need to complete whatever ceremony you hold. Now, I'd love to do this myself, but you'll do. I've heard what you're doing out there with the 335th, from Bob Tanner and others, and you're doing a hell of a job. Whatever it is you're doing? Don't change a damned thing.”

“When Frank finds out...”

“I'll shove this in his face,” the CO said. “Okay....'I hope to be there around Christmas or New Year's, to see how things are going for myself. And if a certain officer who's been a pain in the ass to you, Colonel Rivers, and Bob Tanner is still there? I will make sure he leaves that base by sundown. Keep up the good work, and stay in the fight. Good luck to you and your squadron. Signed, Larry Cunningham, General, USAF. Vice-Chief of Staff.”

“That's pretty high praise, Major,” Brady said.

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded. “Not every day a Major gets something like this from a four-star general” He turned to his Ops Officer. “Okay, Don?

“Boss?” Van Loan asked.

“You take that case, put it in a flight suit pocket, and hold it until I tell you. I'll take the papers. I'll take care of the emcee side of things, while you and Mark handle this.”

“Got you.”

“Okay. He's over talking to Cosmo and Revlon, so be discrete. Go.”

Van Loan nodded and headed in that direction.

Major Wiser turned to Colonel Brady. “Sir, don't ceremonies like this usually involve lots of people with stars or eagles on their shoulders and scrambled egg on their hats?”

“They do, Major. But these are unusual times,” Brady reminded him. “You being an O-4, being a squadron CO and having not only a female GIB but a female wingmate who's also a nymphomaniac are proof of that.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Still, General Olds will get some long overdue recognition,” Colonel Brady said.

“Yes, sir,” said Guru. He glanced towards the entrance, and saw General Olds with Ms. Wendt, and her camera crew come in. And it was obvious that the two were engaged in a pleasant conversation, and it was being caught on camera. “Speaking of which, Colonel.”

Brady took a look. “Well, well. Looks like he's chatting up our visitors from Down Under.”

General Olds and company came to the bar. “Colonel, Major,'” he said. “Just giving a brief talk to our guests from the Fourth Estate.”

“And he's agreed to give me an interview,” Ms. Wendt said. “Someone who's been in two wars, and came out of retirement for this one.”

“Even if the only flying I do is behind a desk,” General Olds laughed. “Combat these days is a young man's-or woman's game.” He glanced around and saw his aide waving to him. “Colonel, I understand you were a guest at the Hanoi Hilton?”

“Yes, sir. Five years and two months,” Brady admitted. “Not an establishment I'd recommend.”

“Well, I had people from my wing go down and wind up there, including a wingman. Would you mind sharing my table? One Vietnam vet to another; swapping stories over dinner and a couple of cold ones?”

“It'd be an honor, General,” Brady said.

“No, the honor's mine,” Olds insisted. “Always an honor to have a chat with a member of the 4th Allied POW Wing.”

Brady nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Major, you and your people have a good evening.”

Major Wiser nodded. “Will do, sir.”

As General Olds and Colonel Brady went to their table, Ms. Wendt came to Major Wiser. “Major, about that interview....”

Guru had a little laugh. “I sort of promised one, didn't I?” Seeing her grin, he continued. “Not a problem. If I'm not busy in the office, or in the fitness center getting a workout, sure.”

Ms. Wendt nodded appreciatively. “I'd like that. And can your backseater join us?”

“I don't like making promises I can't keep. I'll ask, but if she says 'No thanks,' it's her choice,” the CO reminded her. “Same thing if Flossy and Digger, or Cosmo and Revlon don't want to talk. I can't make them.”

“I understand, Major. But...I might just do stories on them anyway.”

“And then they'd have no choice but to sit down and talk,” Guru nodded. “You can be a sneaky bitch, Ms. Wendt. And that's a compliment.”

“You're catching on to the media,” Ms. Wendt smiled.

“Just as you're catching on to the Air Force,” Major Wiser reminded her.

“Oh, one other thing. I was off base a couple of times, and shot material for two segments. One went to Sydney yesterday, and the other today. The first segment aired back home last night, and is on CBS tonight. The second one airs tonight, and it'll air here in a day or two.”

“Any hints about what it's about?” Guru asked. “Or do I want to know?”

“The two of us had a brief conversation about a town east of here,” Ms. Wendt said.

“Okay,” Guru nodded. “Thanks for the warning.”

“You're welcome, and, well....we've known for two years what you people have been fighting for. As one soldier who was excavating that place said, 'Now you know what we're fighting against.'”

“Saw enough of that during the E&E, and more as we pull up stakes and redeploy forward,” Major Wiser said. “You get used to it, that's all.”

“I guess so.”

“Well, thanks for the warning, Ms. Wendt. You enjoy the evening. And if you want to see something interesting in a while, have your cameraman get his camera ready.”

“A tip about a story?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Just a heads-up,” Major Wiser said. “You enjoy the evening, as I said.” He smiled graciously, then went to the table where his flight was gathered.

“What's up?” Goalie asked.

“Giving our reporter a heads-up about later tonight,” Guru said. “And she did a story about that mass grave near Thornberry, I think. It's on CBS tonight.”

“Mess people coming in,” Kara said, pointing at the entrance to the Club. “Hell of a thing: bringing dinner and maybe seeing pictures of a mass grave.”

Preacher nodded. “Everybody here's got a cast-iron stomach. We've seen that stuff a lot.”

“That we have,” Hoser said.

“We all have,” Guru nodded. “Come on. Let's eat.”

People went and got their dinner, which was barbeque chicken or barbequed hamburger steak (really a bison burger as a hamburger steak, but no one noticed or cared) with the usual trimmings. Guru and his flight got what they wanted, then sat back down. “Not bad,” Sweaty said, taking a bite of bison steak. “Isn't there some kind of DOD civilian service medal we can give those restauranteurs?”

“The ones running the mess operation?” KT asked. “I'd say so.”

“For saving us from those Marine Mess Sergeants?” Guru added. “I'd second that.”

Goalie nodded, then looked at her watch. “Almost 1730.”

“Time for the CBS News,” Kara nodded. She went up to the barkeep and got him to change the channel from ESPN to AFN. “Showtime,” she said as she came back.

Then the volume went up. “This is the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite from Los Angeles.”

“Good evening from Los Angeles,” the most trusted man in Ameica opened. “U.S. Forces in Central Texas met a determined Soviet and East German counterattack today, After heavy fighting on the ground and in the air, the enemy was beaten back. Morton Dean has our report.”

The report showed things from the First Cav's angle, with M-1 tanks and Bradleys moving forward, wrecked East German and some Soviet tanks and APCs littering the battlefield, and occasionally, A-4s or F-4s flying above. The Marines applauded whenever a Skyhawk or a grey painted F-4 was shown, and the Air Force people did the same whenever an F-4 in SEA camouflage was on the screen. There were also some images of American casualties, as well as dead East German soldiers and shocked East German prisoners being sent to the rear. “And once again, this part of Texas is back in American hands. Morton Dean, CBS News, with the First Cavalry Division, somewhere in Texas.”

The next segment had a reporter going along on a Navy PBR patrol boat in the Brown Water War in Louisiana, and this PBR had a crew made up of Vietnamese refugees who had served in the South Vietnamese Navy. Their CO said that the ex-VNN personnel were a bit more aggressive, more daring, and maybe a little reckless. “But they get the job done.”

There were a couple more segments, one about a Navy fighter squadron flying from Bermuda, and another about who the potential Democratic candidates would be in the 1988 election. And even this early, most commentators were suggesting that the eventual Democratic nominee, whoever that person was, would be a sacrificial lamb because the Democrats' anti-military image still resonated with voters, and their best bet would be to wait until 1992. And the GOP was expected, even this early, to not only retain the Senate, but might even take the House.

“Get rid of the “Peace Left' in this country,” Kara spat. “And good riddance.”

“Isn't Teddy Kennedy up for reelection next year?” Goalie asked. “Frank's senator?”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “And he's in trouble. Mainly because he voted against a lot of weapons systems we're using to save this country, and he's been bending over backward trying to explain it as 'fiscally responsible' or 'wanting to show some restraint,' or whatever. Not going to happen, and here's hoping Ted gets the boot.”

“Hear, hear,” Brainiac said, raising his beer bottle.

“It's coming, Boss,” Kara said.

“More evidence of Soviet atrocities has come to light in a liberated part of Texas,” Cronkite said. “Jana Wendt, from our sister network, 9 News Australia, has a report. A warning: some of the material is graphic, and viewer discretion is advised.”

“Here, outside what used to be the town of Thornberry, south of the Red River, in this rancher's field, U.S. Army and FBI investigators have found a mass grave. In the grave are victims of the KGB and their PSD lackeys, some dating from the early days of the occupation, others killed just before liberation.” The camera showed a long trench, and both Army and FBI teams going over them. Nearby, there were civilians, looking for missing loved ones who had been arrested by the Soviets or the PSD, and never heard from again. “I spoke with U.S. Army Major Dave Kendall, who's the lead investigator. Major, who were these people?”

“Some were what the Soviets or the PSD called 'Class enemies'. People involved in local politics, for example, or worked in particular businesses: like banks, for example. Then there's people who had more than a dozen employees in their place of business. Others were picked up for what they called 'Offenses against the Occupation,' and so on.”

“And how many here?”

“About five hundred so far, but we're not finished yet, and there may be more. We still have some more excavation to do.”

“And any idea how they were killed?” Ms. Wendt asked.

Major Kendall pointed to the grave. “So far, the bodies we've found have all been shot in the back of the head. And many still have blindfolds on and their hands tied behind their backs.” The camera zoomed in to show several of the bodies, and they were a mix: some were decomposing, while others had been killed more recently. And all were blindfolded and tied.

“Any idea as to who did this?”

“This was either KGB or PSD with KGB 'help.' When we find these......animals, they're going to be sorry they were ever born.”

“An FBI agent I talked to said he's been at crime scenes before, but nothing like this. And an Army investigator said that 'You people know what we've been fighting for? Now you also know what we're fighting against.' And so America is. Fighting against atrocities like this. Jana Wendt, for CBS News, Near Thornberry, Texas.”

There was silence in the tent, then Don Van Loan asked, “Ms. Wendt? Any of your stories air in Europe?”

“Some. There's a satellite channel in England called Sky News that picks some of them up. And anyone in France, the Low Countries,or West Germany who has a satellite dish can get their signal,” Ms. Wendt replied.

“Good,” Colonel Brady said. “Maybe some of those 'neutralist' bastards will wake up and realize that when we mention Soviet atrocities, we're not kidding.”

Guru added, “Now that the West German Chancellor got exposed as a Stasi asset, and a few higher-ups in Holland were found to be on the KGB's payroll? They're starting to wake up.”

“Here's to that,” General Olds said, raising a bottle of beer, and there was a round of applause.

The news wrapped with another Charles Kuralt segment of his On the Road feature, this time to Nashua, New Hampshire. It was as far away from the war as one might expect, especially with a typical New England Autumn in sight, but still, one could not escape the war entirely. For there were yellow ribbons on some doors or mailboxes, which signaled a loved one either POW or MIA, others had blue stars in the windows, which signaled loved ones on active duty, and in all too many, there were gold stars, which meant someone from that household had been killed in the war. Then the community was getting used to 5,000 new neighbors, for nearby, the Army had opened a prisoner-of-war camp, Mr. Kuralt came by an office in town where the Army was taking applications from local farmers to have POW laborers, and he found something very interesting. There were Cubans, Poles, Czechs, East Germans, and Libyans in the camp, and all hated each other. “Now that they're behind barbed wire,” an Army officer said, “Communist unity seems to disappear.”

“And that's the way it is for tonight,” Cronkite finished. “For all of us at CBS News, Good night.”

Colonel Brady nodded at the barkeep, who then turned the channel back to ESPN, and an NBA game between the Portland Trailblazers and the Seattle Supersonics. One thing about Seattle and Portland, one could take a Team bus and be there in a few hours.

“Well?” Goalie asked. “How'd you like to have that many new neighbors?”

“Don't know about that,” Guru said. “But you know what they say about the Poles, Czechs, and Nicaraguans?”

“What?” KT asked.

Guru smiled. “They're all glad it's over. Same thing for the Non-Russian Soviets, and about half the Cubans. The rest? Different story.”

“Wanna bet a lot of those people want to stay here when it's all over?” Kara wondered. “Sure beats going back to Russia or wherever.”

“Not going to argue that,” Sweaty nodded. “What do you think, Boss? You're the history major here.”

“Well, look at it this way,” Guru said. “I'll bet the Poles, Czechs, Nicaraguans mostly refuse to go home. Same thing for a lot of the Non-Russian Soviet minorities. You know: the folks who really don't want to be here. Balts, folks from the Caucasus, Central Asia, you name it. A lot of Cubans, too. But the rest? They'll go home, even if the reception they get is a little better than what Stalin showed in '45 to his liberated POWs.”

Brainiac looked at his CO. “What happened?” He was a Physics major and had only his General Ed history courses in college.

“If you were even suspected of collaborating with the Germans in captivity?” Guru asked. “You were shot. If you were an officer with the rank of Major or above? You got shot or sent to a Gulag. They also sent a lot of NCOs and enlisted to the Gulag as well. If that didn't happen to you? You were sent off to internal exile for a few years.”

“Let me guess,” KT said. “Because they surrendered?”

“Right you are. Stalin said anyone who was captured was a deserter, or you were 'contaminated' by the West. Especially if you'd been liberated by the Americans or the British. So you had to be, well, 're-educated' and 'cleansed. A Gulag or internal exile does that.”

“Happy thought,” Goalie noted. “Not.”

“No,” Guru said. He nodded at both Doc Waters and the Exec. “See Doc and Mark? They're going around and telling certain people that twelve-hour kicks in for them at 1900.”

“People who are sitting alert tomorrow?”

“You are so right,” Guru said. “Now, anyone being honored tonight is off that list, and so are we.”

Kara nodded. “So...Flossy and Digger, Hoser and KT, along with Cosmo and Revlon?”

“Especially those two. First mission together and first kill. For both: Revlon didn't have any with Razor before he got killed, so...”

“So they have a right to get happily smashed,” Kara finished.

“Just like you did,” Sweaty reminded her. “When you got your first kill, we had to carry you to the bus and then into the Mesa Sheraton.”

“Don't forget when you made ace,” Goalie added. “And where we found you.” And everyone laughed, remembering finding Kara totally nude, drunk, and sitting in the cockpit of Frank Carson's F-4, and having puked in said cockpit.

Kara grinned. “How can I forget when I have all of you to remind me?”

“Just hope nobody had a camera,” Guru said. Then he turned to the General's table. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” Sweaty asked.

“Guess who just slithered up to General Olds' table?”

“Frank?”

“Uh-huh,” Goalie said.

“Lovely. I”m getting us some nachos, and Kara? Time for another round.”

“Gotcha,” said Kara.

Both went to the bar and placed their orders, While waiting on the nachos, Guru decided to do some eavesdropping on Frank's conversation with General Olds. And as he got close, The General saw him and gave a slight nod. As did Colonel Brady, who was there, along with the General's aide.

“General,” Frank was saying. “This unit is being run with a casual disregard for Air Force rules and regulations, and a scathing disregard for rank.”

“Meaning?” Olds said, though he knew full well what Carson was going to say: he'd read everything General Tanner had on the 335th, including Carson's complaints.

“Meaning, sir, a criminal lack of respect for the chain of command, and not placing those with the proper rank in certain positions.”

Olds nodded. “Major, one of the privileges of a squadron commander is that he can choose whoever he wants as Exec. Because the CO has to trust the Exec to run things in his absence, or worse, take over the unit if anything happens. And from what I've read, that person who was Exec has done a pretty good job so far since he got the squadron.”

Carson's jaw dropped slightly. “Sir, that's another thing. This...this...OTS-trained peasant from some hick town in California is running this unit. He was a Captain when he got the squadron, and they gave him the rank to go with the job a couple of days later!”

“Again, if a unit commander feels a particular someone is the best suited to the job, that's his prerogative,” Olds reminded Carson, then he glanced at Guru, who had his arms folded in front of him and a grin from ear-to-ear. “And that officer you're talking about, Major?”

“Yes, sir?”

“He's right behind you. And heard every word you said,” Olds grinned.

“Sir?” Frank turned and found Guru in his face. “What...?”

“Hi, Frank!” Guru said. “And General Olds is right. I did hear every word. Like I said once before: I''m not as rank as you are.”

“Sir, this just shows my point-”

“Stuff it, Frank!” Guru yelled. “What counts in this squadron is results. That means ordnance delivered on target and MiGs shot out of the sky at the lowest cost in aircraft and aircrews. Nothing else matters!”

“And Major Carson?” Olds asked.

“Sir?” Carson turned back to the General.

“I've seen the loss figures. The 335th has one of the lowest loss rates in Tenth Air Force among F-4 units, whether Air Force or Marine. I'd say that speaks for itself.”

“Sir...”

“I'd take a listen to what your CO's saying, Major...” Olds said. “A long and hard one.”

Guru got back into Frank's face. “And there's this: I've loathed you ever since you joined the squadron. Not just because of the crap you tried to pull with me and my GIB, but that Academy 'know-it-all' attitude and Blue Blood arrogance kinda turns people off of you. And what's in your file simply reinforces that loathing. Comprende?”

“Yes...sir.” Carson said, and both Guru and the General could hear the contempt in Carson's voice.

“One other thing, Major,” Olds said. “When your own flight record shows you're not fit to command a flight? Having six wingmen or other members of your flight shot from under you shows anyone how far you can go in terms of command responsibilities.”

“I agree, General,” Guru nodded. “Frank, anything else?”

“No...sir.” Carson muttered. He couldn't believe that an Air Force legend was taking the side of this OTS.....peasant. And the fact that both Colonel Rivers and his successor modeled their leadership style on this man's own.

“Good. Now, find the Exec, and see when you're pulling Zulu Alert. One third of this squadron pulled it during the last stand-down and guess what? Your element didn't pull that duty. So it's your turn. Suck it up, and be glad if you get through the stint and the horn doesn't sound,” Guru said. “Got it?”

“Yes...sir,” Carson grumbled. “Is that all?”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Now, beat it!”

Carson nodded, “General,” then glared at Guru, then he angrily went off looking for the Exec.

“Major,” Olds said. “Looking forward to the day he'll be out of your hair?”

“Yes, sir,” Major Wiser said. “I'd love to kick his ass all the way to Goose Bay myself. Only problem is, I'd be inflicting him on a fellow officer who'd be wondering what he did to deserve this guy.”

“Major, I don't blame you for that. I've run across a few people like that in my career,” Olds nodded. “You're not the only one who's had that kind of problem.”

“Well, sir,” Guru said. “Glad to know I'm not the only one.”

General Olds nodded. “I think we all encounter people like that at one time or another, Major. Now, I believe you'll be honoring some people tonight?”

Guru nodded back. “Yes, sir. Before 1900, because Twelve-Hour kicks in for some people-those on alert, and so...”

“Very good, Major. I'll be waiting,” said Olds. “Whenever you're ready.”

“Yes,sir.” Guru said, then he went to the bar, collected his order, and went back to the table. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Sure was,” said Goalie. “Not every day we get to see Frank get a dressing-down from a General, then by you.”

“True, but everything we said probably went in one ear and out the other.” the CO said. “Time?” He asked Kara.

“1805, Boss.”

“Okay, let me know when it's 1830. Twelve-Hour kicks in for the folks on alert tomorrow at 1900, so I want them to be able to indulge.”

Kara understood. “Just like us, last time.”

“Exactly.”


The time flew by, and Kara soon tapped Guru's shoulder. “1830, Chief.”

“Got you,” Guru said, standing up. He went over to the General's table, “General, Colonel?” It's time.”

“Ready, Major,” Olds said. “This time, Colonel, Major? It's at your convenience.”

“Yes, sir,” Brady said, standing up. “Major?”

“Ready, sir.” They went over to the bar. “Excuse me, Colonel, but I just thought of something. This should be on tape.”

Brady looked at Guru. “Someone in your squadron has a camcorder?”

“Two or three, sir. I've got one, but I'd rather have someone else do it,” Guru said. “Excuse me, sir.” He went over to his table and tapped Kara on her shoulder. “Kara?”

“Boss?”

“Tell me you have a camcorder?” Guru asked.

“I do. Mom sent it to me for Christmas,” Kara replied. “Why do you ask?”

“This is something we need to record for posterity,” the CO said. “Wait one...Goalie, you've got a camera, right?”

“Sure do,” his GIB replied. “You want photos and video, right?”

“Right. And Kara? You have a blank tape? Or are they full of memories to be shared, as well as, uh, 'private' ones for your viewing only?”

“I plead the Fifth on that last one, Boss,” grinned Kara. “But yeah, I've got a blank tape.”

“Figures,” the CO said. “Okay, how fast can you get back here with your cameras?”

“Five minutes,” Goalie said, and Kara nodded.

“Make it four,” Guru said.

Kara looked at Goalie, who nodded. “Got you.”
Major Wiser nodded. “Go.”

Both got up and went on out, while the Major went to Dave Golen's table. There, Ms. Wendt was talking with Flossy and Digger-off camera. “Guru,” Dave nodded.

“Guru,” Golen replied. “Surprised to see Flossy and Digger talking with our guest?”

“A little bit,” Guru admitted. “Flossy, I see you're chatting up with Ms.Wendt.”

“We've broken some of the ice,” Flossy admitted. “We break a little more of it, and I might do a sit-down with her.”

“Emphasis on might,” Digger added.

Ms. Wendt smiled. “You never know, Major,” she said.

“Just like when we go fly a mission,” the CO nodded. “Just giving you a heads-up. I'd suggest having your crew get their camera and sound gear ready.”

“That....event we talked about?”

“It is,” Major Wiser said. “Be a couple of minutes.”

“What's going on, Guru?” Dave Golen asked.

The CO shook his head. “Dave, I hate to keep a secret, but you'll find out just like everyone else. Especially since Flossy and Digger are part of it.”

Flossy gulped, then asked, “We are?”

“Yep,” the Major said. Then he saw Kara and Goalie come back with their cameras. “A couple minutes to showtime,” He then went over to the bar and Colonel Brady. “Almost ready, sir.”

“I see the Wild Thing has a camcorder? I'm surprised, Major,” Brady said. “Wonder what she's got on tape?”

Guru didn't even want to think about that. “Sir, since she took the Fifth on, uh, 'private' videos? I don't want to know.”

Colonel Brady laughed, “I don't blame you at all, Major.”

Guru nodded, then saw both Kara and Goalie signal ready. “We're ready, sir.”

“Then let's get the show on the road, shall we?” Brady then went over to the bell and rang it. “People! I know Twelve-Hour kicks in for those sitting alert tomorrow at 1900, so let's get this going. First, everybody in MAG-11 kicked some serious ass today, whether in the air, or on the ground. Both Marine and Air Force Phantoms put some serious hurt on the bad guys on the ground, and showed that F-4s are still champion distributors of MiG parts!” He paused, for there was a lot of applause, and some loud hooting and hollering. “And so did the Hornet guys, and the Navy Corsair drivers.” More applause followed. “Now, none of the Marine crews made ace today, but some of our Air Force brethren did. And we had a little more history made today.” Brady turned to Guru. “Major?”

“Thanks, Colonel,” Guru said. “Now, 335 had two crews make ace today, and that's a first for this unit. Hoser and KT? Stand up and be recognized!” Both stood, and took the cheers of their squadron mates and the Marines. “Now, the second crew. Flossy and Digger? You guys stand and be recognized,” The second crew did so, with more applause from everyone in the tent. “Before we drink the toast, I want to say this: you guys are now fighter aces. That makes you certified, card-carrying aerial assassins, and no one can take that away from you!” More applause and cheering followed, then the Major went on. “So, here's to the aces!” He raised his beer bottle, and the toast was drunk.

“Okay,” Major Wiser said, continuing. “We had a little bit of history made today. First, we've got a, well, 'unmanned' F-4 in 335, and that crew flew their first two missions today. And on their first? They got a MiG-21. So, Cosmo and Revlon? First all-female crew not just in the 335, but in Tenth Air Force, and hell, probably the entire USAF for all we know. So stand up and take a bow,” Major Wiser said, and they did, to the applause of their squadron mates and the Marines. “You two are in good company, for apart from the Wild Thing, how many here can claim first kill on their first mission?”

Sweaty turned to Preacher. “'Good company depends on the circumstances.”

“Knowing Kara's antics?” Preacher replied. “You're right on that.”

“So, here's to our two new MiG-killers, and may you have a few more,” Guru said, raising his bottle.

“Hear, hear,” Kara said.

After the toast, Major Wiser went on. “Okay, a couple more things. Call them unfinished business from the late and unlamented conflict in SEA. For the benefit of our Marine brethren, we've got a very distinguished visitor who'll be with us for a few days. He was a WW II ace with 12 kills, missed out on Korea, but got to Vietnam and command of the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing. He led Operation BOLO that culled out half of the North Vietnamese MiG-21 force, got four MiGs during his tour, a probable, and maybe several more that he didn't claim or gave to wingmen because if he did? The Edsel Mechanic wanted him sent Stateside as a publicity asset once he made ace, and he didn't want to leave his men. He's got 152 missions in Southeast Asia, and 106 of them into North Vietnam. He retired a Brigadier General in '73, but after the balloon went up here, he asked to come back, and though he's flying a desk, he's still a legend in the Air Force. So, Brigadier General Robin Olds, sir? Would you please stand and be recognized by your fellow fighter pilots?”

General Olds stood, and got a huge round of applause from all the aircrews and others present. “Thank you, Major.” he nodded.

“Now, to that unfinished business,” Major Wiser said. “General, I got a note today from a former subordinate of yours, who flew his hundred missions North under your command in '67. General 'Sundown' Cunningham was a Captain then, and he credits you, sir, with getting him through those hundred missions. Sir, his note says that he did some digging, and found some intelligence sources that have confirmed three MiG-17s claimed as probables on 2 June 1967 over North Vietnam did indeed crash. All three crews who filed those claims are now being awarded victory credits retroactively. General, this means that you, sir, are now an ace of the Vietnam War, and an ace in two wars. You and Steve Ritchie, sir, may have to argue over who's really first, but sir, I'd say the two of you make good company.” Major Wiser raised his bottle. “A shame it took twenty years to confirm the final kill, but it doesn't matter. General, you're now officially an ace in Southeast Asia, and an ace in two wars. Twelve in WW II, and now, five, in SEA. Congratulations, Sir!”

There was a roar of applause and cheering, then General Olds acknowledged the crowd. “Thank you, Major. I know what the Edsel Mechanic had in mind if I had made ace twenty years ago, and I'm glad I didn't have to go through what he had in mind. And you're right: I didn't want to leave my guys in the lurch.” He surveyed the crowd. “Regardless of service branch, which mount we fly, or whether we're man or woman, it doesn't matter. Pilot or GIB, we're all doing the same job: fighter pilots. Whether it's ripping up a supply dump one day, or helping the guys and girls on the ground like today, or like a few of you did, get to turn MiGs into scrap metal, it's a pleasure to be with some damn fine fighter pilots!” He raised his bottle, and everyone drank. “Thank you, Major.”

Major Wiser nodded. He then got another bottle of Sam Adams-his third. “Sir, with all due respect, we're not quite finished.”

“Major?”

“Let me have some quiet, people!” Major Wiser said, and when the tent got quiet, he went on. “How General Cunningham, as Vice-Chief of Staff, got this approved, I have no idea. But he somehow did....And sir? These ceremonies often involve lots of people with stars on their shoulders and egg on their caps, but, sir? You'd probably like it better this way, surrounded by fighter pilots.” Major Wiser then read from the paper. “The Secretary of the Air Force takes pleasure in the following: Brigadier General Robin Olds, USAF (retired) on TAD, is now hereby promoted to the rank of Major General, USAF, with all the privileges and responsibilities of that rank. Effective this date, 4 November, 1987. By direction of the Secretary of the Air Force.”

There was a hush in the crowd, then another round of applause as people realized what had happened. Then there was cheering.

“Will Captains Ellis and Van Loan step forward? I believe you two have something to give to the General?”

Both Ellis and Van Loan came forward, and Ellis took the case from Van Loan. They went to the General, but then, Ellis gave to to Van Loan to make the presentation. “General,” Van Loan said. “My uncle was your wingman on 20 May 67 when he went down, and both he and his GIB spent five and a half years in Hanoi. Now, he's running his own squadron, but if he was here, he'd be the one making the presentation.” Van Loan then opened the case, with a pair of Major General's stars. “Sir.”

“Thank you, Captain,” General Olds said. “I remember your uncle, and we've tried to stay in touch. I'll drop in on wherever he is and pay his unit a visit.”

“Sir,” Van Loan saluted, then went back to his table.

“General?” Major Wiser asked. “The floor's yours.”

General Olds nodded, then went to the bar. “Major, I had an idea something was up when I saw you and Colonel Brady there plotting at the bar. Well? You're right. I'd rather have it done this way instead of some formal ceremony. And it's customary for the officer being promoted to buy a round, so....” The General slapped his hand on the bar. “I'm buying!” There was a surge toward the bar.

The Club was still buzzing after everyone got their drinks, and Guru turned to Kara and Goalie. “You two? Give the tape and film to the PAO shop, and we'll get the photos developed somehow. Before the General leaves. Squadron archive gets the originals, but you two can have copies for yourselves.”

“Got it,” Kara said, and Goalie nodded.


It wasn't long afterward when Doc Waters rang the bell. “Alert crews are now under Twelve-Hour!”

Guru and Goalie went back to their table, and sat down with several from their flight. “Well, here's to tomorrow,” he raised his beer and several bottles clinked.

“So, Boss, what are you doing tomorrow?” Sweaty asked.

“Sleeping in, for starters,” Guru said.

“You're not the only one,” Goalie nodded. “Still going to be wet and miserable.”

“Depending on paperwork,” Guru said, “I'll be our reporter's next subject.”

The others looked at him. “Don't know whether to be jealous or sorry, Boss,” KT said.

“And get this,” the CO said, “She wants Goalie there as well.”

“What!” Goalie was indignant. “What's she want me for?”

Guru looked at her. “You're my GIB, and we have five kills together. She must think we're doing all right.”

“Any way out of it?”

“You're senior WSO,” Preacher reminded her. “There's always paperwork.”

“If I don't have any?” Goalie said. “I'll create some.”

“Steady,” Guru told her. “I'll stall her as long as I can, but you'll have to be there eventually. I don't like it any more than you do.”

“Whatever,” Goalie grumbled. “But we're supposed to be gracious hosts.”

“That we are,” Guru nodded.

Sweaty had a smile, then turned towards the pool table. “Guess who's being an ungracious host?”

“What's Kara up to now?”

“She's holding court at the Pool Table.”

Guru turned to look. “Great. She's hustling the cameraman.”

Heads turned, and watched as Kara and Scott went at it at the Pool Table. A few minutes later, Mr. Scott's wallet was lightened by $50.00, and he came over to the table in a rage. “Who taught her to play pool?”

“If we knew that, Mr. Scott, we'd be beating her.” Brainiac said.

“One of these days, I'll get her,” Scott promised, then he headed for the bar.

Heads nodded, then KT asked, “What if General Olds challenges Kara?”

“I already told her. If she loses? Smile, nod, be gracious in defeat, pay him, and then go to the bar and get sloppy drunk. Then come back and get revenge the following night.” Guru said.

“If she can,” Preacher said. “General Tanner beat her twice, and he's been doing this since the '60s. General Olds is a WW II vet, and so...”

“More experience,” Goalie noted.

“You got that right,” Guru said.

Kara then disposed of a couple of Marines, then went over to a poker game. Things went on until last call, which was at midnight, then everyone went off to their tents. And as promised, it was already raining. People found their camp beds, and dozed off, for many fully intended to take advantage of the stand-down, and sleep in as long as possible.

And for those who may not know, this is the fellow who was honored: Robin Olds: the only man with air-to-air kills in WW II and Vietnam. No one else can claim Me-109s, Fw-190s, MiG-17s, and MiG-21s on his kill sheet.

The next part: and a sit-down with the reporter and camera crew:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 0740 Hours Central War Time, 5 November, 1987:


Major Matt Wiser opened his eyes, and heard the rain hitting the tent. Sure enough, the rain had arrived, as promised by the weather people, and he knew it was likely very wet and the miserable index would be just as high. He turned to his right, checked the TV table that he used as a nightstand, and glanced at his watch: 0740. He sat up in bed, turned to the left, and saw the wavy blond hair of Goalie, his GIB, with her bare back facing him. Oh, well.....the best laid plans. He gently nudged her. “Hey, sleepyhead. Time to get up. “

She opened her eyes, then sat up in the camp bed, and the covers came tumbling off her bare chest. “What time is it?”

“0740,” Guru said. “Time to get up and be human again.”

“What's that?” She laughed.

“I thought we weren't going to fool around any while the General was here,” said Guru. “Shows you how no plan survives first contact.”

“Yeah. Well, when we have four beers, each, judgment takes a back seat.”

“Just hope nobody had a camera around,” Guru said. “How many times did we do it?”

“Enough,” Goalie replied as she got out of bed and began to get dressed. “Nothing today?”

“Not much flying until the rain stops and a dozen birds come out of maintenance,” Guru reminded her. “Then again, there's that reporter.”

“Don't remind me,” she said, getting into her flight suit. “I'm senior WSO, so I should be able to create some paperwork.”

Guru nodded sympathetically. “Only delaying the inevitable,” he pointed out.

“When?”

“I'll let you know,” Guru said. “How's that?”

“Fair enough.” She went to the door of the tent and peeked outside. “When it rains in California, it pours, as we both know.”

“It does,” Guru said as he got out of bed. “You're from Riverside, right?”

“Lake Elsinore. South of Corona on the 15. And in Texas?”

“As one of my relations used to say, 'Everything's big in Texas. Even the rain.'” He found a raincoat and tossed it to her. “Here. You'll need this to get back to your tent. I've got more than one, thanks to Mom.”

Goalie nodded, then gestured outside. “Thanks I'll see you in a bit. Like you said: time to get up and be human again.”

He nodded, then she went outside into the rain. “It is that,” he said to himself, then got ready to go over to the Men's showers.



A half-hour later, having had a shower and shave, and feeling human again, Guru went into the squadron's offices. The rain was a mixed blessing: though it generally made everyone wet and miserable, but it did give the squadron a much-needed day off from flying, and enabled the maintenance people to get caught up, and bring all twenty of the squadron's aircraft to FMC status. He went in, took off his raincoat, and found Hacksaw, the new Day Shift SDO, at his desk. “Hacksaw,”

“Boss. Looks pretty miserable out there.”

“It is,” the CO said. “Where's the Exec?”

“He's not in yet, so he's either still asleep or is havin' breakfast,” Hacksaw replied, then he sneezed.

“Okay, Kerry go off to breakfast?” The CO was referring to the night-shift SDO, Capt. Kerry Collins.

“He's having breakfast, then he's got an appointment with Doc,” Hacksaw said. “We're tentmates.”

The CO nodded. “Okay....call Doc and have him send Kerry back here. I need to talk with him.”

“What's up?”

“I think we've got some bad Sparrows. Yesterday, during the MiG hassle?” The CO asked. “My flight shot eight and had zero kills. Mark shot two and got a kill. We're not doing anything wrong in the cockpit, so it has to be the missiles.”

“Has to be Boss, but those Sparrows are getting old.” Hacksaw reminded him.

“They are, so...” Guru noted his office, and saw someone there. “Who's in my office?”

“Ops, Boss.”

“He did the XO stuff for Mark. Okay, call Doc.”

“Got you.” Hacksaw said, then he picked up his phone.

The CO then went into his office, and found his Ops Officer waiting. “Don,” he nodded. “Filling in for Mark this morning?”

“He's still asleep,” Van Loan said. “But I've got the stuff he normally has for you.”

Guru nodded. “Good. Because if anything happens to him? You're Exec.”

Van Loan looked at him. “I'm not ready for that.”

“Don, I sure as hell wasn't ready to be Exec, then Rivers said, 'I trust you more than I trust Frank.' Then you know the rest.”

“I sure do. You didn't expect to fill his shoes so soon,” Van Loan said.

“No,' Guru nodded. “Okay, what do you have for me?”

“Aircraft status report for MAG-11,” Van Loan said, handing the CO a clipboard. “Then the Morning Report for both MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force.”

The CO scanned them. “Twelve birds down for maintenance,” he noted. “Nothing I don't know already. When does Kev O'Donnell say they'll be ready?”

“By 1700,” the Ops Officer replied. “No check flights expected, he says.”

“Which makes our reporter and cameraman upset,” Guru said. “What else?”

Van Loan handed him a paper. “Hot off the Fax Machine. Updated weather report.”

Guru scanned it. “Steady rain, heavy at times, until 1400....turning to showers, then becoming partly cloudy after 2000. Return to VFR conditions after that.”

“So back at it tomorrow,” Van Loan said. And it wasn't a question.

“You got it,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

“Ryan Blanchard says the PSD scumbag cracked last night.”

The CO raised an eyebrow at that. “Without her-or anybody else, mind-kicking this guy's balls into his throat?” He saw Van Loan nod, then went on. “And what was this chump doing?”

“Observe and report were his orders, Ryan says,” Van Loan replied. “He did lead them to a cache, where they found two AK-74s, 5,000 rounds of ammo, some Semtex plastic explosives, and a demo kit. Plus some unused one-time pads.”

Guru nodded. “And since this is a declared Military Zone, they turn him over to the Army, instead of the FBI. He gets charged with Espionage, since they may not get a Treason charge to stick. And we all know the penalty for Espionage in wartime.”

“Either posing for rifle fire or he gets a necktie party,” Van Loan said. “Either way, he gets his.”

The CO nodded agreement. “What else?”

“Ryan also says we got scrounged last night.”

“WHAT?”

“CSPs found some guys all dressed in black trying to get into one of our supply shacks. They dropped what they were taking for the most part and ran off,” Van Loan reported.

Guru looked at his Ops Officer. “Okay, what'd they get away with?”

“Not much, just a case of WD-40 and a case of those hams Ross got for horsetrading.”

“Any idea who they were?” Guru asked.

“No, other than they were dressed in all black, as the CSPs reported, ” Van Loan replied. “Your typical burglar's garb.”

The CO nodded. “Probably somebody who wanted their stuff back,” he noted. “What else?”

The Ops Officer handed Guru several papers stapled together. “Sergeant Cody Mathews wants to go to Airman to Pilot,” Van Loan said. “He's one of my guys.”

Guru nodded, then went through the application. “Four semesters at....University of Wyoming. Undecided as a major, but his math and physics grades look OK....why'd he join the Air Force?”

“Two years prior to the war, the money ran out.”

“Not unusual,” Guru said. “He gets his commission and wings, then after the war, the Air Force pays the bill so he can finish his degree. Smart boy.” The CO signed the application. “Given how we need bodies in cockpits, they'll look at the math and physics and say, 'You want flight or nav?'”

“Chances are, yes,” Van Loan said. “Alert crews are set, and the first crew finished at 0800.”

“Good. When does Frank's element sit alert?”

“12 Noon to 1400.”

“Good,” Guru said. “Then I'll go have lunch at 12:05.” A knock on the office door followed. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

Goalie came in with a cup of hot liquid. “Morning,” she said, handing the cup to the CO.

“Morning,” Guru replied. “Feeling refreshed?”

“Yeah, and now I have to find a way to stay busy until we see that reporter.”

The Ops Officer looked at both of them. “She wants an interview?”

“She does,” Guru nodded. “And she wants Goalie in at some point.”

“Boss,” Van Loan said. “I thought she'd be on a C-130 out of here by now.”

“You're not the only one,” Goalie said, and she saw the CO nod. “You thought she'd be gone, too.”

The CO shrugged. “Nothing we can do about that now. And she's probably discovered that she's an adrenalin junkie. But being on an air base at war is one thing. On the front lines? Whole different can of worms.”

“It is that,” Van Loan agreed. “And you've got some experience in getting through the front lines.”

Guru nodded, as another part of his E&E came back. “Yeah. Anything else?”

“That's it.”

“All right, Don. Thanks.”

The Ops Officer nodded, then left the office.

Guru looked at his GIB. “Eaten yet?”

“No,” Goalie said.

“Okay, let's go. Frank's on alert from Noon to 2, so that's lunchtime.”

“Always good to be away from him.”



After breakfast, both CO and GIB went back to the office, and Guru found the Assistant Ordnance Officer, Capt. Kerry Collins, waiting for him. “Kerry,”

“Boss,” Collins said. “What's up?”

“Come on into the office,” Guru said. “And close the door.”

After that was done, Collins asked, “What's this about, Major?”

The CO took a seat. “First, what's the word from Doc?”

Collins grinned. “You'll need a new Night-shift SDO.”

“You're cleared,” Guru shook his hand. “Welcome back.”

“Can't celebrate tonight, because Doc gave me a knock-out pill so that I can get back to my normal rhythm.”

“Good for you.” Guru said, getting serious. “I want to talk to you as Assistant Ordnance Officer. Normally I'd be talking to Frank, but since I want as little to do with Frank as possible-”

“Except to discuss his imminent transfer,” Collins finished with a grin.

“Four-decimal-zero,” the CO nodded. “Now, cutting to the chase. I want you to have a look at our Sparrows. I know-we and the Marine F-4s have Es while the 'teenagers' get Fs or M. My flight yesterday shot eight Sparrows for zero hits. Either failing to ignite, burning out halfway to the target, failing to guide, or premature detonation.”

“You doing everything right in the cockpit? Uh, Boss?”

“We are,” the CO said. “I've talked with Goalie, and everyone else. We're doing everything right, so it has to be the missiles. We have any that are past their shelf life?”

Collins thought for a minute. “Don't know right off, but I'll check. You want me to have the missile guys go over all of 'em?”

“Smart boy,” Guru said. “If you have to wake people up who thought they had a day off and were sleeping in? Do it. Get as many people as you need.”

“Will do, and what about Frank if he asks?”

The CO had an evil-looking grin on his face. “Tell him 'Tough shit,' because you're acting on my orders.”

Collins had a grin himself. “It'll be a pleasure.”

“To see his face......” Guru said. “How soon until you have something for me?”

“Late afternoon, sometime,” Collins said. “Best I can give you.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” said the CO. “Just get it done.”

Collins understood, because the next day, he'd be up there, and might have to depend on an AIM-7 shot. “Gotcha, Boss.”


Some time later, Guru finished with what was in his IN box and looked at his wall clock. Nearly 1100. There was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

The door opened and Kara came in. “Morning, Boss. It's still morning, isn't it?”

“For another hour,” the CO said. He noticed a paper in her hand. “What have you got?”

“It's from Kev O'Donnell. Four of the birds in maintenance are now FMC. The rest will be ready by 1700.”
She handed him the paper. “And those four birds are ours.”

“That's good,” Guru nodded. “Too bad we can't have a stand-down like we had before PRAIRIE FIRE. Give everyone a day or two off-maintenance guys included.”

Kara looked at her CO, then nodded back. “You're not the only one thinking that, Boss.”

“Glad to see I'm not alone in that regard,” said the CO. He got up from his desk and looked out his office window. The rain hadn't let up, and it sure looked miserable. He stood there, arms folded in front of his chest.

When she saw that, Kara knew her CO was thinking about something. “What's on your mind, Boss?”

“Day one. This squadron had twenty-four aircraft and thirty-six crews. You know how many are left after two years?” Guru asked, still looking out the window.

“Let me guess: ten birds and a dozen crews?” Kara answered.

“Close. Six birds and ten full crews, plus eight others who survived when their pilot or GIB didn't. Your GIB's one of them.”

“And you're a special case,” Kara said. “You and Tony Carpenter came back from the E&E, but they kept him on as an instructor at Kingsley after you had your refresher training.”

Guru nodded. “Yeah. You could call us this war's equivalent to Churchill's few. How many of those guys who went through the Battle of Britain made it to the end in May '45?”

“Not that many, I'd bet.”

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,” Guru said, quoting Shakespeare. “There's one bad thing about being one of 'the few.'”

“And that is?”

“We have a habit of getting fewer.” Guru went back to his desk. “I think I'll ask our reporter to do a story on the Day One crews. “

Kara looked at her CO, then she nodded. “Might be a good idea. And she'll probably do a story on the women. Especially now that we have three female pilots and two GIBs who are aces.”

“Not to mention our 'unmanned' bird,” the CO reminded her. “I never thought I'd say this, but she's adapting.”

“She may have the talent for this,” Kara nodded. “Not what we thought from a combat virgin.”

“Looks that way,” Guru said. “Changing the subject, have you seen Doc today?”

“Sure have,” Kara replied. “Saw him at breakfast this morning. He was going from table to table, reminding people to spend some time in the Fitness Center.”

“Which we need to catch up on,” said Guru. “I'll be there about 1400. You?”

“1500.”

“Okay, just one thing: if someone ogles you when you're on the treadmill and wearing that sports bra of yours? Don't deck them. Just get your revenge at the Pool Table or a Poker game,” the CO said with due seriousness. “I know, some of us have seen you wearing much less under unusual circumstances, like finding you nude in the front office of Frank's bird, drunk as a skunk after puking all over the controls, and some have seen you naked on your terms, but staring at your sweaty body in the gym is no reason to turn their lights out. Got it?”

Kara nodded. “Got it, Boss.” She turned to leave, but as she did, she noticed three people coming towards the office. Namely Ms. Wendt, along with her cameraman, Scott, and her soundman, along with Kodak Griffith. “Speaking of reporters....”

Guru looked past her and saw the trio. “Great. My desk is clear, and my IN box is empty.” He sighed, then nodded. “Okay. Tell Ms. Wendt I'll see 'em.”

“Don't envy you,” Kara said as she opened the door.

“No, but she may want to do a sit-down with you,” Guru reminded her. “Find Goalie and tell her that it's almost time for her. Our guests want Goalie for part of the interview.”

“Have her come over?” Kara asked.

“No, but just tell her to wait for her office phone to ring. Chances are, it'll be me.”

“Will do.”

“And remember: next time, it might be you in the hot seat,” Guru told his wingmate.

“If that happens? Permission to get sloppy drunk afterward?” Kara asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Guru laughed. “If it's a day like today? Yes.”

Kara grinned. “I'll hold you to it,” she said. As she went out, she nodded to Ms. Wendt. “Looks like you've got him.”

Ms. Wendt smiled. “Thanks, Captain.” She then knocked. “Major?”

“Well, you found me with my IN Box empty and my desk clear,” Major Wiser said. “Come on in...”



335th TFS CO's Office; 1105 Hours Central War Time:


Major Wiser nodded pleasantly, trying to be the gracious host. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”

“Sometimes, you have to be sneaky,” Ms. Wendt smiled. “And I understand you were a sneaky one when you were Executive Officer.”

“Guilty,” Major Wiser said. “Well, let's get this going.”

After getting a couple of office chairs, and the Major wired with a mike, both CO and reporter sat down “All right, Major. First of all, what's someone with a history degree doing as a fighter pilot?” Ms. Wendt asked to get things started.

“Well,” Guru chuckled. “I had hopes of being an astronaut, so when I went off to college, my first semester, I took an introductory Physics course for science majors. The math was a killer, and I got a C, a strong one, but enough to realize that maybe this wasn't the best idea. I've always had a love of history, and since I hadn't yet declared my major, I put down History on the next semester's registration form, and that was that. The Air Force liked my having that one Physics class, as that meant I would get either flight or navigator training when I graduated from Officer Training School.”

“How long for the whole process? I mean, getting commissioned, earning your wings, then the course on the actual aircraft?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“Nothing classified, since they told you in the recruiting brochures prewar,” Guru said. “Three months for OTS, then a year for flight training, then another nine months to learn the F-4. Two years even.”

“This squadron was your first assignment, right?”

Guru nodded. “It was, and I had a good CO who knew what it was like to be a junior officer once, and he took me and a few other newly-arrived pilots and WSOs under his wing. In my case, literally, because I was his wingman.”

Wendt nodded back. “And this unit was at an exercise when the war began?”

“That's about right, only it was supposed to be the first day of the exercise when the balloon went up, and we went to war from a standing start. We were only forty-five minutes to an hour from the border, so they told us, 'Any armor moving north from the Mexican border? Kill it. And we did for three days. Lost our Exec the first day, and two weeks in, we lost our CO. We've lost three squadron commanders and an Executive officer in all.”

“And you were shot down yourself.”

“Yeah, January 5, '86. Took some AAA damage, and when a missile came up, well.....” recalled Guru. “Fortunately, my backseater and I found some locals in a rural part of Colorado who were only glad to help. A rancher's daughter took us into the mountains to join the Resistance, but she came back a few days later, pretty distraught and saying she was joining full-time.”

“What happened?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“We still don't know. All of Colorado's been liberated, so I can tell more than if it happened in Central or East Texas. Lori Sheppard's her name, and she came back to say that her ranch had been burned to the ground, farm animals and grain taken away, and her family-parents, younger brother and sister, had been killed. Her mom and sister had been gang-raped, then all were shot in the back of the head,” Guru said. “No surprise that when she got there, and took over leadership of the group due to the previous one being killed by a Hind helicopter, her policy on prisoners was very simple. 'We aren't taking any.,' she said.”

“Sounds like a very grim business.”

“It was, and in parts of Texas and Louisiana, still is, “ Guru replied. “It's not like what you see in those made-for-TV movies that Hollywood's turned out. You spend most of your time on the needs of survival: food, water, shelter. But there's only so much you can get off the land. And when you need more food, or medical supplies, not to mention more weapons and ammo, there's only one way to get it.”

Wendt recognized it at once. “From the Enemy.”

“Right. Most of the combat we went on was for just that, but there were times when we wanted to make Ivan or his lackeys bleed. And bleed they did.”

“For someone in the Antipodes, just how bad were the Soviet atrocities, at least in your area?”

Guru nodded. “They were bad. We had people run to the hills and join up because they were too close. One family-two young parents and a baby, were in a bread line in some town on Interstate 25, and somebody stuck a knife in a Soviet soldier and killed him. They took twenty people out of that line at random, and this couple? The fellow right behind them in line was one of the twenty. Anyway, these people were lined up in front of an improvised firing squad and shot then and there. Anyone even suspected of harboring downed pilots or guerrillas? Their home would be burned to the ground and everyone there killed. Then they rounded up anyone who they thought might be a threat-people who owned firearms, for example, or employed more than a dozen people in their business; anyone involved in local politics, too. And put them in what they call 'Re-education Camps. More like a labor camp, if you ask me.”

“I've seen the mass grave near here,” Ms. Wendt said. “And you've seen several.”

“More than I care to,” Guru said. “Sometimes it was just people taken to the edge of what the Soviets considered secured area, shot, and their bodies dumped into a roadside ditch. A couple times, we got there about an hour after the Russians had finished-they'd taken people-some civilians, some folks from the camp, made them dig a pit, then they were all shot. They even had a sign that said, 'Executed in reprisal for guerrilla activity' and the signs were preprinted, in English, Russian,and Spanish.”

“How long were you there?”

“Five months, then a dozen of us downed pilots, plus Lori Sheppard and several other guerrillas, walked over the Rockies to friendly lines. Hope they're okay, because after we found the Army, they got cleaned up, got some Special Forces advisors, and went back in-or at least, that was the plan. Hopefully, she and the others got through this, and now that Colorado's been liberated, they're busy getting their lives back together.”

Ms. Wendt nodded. “And you got some home leave, then some refresher flight training, then back to the squadron.”

“Yep,” Guru said. “My family had been told I was Missing in Action, and when they were told I had come out of enemy territory and would have home leave, they were jumping for joy. Two weeks at home wasn't enough, but it had to do. Then the refresher training, then back to the squadron.”

“What was that like?” She asked.

“People were glad to see me back, naturally. And Colonel Rivers-our CO at the time, rest his soul, had a couple of surprises for me.”

The reporter looked at him. “And those were?”

Guru had a smile. “First, a promotion to Captain before I thought I was eligible, but then again, it's wartime. There were guys who were Second Lieutenants in December, 1941 who were Lieutenant Colonels in August, 1945. So that wasn't unusual. Then the second was a big surprise.”

“A female navigator,” Ms. Wendt said. “And you thought it was a joke.”

“Who told you? General Tanner?” Guru asked. He saw her nod, then added, “And he heard it from Colonel Rivers. Yeah. I thought it was a welcome-back joke. It sure wasn't.”

“Before I ask if she can join us, how have the two of you done?”

“Pretty good, by anyone's definition. We've got five kills and just over 500 missions together. The Vietnam War record was 625, and I'll bet any amount of money that's been beaten by now. Not sure what the World War II record is, but I think it's some German on the Eastern Front with maybe 2,000 or so.” Guru paused, then added, “That's one record I hope doesn't get broken.”

Ms. Wendt smiled grimly. “I don't think anyone would disagree with you on that, Major. So...how have the women done?”

“Very good, and whatever one's prewar feelings on that were, by and large, those have gone by the wayside as you can't argue with results. I've got several female pilots and weapons officers in the squadron, and three of the former and two of the latter are aces.”

“And one of those is yours,” Wendt acknowledged. “And their reception in the squadron?”

“There were a few people who thought it wasn't a good idea, but when they produced results? Those people shut up. There's one or two who still think that way, but everyone else has gotten used to it.”

“You've also got an all-female crew, correct?”

“I do, and that crew made history, because I think they're the first all-female F-4 crew, and they got their first kill yesterday.”

“That's interesting, Major,” Wendt said. “So, could your backseater join us?”

“I'll get her.” Guru unclipped the mike, then went to his office phone and punched up her number.


Goalie was in her small office-as senior WSO, she was entitled to one, and she looked at her desk. Like the CO's, her IN Box was empty, and her desk was clear. She was talking with several WSOs, including KT and Revlon, when the office phone rang. She picked it up. “Eichhorn.”

“Goalie?” She recognized the voice at once. “It's time.”

“She didn't forget?” Goalie asked.

Guru chuckled. “No, she didn't.” Then he heard a sigh over the line.

“Okay, I'll be right there.”

“We'll be waiting.”

“On my way,” She then hung up the phone and looked at KT and Revlon. “Well, she didn't forget.”

“Look at it this way,” KT said sympathetically. “You get your fifteen minutes of fame.”

Goalie nodded. “One way of looking at it. Though the GRU would add that footage to both of our files.”

“What?” Revlon asked. “That on the level?”

“Remember what the CO said? Every officer commissioned prewar probably has a file with their name on it in Moscow,” Goalie said. “Hope they enjoy it.” Then she went to the CO's office and knocked.

“Come on in,” Guru said.

Goalie came in, and sketched a salute for the reporter's benefit. “Major,” she nodded.

“Glad you could join us, Lieutenant,” Major Wiser said. “Ms.Wendt, meet First Lieutenant Lisa Eichhorn, my Weapons Systems Officer, or WSO.”

Although they knew each other already, this was for the benefit for the camera and the audience. “Lieutenant,” Ms. Wendt said. “It's a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Goalie replied, trying to hide her dislike of the whole thing. She was wired for a microphone and then she and Guru sat back down.

Ms. Wendt then spoke for the camera. “And now we're joined by First Lieutenant Lisa Eichhorn, who is Major Wiser's navigator, or as they call it here, WSO, or Weapons Systems Officer. Though there's another term, right?”

Goalie laughed. “Yeah, there is. It's 'Guy in Back, from the Vietnam days, but now, it's also Girl in Back. There's several of us in the squadron, and quite a few now in the F-4 Community.”

“Okay, you're from Southern California, right?”

“That's right,” Goalie replied.

“And what were you doing before the war?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“I was already in the Air Force. I'm an Air Force Academy graduate, and was a C-130 navigator at Little Rock AFB in Arkansas when the shooting started,” said Goalie.

Wendt nodded. “How bad was it there?”

“We weren't attacked, if that's what you're wondering,” Goalie said. “But there was a bit of confusion, as you'd expect. By evening, though, my squadron had a mission. We flew to Colorado Springs to help with the evacuation of the Air Force Academy.”

“How did that go?”

“It was hectic, but when we got there, they had groups of cadets already waiting at the airport, and the Air Force had commandeered several civilian airliners as well. We spent a couple of days flying out cadets, faculty, and staff who didn't go on the ground evacuation. They grabbed every eighteen-wheeler or other heavy truck in Colorado Springs they could lay their hands on and loaded everything that wasn't nailed down. Buses for the families of the faculty and staff, people who worked at NORAD Headquarters, and the Olympic Training Center? Everybody we could get out, by plane or bus? We did.”

“Can you say where those people went?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“The Air Force Academy's been written up in the news media: they're at Beale AFB in California. I don't know where the NORAD people went, but the Olympic Training Center? We flew some of them to Salt Lake City. Then it was flying into Denver.”

“Supplying the city during the siege?”

“Even before that got going: they wanted the hospitals evacuated so they could be ready for combat casualties. My squadron flew out the patients from the Children's Hospital, to name one mission. We'd fly supplies like food, medical supplies, or ammunition in, and take people out on the return trip.”

Ms. Wendt nodded. “And how bad was it-flying wise?”

“There would be nights-and most of our runs were at night-when nobody shot at us. We'd see the artillery from the siege perimeter, but flak or missiles? Hardly any. There'd be other nights when everyone and their mother shot at us as if they would outlaw ammunition in the next half-hour.” Goalie paused, then continued. “We lost people and airplanes, but every bird west of the Rockies that could carry cargo, it seemed, was on the run: C-130s, C-123s pulled from mothballs, some C-141s-though they were on the TransPac run to Japan and back, C-7s, even airliners like DC-8 or 707 freighters, and I even saw a couple of 747 freighters at times. Never saw C-5s, but then again, they and the C-141s had their business elsewhere. There were even private pilots or air cargo companies who offered their services and aircraft, and they flew in as well. And we got the job done. Denver held out, the siege was partially lifted in August of last year, and it ended for good this last summer. And the bad guys manning the siege perimeter got caught in that big pocket near Pueblo.”

“And what made you want to fly fighters?”

Goalie looked at Guru, then at the camera. “The law was changed in December, '85, and it wasn't long until they asked for volunteers. I volunteered because I wanted to do more than use a protractor, compass, time-speed-distance calculator, and a map. So my CO endorsed my application, and off I went to Oregon to learn the F-4. Graduated in June, had a week at home, then I joined the squadron.”

Ms. Wendt nodded, then asked, “And your new pilot thought it was a joke when you were introduced to each other.”

The two crewmates looked at each other, then laughed. “That he did,” Goalie said, laughing. “But it's worked out pretty good, I'd say.”

“I'll go along with that one hundred percent,” Guru added.

“You've had some interesting adventures in the cockpit since? You're both aces, and from what your general told me, you've brought back damaged aircraft on several occasions,” Ms. Wendt said.

“That we have,” Guru said. “She's proof of the value of having a second pair of eyes in the cockpit, and I'd say that she-and the other female aircrew have shown that they belong.”

“Any issues, Major?” Ms. Wendt asked. “Any trouble along those lines?”

“For the most part? No,” Guru replied. “Colonel Rivers, my predecessor, rest his soul, laid down the law, and said that anyone who asked for a transfer because he couldn't work with a female pilot or WSO could have one. A couple of people did, but by and large, everyone's put such thoughts aside and gotten on with the job.”

“There's a couple of stick-in-the-muds who haven't changed, but other than that?” Goalie asked. “Everyone gets along pretty good.”

“Save those arguments for after the war, because we've got a job to do,” Guru added. “That's what Colonel Rivers said, and I've reiterated that.”

“How's morale in the squadron?” Asked Ms. Wendt.

“Pretty good,” Guru said. “When we were holding our own, it was strong, but now...”

“Now that we're winning,” Goalie added. “It's high enough.”

“And we've got people with relatives in the occupied zone,” Guru pointed out. “They want this war over now so they can find out what happened to their loved ones. We're winning, but as I told some new people who reported in a couple days ago, 'It's a long way to the Rio Grande, and longer still to Mexico City. This war's not done. Not by a long shot.”

Ms. Wendt nodded. “Your general told me that before I came here,” she said. “Now, a question for both of you: How do the two of you get along in the cockpit?”

Both Pilot and WSO looked at each other and laughed. “We've kind of got this kind of relationship in the cockpit,” Guru said. “I do the pilot stuff.”

“And I do the WSO stuff,” Goalie added. “I work the radar, handle the navigation, and set up the ordnance.”

“While I fly the airplane, keep an eye out for threats, and actually pull the trigger.”

“But,” Goalie added with due seriousness, “We both keep an eye out. There have been times when we're in combat-especially in a fight with a MiG, and having two pairs of eyes in the cockpit has saved our bacon more than once.”

“One time,” Guru said. “We were chasing a MiG-23, and our wingmate was busy with her own MiG. So I pitched up and rolled-” he motioned with his hands to show what had happened. “Out of fighter pilot good habits, we did a quick visual check, and sure enough...”

Goalie picked up the story. “Sure enough, at Seven O'clock, there were two more MiGs coming in. I called over the intercom, 'Two Floggers at Seven.' Floggers mean MiG-23s, by the way.”

“When I heard that, I broke off the MiG we were chasing, and turned to face the more immediate threat,” Guru said.

“The two new MiG-23s,” Ms. Wendt said. And by the tone of her voice, it wasn't a question.

“That's right,” Guru nodded. Our wingmate-Sweaty Blanchard, saw what was happening and broke off the MiG she was chasing and came our way. The MiGs split-and I wound up chasing the wingman. He went into a left-hand turn, then all of a sudden he reversed. That slowed him down, and I got a Sidewinder missile to track him. You got a loud growl in the headset when that happens, and when I heard that, I fired. The missile tracked, flew up his tailpipe, and blew up. The MiG rolled right, then went inverted into the ground. The pilot bailed out at the last minute, but he was too low.”

“And during all that,” Goalie added. “I'm busy looking around, seeing if the MiG that Sweaty was chasing was a factor, and then there were the other two MiGs that we'd been chasing earlier.”

“I pick up Sweaty, who's chasing the MiG leader. Before she can shoot, I call that there's another MiG-23 on her tail, so she breaks right, while Goalie here tries to lock that MiG up for a radar-guided missile shot. But before she can shoot, here come four F-15s, and they ask if they can come to the party. We were low on fuel, so I told them to come on in,” said Guru. “We had enough gas to turn with these guys for maybe a minute or two. I called Sweaty and asked her fuel state. She replied 'Near Bingo'-that means your fuel state is low enough you have to break off and head for home.”

“Which we did,” Goalie added. “The F-15s had a little party, and they got two, maybe three, MiG-23s.”

“And that was?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“My first in the backseat, and his fourth.”

“And you have five together, right?”

“That's right,” Goalie nodded. “Plus a probable that hasn't been confirmed yet.”

“There's one other thing about our relationship in the cockpit,” Guru added. “Before we went on our first mission together, I told her, 'Lisa, I don't want to die surprised. If my last conscious thought is 'What the hell was that?' I'll hunt you through eternity.” And both pilot and WSO laughed.

“And he really did say that,” Goalie grinned.

Ms. Wendt chuckled herself. “Well, in that case....a more serious question. How would you rate your opponents?”

Both CO and WSO nodded. “Well, we can only mention the ones we've actually gone up against,” Guru said.

“Like the Czechs or Poles: we've never gone up against them in the air,” Goalie said. “Same for the Nicaraguans and Mexicans.”

“But the Russians?” Guru asked. “They're good. In some cases, very good. They've got their own aces, mind. Flying some good airplanes, with decent weapons. Same thing for the East Germans.”

“There's only one difference between the Soviets and the East Germans,” Goalie added.

Ms. Wendt looked at her. “And that is?”

“Not that many East Germans, but the ones who got sent over here? They sent the best.”

“Then there's the Cubans,” Guru said. “They're also pretty good. They fly many of the same aircraft the Soviets fly, and they've got some good drivers. Libyans, though....only one real encounter, and that guy was way too easy.”

“How so?” Ms. Wendt asked.

“He was in a MiG-25 and we jumped him as he was taking off. The Foxbat has pretty bad rear visibility from the cockpit, and chances are, he never knew we were there. I put two Sidewinder missiles into him, and he just cartwheeled into the desert floor. We've heard about other Libyans who act as if they know they'll be shot down, but they take off anyway.”

Goalie added, “About the only time you can get a MiG-25 in an F-4 is on takeoff or landing. You go up against a MiG-21 or MiG-23 in an F-4 and you get a fair fight for the most part. We've had one MiG-29 encounter.”

“And that guy wound up walking home,” Guru said. “Sweaty killed his wingman.”

“I've heard some people say that each combat is different,” Ms. Wendt said.

“That's pretty much it,” Guru replied. “No two combats are the same.”

“Ground defenses?” Ms. Wendt asked. “How bad are they?”

“Depends on the mission and who we're up against,” Goalie said. “Sometimes, it's a free ride and no one's shooting. They don't shoot at all, or don't start until the first bombs fall.”

“Other times....” Guru finished. “The flak is plentiful and the SAMs come up in quantity. We've had SAMs-and not just the shoulder-fired kind, but heavy ones like SA-6, mind-fly right over us or past us.”

The reporter nodded. “Have you come back with battle damage?”

“A few times,” Guru admitted. “A couple of times, we came back with unexploded SA-7s-those are shoulder-fired missiles-sticking out of our tailpipe. Had to divert to another field once with flak damage to an engine.”

“And you have lost people,” Ms. Wendt said.

“Too many,” said Guru. “Not that many of us left who were flying on Day One. Where are the others? Killed, wounded and not able to get back into a fighter cockpit, MIA, or POW.”

“Not just that, a couple days ago,” Goalie added. “We lost two birds and a crewmember. Three out of four rescued, but it doesn't take away the hurt of losing a friend.”

“No,” Guru said. “I saw a CO go down two weeks into the war, and he was like a father figure not just to me, but to everyone in the squadron. One minute he's there, I call a SAM closing on him, the next? He's a fireball and both he and his GIB are gone.”

“And it wasn't that long ago we lost a CO who was just like that,” Goalie commented, then she turned her head in Guru's direction. “And we got a new squadron commander.”

Guru nodded. “Not the way I wanted it, but it comes with the job of being Exec. Sometimes you get that promotion at a change-of-command ceremony. Other times, though....you get it the hard way.”

“Last question,” Ms. Wendt said. “Any messages for your families? Major?”

“Families? Oh....Hi, Mom! Granny, Grandpa. Hope you're all doing OK. Still here, still kicking, and doing the job. I'll write you all as soon as I can, but I've been pretty busy. Hope you guys have a Happy Thanksgiving, as that's coming up,” Guru said. Then he turned to Goalie.

“My turn? Mom? Dad? Joanne, Brad? It's me. I'm still flying, still got a job to do. Hope to get in touch with you soon, but I've been pretty busy the last few days. Have a Happy Thanksgiving, and tell everyone I'm doing fine,” Goalie said.

Ms. Wendt smiled. “Major, Lieutenant? Thank you,” then all shook hands. After she gave the “Cut” signal to Scott, the cameraman, she tuned to Major Wiser. “Major, that went well.”

“Better than probably any of us thought,” replied the CO. “Remember that the media and the military here haven't been on good terms-until the war started, that is.”

Ms. Wendt nodded .”So I am told. Some of the post-Vietnam bitterness, I understand. The media being blamed by the military for losing the war.”

“Something like that,” Goalie said as she unclipped her mike.

“Hope you don't mind my giving you a couple of hints for stories,” Guru said as he removed his mike. “Have a talk with General Olds.”

“Already set up for later today,” Ms. Wendt replied.

Guru raised an eyebrow. “Well, now.” He turned to Kodak Griffith. “They have someplace picked out for the interview with the General?”

“Not yet, Major,” Kodak replied. “We were hoping that if possible, we could use your office.”

“Done. Anytime from 1400 to 1530. I'll be spending that time in the fitness center.”

“Thank you, Major,” Ms. Wendt said.

“You're welcome, Ma'am,” Guru said. “And if you don't mind, Lieutenant Eichhorn and I have a couple of ideas that you may want to pursue.”

Given how skeptical about the media that the CO had appeared to be when they arrived, this was a surprise to Ms. Wendt and her crew. “What do you have, Major?”

“Day One vets,” Major Wiser said, and she could tell he was very serious. “There's just over two dozen of us left in the squadron who flew that day. And it might be a good idea for us to get our stories out, because the 'few' have a habit of getting fewer, if you get my meaning.”

“I understand,” Ms. Wendt said. “I'll ask Captain Griffith to ask around, see who's willing to talk. Might be worth a full segment on 60 Minutes-not just our version Down Under, but yours as well.”

“Just as long as we get to see it at some point,” Major Wiser said. “Not just for our benefit, but our families as well.”

“Of course,” Ms. Wendt replied. “And Lieutenant Eichhorn's idea?”

Goalie looked at her. “The women. You've got two female pilots and three female WSOs who are aces, an 'unmanned' F-4 crew who got their first kill yesterday, then there's the other aircrew, some of our Combat Security Police-”

Ms. Wendt laughed. “I've already talked to your Captain Ryan Blanchard, Lieutenant. She's told me about your R&R adventure. Something about capturing a Cuban while wearing only an M-16 and a pair of combat boots.”

Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “Not a surprise that story's gone around the Air Force,” Guru said.

“It has. They told us at Nellis,” Scott, the cameraman, quipped. “We thought it was one of those wild stories you hear in every war, but when we talked to her, not only did she say it was true, but the two of you had been there.”

“We were,” Goalie admitted.

“Not sure either network would want that going on the air, but we might just get it on tape anyway,” Wendt chuckled. “Who knows? Twenty years from now, there might be a place for 'Wild Stories of the Third World War.' or something like that.”

“There's one other thing, Ms. Wendt” Guru said, and she could tell he was serious. “You should talk with the people who enable us to do our jobs. Aircraft maintenance folks-whether engine mechanics, avionics techs, life support people-the ones who work on our ejection seats and parachutes....Ordnance people, fuelers, and so on. These people work twelve to fourteen hour days so that we can go and do our jobs.”

Goalie added, “Ninety percent of those in the Air Force aren't involved with flying. They work just as hard as we do, and they're no less dedicated to the job. We depend on these folks every day so we can go out and put the hurt on the bad guys.”

“They don't get enough credit for what they do,” said Guru.

“You know,” Ms.Wendt said after a minute. “I'll probably wind up doing all of these in the not-too distant future. Thank you again, Major, and Lieutenant.” They all shook hands, then the reporter and crew left the office.

After the crew had left, both Guru and Goalie took a sigh of relief. “Glad that's over?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Yeah, though we're probably not done. If she does that feature on Day One, and the one on the women,” Goalie said. “We both do it again.”

Guru nodded, then checked his office clock. “1145. Come on over to Ops. I want to see if there's a Contingency ATO if this weather clears sooner than the weather folks say.”

“Why not go over and get lunch?” Goalie asked.

“Because Frank is likely finishing his lunch before his element pulls their Zulu Alert stint. And the weather matches my mood on him today.”

Goalie knew full well what he meant. “Which means you want as little to do with him as possible.”

“Right you are. And Kerry Collins is doing something that I trust him to do more than Frank. He's checking all of our Sparrows to see if we've got some bad ones.”

“That's good to know,” Goalie replied. “Any word? “

“No, not yet,” the CO said. “Sometime this afternoon is what he said, and I told him not to make any promises he can't keep.”

Goalie nodded. “And if we have some bad ones?”

“Then I can request we get -7Fs. If we're going to be taking Sparrow shots-whether BVR or otherwise-I want some that work.”

“That'd be good. I know I'm doing everything right in the cockpit,” said Goalie.

Guru nodded. “So am I. Come on: let's go talk to Don about this and the ATO if there is one, and we can bring Mark up to speed as well.”

And with that, both left the CO's office, glad the interview was over and done.

And more of a stand-down day:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 1150 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and Goalie left the CO's office and went to the Ops Office, where they found both Van Loan and Kara. “Don,” Guru nodded. “And Kara.”

“How'd the interview go, Boss?” Van Loan asked.

“Actually, it went pretty well,” the CO said. “And the two of us probably aren't done yet.”

Kara looked at her CO. “She wants you again?”

“Yep,” Guru replied. “She wants to do a story on the Day One vets-those of us who are still left, and by the way, Don, that includes you.”

“Thanks a heap, Major,” Van Loan said. “And that means Mark as well.”

“You got it.”

Goalie then turned to Kara. “And she wants to have a go at you, Kara.”

“Thanks a bunch!” Kara shot back. “What the hell for?”

“She's going to do a story on the women,” Goalie said. “Not just aircrew, but ground people as well. They already talked to Ryan Blanchard.”

Kara looked at Goalie, then her CO. “They ask about that R&R story? I mean.....Ryan chasing down a Cuban wearing only an M-16 and combat boots?”

Guru grinned. “That one. And yeah, she confirmed it. Not to mention that Goalie and I were there.”

“So, we all have to play the gracious host, then,” Kara nodded. By her tone, it wasn't a question.

“That we do,” Guru said. “Now, to business. Any word on a contingency ATO?”

Van Loan shook his head. “Negative, Boss. Not with this weather. And before you ask, no weather update yet.”

“Fair enough,” said the CO . “Any word from Kev O'Donnell?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay....Frank come in yet? His element's sitting Zulu Alert in five minutes.”

“Not yet,” Van Loan said. Just after he said that, Major Frank Carson came into Ops to sign in for his alert stint.

“Major,” Carson said, being barely polite. “Captain,” He said to Van Loan. “I”m here to sign in.”

Van Loan handed him a clipboard. “Here's the form, and just so you know, the weather's still bad, and chances are, that siren won't sound.”

“Just be ready if it does,” Guru said. “Got it?”

“Yes......sir.” Carson replied, not trying to hide his contempt for the CO.

“Frank, just don't be rank. And be prepared for two hours of boredom. Get a book or a few magazines, or a Walkman. Take a nap, write a letter home, whatever. Otherwise, it's two hours of twiddling your thumbs.”

“Yes...sir,” Carson said. “Sir, what's this about giving Captain Collins something that I should be doing?”

“He's doing a special project for me. Anything else?”

“No...sir.”

“Good. Then enjoy your Zulu stint.”

Carson turned, but a temptation got the better of him. “I see you have the two sluts with you.”

“Careful, Frank....” Goalie said, her words as cold as ice. “I'd keep my mouth shut, because either Kara or I can pick up that phone on Ops' desk and call JAG.”

“There'd be a sexual harassment charge coming from either one of us,” added Kara.

Carson gave out an exasperated “Ughh,” then turned to the CO . “Is that all, sir?”

“Just this,” Guru opened his flight suit pocket and took out a folded letter. “I'd check the last two paragraphs.” It was the note from Sundown Cunningham.

Carson took the paper, scanned it, then looked at the CO. “He can't be serious.”

“He is,” Guru said. “And when the Vice-Chief of Staff says the squadron's in good hands? That counts more than your overinflated opinion. Anything else?”

“No...sir.”

“Good. Now beat it, and enjoy the next two hours.”

Carson shook his head, then left the Ops Office in a fit of the sulks, slamming the door behind him.

“That is not a happy person, Boss.” Van Loan observed.

“Yeah, well....his problem,” said Guru. “Have lunch yet?”

“In a few, Boss,” the Ops Officer said.

“Kara?”

“My desk's clear,” Kara grinned. “Sure, I could use some lunch.”

“Good. Don? Before you go, remind folks that if they haven't yet? Find some time to spend in the Fitness Center,” the CO told the Ops Officer.

“Will do,” Van Loan replied.

“Okay, let's go.”


After lunch, and a run-in with Doc, who reminded all of them to spend some time getting in shape, they went back to the squadron offices. Guru went to his, and found Kerry Collins waiting for him. “Kerry,”

“Boss,” Collins said. “Got some news for you. And I know you won't like it.”

“Come on into the office,” Guru said. “And close the door.” The CO went in, and Collins followed, closing the door behind him. Guru went to his desk and nodded. “Okay, Kerry. Lay it on me.”

“Half of our Sparrows are near, at, or past their shelf life.”

The CO's face got red, then he slammed a fist on his desk. “Damn it!” He looked at Collins. “You're sure about this?”

“Double-checked all of 'em, Boss,” Collins said. “And even with this, it'll be a few days, at least, before we get any Fs.”

“Lovely,” the CO growled. “I'd like to meet the genius who thought that strike Phantoms didn't need Fs. And kick his ass six ways from Sunday.”

“You'd probably have to get in line for that, Boss,” Collins pointed out.

“And watch me find a way to cut to the front of the line,” Guru said. “I don't care who I have to trample, mutilate, go through, over, on top, or underneath to find this asshole.”

“To be wished for, Boss,” said Collins. “So, what now?”

Guru thought for a minute. “We can't pull the bad ones, right?” He saw Collins nod, then continued. “Okay, mix the bad with the good if at all possible. It's better than going out with one, or worse, none at all. Unless you've got a better idea.”

“Can't think of anything, Major. I know the missile maintenance guys aren't cutting any corners.”

“They working on the bad ones now?”

“As we speak, Boss,” Collins replied.

“Okay, tell 'em to do their best. And like I said earlier: don't make any promises you can't keep,” the CO said. And Collins could tell by the tone of his voice that the CO was serious. “I'll talk to General Olds either this afternoon or tonight, and see if he can't get the ball rolling on getting us some AIM-7Fs.”

“And we can forget about Ms, because F-14s and F-15s also have priority on those, and AIM-120? Dream on.”

“You've got that right. That's at least a year away, and when it does come out? F-15s and F-16s get them first before anyone else. That's the scuttlebutt, anyway,” sighed Guru.

“We don't have the radars, anyway. That takes APG-63 or better: F-15, F-16, F/A-18, F-20, or F-14, Boss.”

Guru nodded. 'Unfortunately.” Then there was a knock at the door. “Come on in and show yourself!”

The door opened, and General Olds came in with his aide. “Major,” he said. “And Captain.”

Both the CO and Collins drew themselves to something resembling attention. “General,” Guru said. “Something I can do for you, sir?”

“Just decided to get ready for the interview,” Olds said. “It'll be here, that Marine PAO said. You don't have an Air Force one?”

“No, sir,” Major Wiser said. “We had one, but he was killed on Day Three of PRAIRIE FIRE, and the Air Force hasn't seen fit to send us anyone qualified to take his place. Namely, a pilot with some PAO training or experience. And sir, before you ask, my Chief Sergeant has been trying to find us one. He knows people in Officer Detailing.”

Olds nodded. “People like that find what they're looking for, sooner or later, Major. And who's the Captain here?” He nodded at Collins.

“Sir, Captain Kerry Collins. I'm the Assistant Ordnance Officer. And sir, it's an honor to meet you.”

“I've had more people say that yesterday and today than I probably ever have,” Olds observed. “Assistant Ordnance Officer, hm? This have something to do what that issue we discussed earlier, Major?”

The CO nodded. “Yes, sir. Kerry, you tell the General what you told me just a few minutes ago.”

“Major,” Collins said, then he spoke for five minutes. “And that's that, sir,” he said when finished.

The CO and Collins looked at the General, who had a scowl on his face. “I've heard similar complaints from the ex-IIAF guys at Amarillo, same thing from Reese and Cannon, as well. So...how do you plan to deal with it?”

“Sir, best we can do,” Collins said, 'is this: My missile guys are going over the bad ones, seeing what they can replace, but that's only an interim solution. Bottom line, sir, is we need AIM-7F.”

“That's what I've been told elsewhere, and this just reinforces that. I'll talk to General Tanner this afternoon or evening, and see if we can't light a fire under someone's ass and get you people some decent BVR weapons.”

Guru nodded. “Thank you, sir. And my....scroungers?”

“Hold off on that, Major. Like I said, let's see if Tenth Air Force can't get things moving. If not....we'll tell you to turn your guys loose.”

“Yes, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Sir, if you don't mind my saying, I'd like to find whoever decided strike Phantoms didn't need AIM-7F and kick his ass over the moon.”

Hearing that, General Olds let out a laugh. “Major, you are not the only squadron CO to say something like that. Got an earful of that on my previous stops. That's a mighty long line you're talking about. And Major? If General Tanner can't get things going, I do know someone who can.”

Both 335th officers looked at each other, then the CO asked, “Sir, you don't mean Sundown Cunningham?”

“That's exactly who I mean, Major. He's a former subordinate, and we've kept in touch. One way or another, Major, this will be sorted out. And somebody's balls will get crunched.”

Guru and Collins looked at each other again. General Cunningham's reputation throughout the Air Force was well known, and as far as they were concerned, richly deserved. “He will do that, sir, though I'd rather see whoever is responsible shoveling snow.”

Olds laughed again. “Major, I'd like to see that myself. But....we'll settle for somebody getting a job more suited to their talents, won't we. And speaking of which, another old hand got called up for this one: Chuck Yeager's back at Edwards. He's in charge of the F-20 program. Don't be surprised if he brings a couple of Tigersharks out here in a month or two.”

“If you say so, sir,” Guru replied. He looked out the office window to the main office,and saw the reporter and camera crew coming. “General, our friends from the Fourth Estate are here. Looks like I'll have to make myself scarce.”

Olds and his aide looked out the window. “Looks like you will, Major. How much warning did you get?”

“Two minutes, sir. If that. And sir? Good luck with Ms. Wendt.”

“Thanks Major. Guess I'll see you later. And Captain? Keep up the good work.”

“Yes, sir!” Collins said.

“General,” Guru nodded, then both he and Collins left the office. They immediately ran into Ms.Wendt. “He's all yours, Ms. Wendt.”

“Thank you, Major,” Wendt said. “My second General, and a for-real hero in two wars.”

“Keep this in mind, though,” Guru said. “He's the only pilot I know of who has piston-engined fighters and supersonic jets in his kill sheet. He killed Me-109s and Fw-190s over Europe, and MiG-17s and MiG-21s over North Vietnam. Nobody else can claim that.”

The reporter nodded. 'I'll keep that in mind.”

“And when we say he's an Air Force legend? He is. So, good luck with the General.”

“Thank you again, Major,” Ms. Wendt said, then she and her crew went into the CO's office.

Guru then turned to Collins. “Kerry, get back to your missile techs. I don't care how you do it, but I want each bird to have two Sparrows for the morning.”

“We'll get it done, Major,” Collins said. “You can take it to the bank.”

“Said it before, but I'll repeat it. Don't make any promises you can't keep,” Guru reminded him.

Collins looked at his CO. “We'll have 'em for you, Boss.”

“Don't waste any more time talking to me, Kerry. Just get it done.”

“On my way.” Collins then left for the ordnance shop.

Goalie then came over to the CO. “Looks like the General's doing his interview.”

“He is,” Guru said. “I'm headed for a workout. You coming?”

“Shortly,” Goalie said.

“Okay, if anyone needs the CO, tell'em he's working up a sweat.”

“Will do.”

Guru nodded. “See you over there.”


A few minutes later, Guru was in the Fitness Tent. When he got there, he noticed one of Doc Water's medics with a clipboard. “Checking off names?”

The sergeant nodded. “Yes, sir. Doc's orders. And he specifically said to keep an eye out for you, the Exec, Ops, and a few others.”

“All right.” The CO shrugged, then headed for a treadmill to get in his four miles. He had just done a mile and a half when Kara and Goalie came in, and sure enough, there were a few eyes watching the both of them in their sports bras. An icy stare from Kara made the starers find something else to look at, and the CO smiled. Then the Exec came in, and got on the treadmill next to him. “Mark.”

“Boss,” the Exec said as he got started. “Kerry filled me in.”

“Good. Now you know what's up with our Sparrows.”

“And you want to kick someone's ass-literally,” the Exec smiled. “Mind if I get in line behind you?”

“Lots in front, and Sundown Cunningham is probably at the head of it,” the CO pointed out.

“Yeah. And what'd Frank say about this?”

“He wasn't happy about being bypassed, but I told him Kerry was doing this on my orders, and if he didn't like it, well, that's his problem. Among many.”

Ellis nodded as they kept running, and both Kara and Goalie came to get in their runs. Again, a few stopped to watch Kara and Goalie run, but they paid no attention this time. “You probably saw a lot of Goalie last night.”

“You saw us?” Guru asked.

“You two going off to your tent an hour before last call? Don't need to be an intel officer to know what you two did when you got there. Same thing with Don and Sweaty.”

“Seeing anyone?”

“Not here, but on R&R? I've got an old college friend. She's a C-130 driver, and flew quite a bit into Denver. If she ever comes by, she's got some stories about flying into Stapeleton or Lowry that'll make your hair stand on end.”

“Goalie flew into Denver when the siege got going,” Guru recalled as he hit the two-mile mark. “She's got a few....flying into Stapleton or one of the other airports. At night, especially. Try doing it in a snowstorm when they're shooting at you. You name it, it flew into there. C-5s and -141s, rarely, but others? If it could fly cargo in and people out? It was there.”

“Wouldn't be surprised if there were C-47s,” Ellis joked.

Goalie overheard that. “There were. Don't ask me where they came from, but there were a few. Not warbirds,I can tell you that. Going in by the seat of their pants, no EW gear or radar warning receiver, basic nav aids, and they got in and out. They had guts, and I mean a lot of guts.”

Guru nodded. “That'll be an interesting book,some day.”

“It will,” Goalie admitted.

Guru went on and finished his four miles. After he got off the treadmill, he went over to Kara. “Any potential victims?”

“A few,” she replied. “Word's gotten around, I bet.”

“No bets,” the CO said. “They value their unbroken noses and intact wallets.”

Kara let out an evil-looking grin. 'They do.”

The CO smiled at that, then went on to finish his workout. As he went to take a shower, he noticed the rain had let up, and the sky off to the west was lightening up. That meant the weather would soon be clearing, and that also meant that it was back in the saddle come morning. After his shower, he then went back to the squadron office, and found his maintenance officer, Capt. Kevin O'Donnell. “Kev,”

“Major,” O'Donnell said. “Got some good news for you.”

Major Wiser looked at him. “Lay it on me, Kev.”

“Maintenance report. Twenty birds, full mission-capable,” the maintenance officer handed the CO the paper. “All ready for the morning.”

“Good work,” the CO said. “Pass that on to your people. Maybe we'll get a two-day next time due to weather, and your people can sleep in.”

O'Donnell nodded. “We'll sleep in when this war's over.”

Then one of the Ops NCOs came over. “Major? This just came in.” The female Staff Sergeant handed the CO a paper.

“Thank you,” Guru said, then he scanned the paper. “Weather update. Rain turning to showers, with a 50% chance of VFR conditions after 1900, 100% chance of VFR after midnight.”

“Looks like we're flying tomorrow,” the maintenance officer observed.

Major Wiser nodded. “That we are. Twenty birds, locked and cocked, thanks to you and your people.”

“You fly 'em, we'll fix 'em, Major.”

“That we do,” said Guru. “Thanks, Kev.”

O' Donnell nodded, then went back to the maintenance office. The CO went on to his office,and found the interview had been over for a while, for neither General Olds, nor the news crew, were there. The Major checked his IN box, and found a couple of small things there, but nothing that really required his attention. He took care of the papers, then went to his office window. He heard the roar of engines, and saw a C-141B coming in for a landing. The CO left his office and found Sweaty outside. She worked for Van Loan when not flying, just as Kara did. “Sweaty? Get your workout in?”

She nodded. “This morning, Boss.”

“Good. Then you can do something for me. Get on out to that C-141 and see if there's anything or anyone on it for us.”

“On my way,” She went out the door and headed for the transit ramp.

Mark Ellis then came over to the CO with a clipboard in hand. “Boss.”

“Mark, what have you got?” Guru asked.

“Just the usual end-of-day admin stuff,” the Exec replied. “Kev O'Donnell says we'll have twenty birds for the morning.”

Guru nodded. “Told me the same thing not long ago. What else?”

“Status report for MAG-11, and the same thing we send off to Tenth Air Force.”

The CO nodded as he signed the forms. “Okay, anything else that I need to know?”

“Ross asked if you have any special 'scrounging' requests,” Ellis told Guru.

“Nothing right now, but he may get a really special one in a few days. See if he knows where we can find some AIM-7Fs. But hold off on the actual, uh, acquisition for now.”

“You sure?” The Exec asked. “That's munitions we're talking about.”

“Kerry Collins told me a bunch of our AIM-7s are at, near, or past, their shelf life. We need BVR missiles that work. Well, most of the time.”

“Gotcha,” Ellis nodded. “I'll let him know.”

Guru looked at his Exec. “General Olds will talk about this with General Tanner, and see if they can't get things going on that end. But if they can't....”

“Understood.”

“Have you found a new Night-shift SDO?”

“Fridge,” replied the Exec. “He doesn't have a pilot yet, and so...”

“Okay,” Guru said. “We all did this at one point as Lieutenants.”

Ellis nodded. “That we did, Boss.”

“That it?”

“It is for now,”

The CO looked at the wall clock, then his Exec. “Twenty minutes until we're off the clock. See you in the Club.”

“I'll be there,” said Ellis, then he headed back to his office. He was flipping through a week-old copy of Air Force Times when there was another knock on the door. “Come on in and show yourself!”

Sweaty came in, followed by Goalie. “Nothing on the -141 for us. Everything was either for the Marines or for the air base group that runs this base. A bunch of people did come off, though. EOD.”

“What are they doing here?” Goalie asked.

Guru looked at his GIB. “The big reason we're not using the base gym? Half of the buildings on this base aren't usable due to booby traps, and that's one of them.” He turned to Sweaty. “These people bringing dogs?”

Sweaty nodded. “They did. Half a dozen bomb-sniffing dogs and a whole bunch of equipment.”

“Okay, tell the Exec, and pass the word to stay out of their way, and if they come here? We do exactly what they tell us. Period.”

“On my way,” Sweaty said. She went out the door to find the Exec.

Goalie shook her head. “What kind of nut makes a career of sweet-talking explosives?”

“Somebody with more guts than everyone in this squadron put together,” Guru told her. “The tent city's been swept, but don't be surprised if they go over it again with the dogs.”

“And the rest of the base?”

Guru had a grim smile. “Remember what that Seabee officer said when we got here? 'The Cubans must've learned how to set booby traps from the North Vietnamese.' Russians flew out of here, but when they left, the Cubans came in to try and make a stand.”

“And they had time enough to set plenty,” Goalie observed.

“They did,” Guru acknowledged. He looked at the clock on his office wall. 1650. “Ten minutes and we're off the clock.” He thought for a minute. “I just thought of something. Let's find Mark, then we're off the clock.”

The two left the office, and as they did, they found the Exec and Sweaty talking. “Boss,” Ellis said. “Sweaty filled me in on the EOD guys. They didn't waste any time getting to work. They're checking the tent city right now.”

“Okay, the CO said. “If they come here....”

“They called. Fifteen minutes' advance notice. The sweep should take about an hour.”

“Fair enough,” the Major said. “One more thing: you did tell Fridge he's night-shift SDO?”

“I did, Boss,” Ellis replied.

“Good. Find Saber and tell him he has it tomorrow night. He and Fridge alternate. Saber is Hacksaw's GIB and since Hacksaw is day-shift SDO....”

“And we don't have a pilot for Fridge,” Ellis nodded. “I'll let him know.”

The CO nodded approval. “1701: we're off the clock. Time to hit the Club. Only difference from last night?”

“Everybody's under Twelve-Hour,” Goalie said.

“That we are.”

And things in the O-Club, because another day, and another round of flight pay, is coming:



Sheppard AFB Officer's Club Tent: 1715 Hours Central War Time:


Guru and Goalie went into the Officer's Club Tent, and found the place already filling up. One of the first people they found was Fridge Byrant, who was chatting up a female Marine Officer. And getting the cold shoulder. “Fridge, glad I found you.”

“Major?” The ex-football player said.

“Got some bad news for you. Until we find you a pilot, you're night shift SDO,” Major Wiser said. “And take it from me, I've 'been there, done that.'”

Fridge nodded. His OTS instructors had told him there'd be times like this, and so had his brother. Junior officer, new to the squadron. One got the shit details. “I understand, Major. How long?”

“Can't say for sure because, frankly? I don't know. When we get a new pilot, I'll pair the two of you up. Hopefully, we'll get a veteran who's a former IP or was in the hospital and then the replacement pool,” the CO said. Then he turned to his GIB. “Goalie? Find Saber and get him over here.”

“I'm off,” Goalie said.

“'Saber?'” Fridge asked. “How'd he get that?”

Guru looked at his still relatively-new Lieutenant. “He was on his college fencing team. And before you ask, no, it wasn't some Ivy League school. He went to Notre Dame.”

A couple of minutes later, Goalie brought back a tall, strapping, shaven-headed officer in a flight suit. “Here he is.”

“Major,” First Lieutenant Pat Ellison said. “What's up?”

“Got same bad news: you and Fridge here are going to alternate as Night-shift SDO. Fridge has it tonight, and you've got it tomorrow night. This lasts until Hacksaw is released by Doc and is back on the flight schedule,” the CO said.

“Gotcha, Boss,” Ellison said. “At least I get tonight.”

“That you do,” Guru said. “Okay, Fridge, you get yourself something to eat when they bring dinner in, then get over to the squadron office. Hacksaw will fill you in on the drill.”

“Will do, Major,” Fridge nodded. 'My brother told me there'd be times like this.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. He flies F-4s. He was at Moody prewar, so I bet he's still in the Southeast. His call sign's Thunder.”

“Never heard that one before,” Guru said. “If I didn't see him at Homestead or Seymour-Johnson prewar...”

Fridge nodded understanding. “Maybe after the war, Major.”

“If he survives,” Goalie pointed out. “If we all do.”

Saber nodded. “There is that little detail.”

“That there is,” the CO said. “Okay, any questions? Neither Fridge or Saber had any. Saber? You enjoy tonight, and Fridge? You get some food inside you, then get over to the office. And I'll see about getting you a pilot as soon as I can. Any questions, both of you?” The two shook their heads. “That's it.”

Both officers nodded, then went their ways.

“All I can say, is, 'Been there, done that,'” Goalie said. “Did my share at Little Rock.”

“And at Seymour-Johnson,” Guru added. “Don, Mark, and I were the three juniormost officers in the squadron then......All right, that's done. Let's get ourselves a table.”

After they got one, Kara, Brainiac, Sweaty, and the rest of their flight came to join them. After the CO bought a round, Sweaty asked, “So what'll we drink to?”

“How about a good flying day tomorrow?” Kara said.

“I'll drink to that, because we've got every bird FMC for the morning, and half the time after that happens, we lose somebody,” Guru said

Preacher nodded, “Amen.”

After hoisting their bottles, Hoser looked to the tent entrance, and saw General Olds coming in with Colonel Brady. “Boss, General Olds and Colonel Brady.”

“Guess I'd better pay my respects,” Guru said. He got up and went to the bar, where the General and Colonel were chatting, “General,” he said to General Olds. “Colonel,”

Major,” Olds replied. “I see the two of us had an encounter with the Fourth Estate today.”

“Yes, sir,” Major Wiser said.

“How'd it go?” Colonel Brady asked.

“Mine went all right, it seemed,” Olds replied. “I got the impression she knew what to ask, and more importantly, what not to ask. Unlike some reporters.”

“That was my impression as well, sir,” said Guru. “It went pretty well.”

Both Olds and Brady nodded. “Well, General, and Major,” Brady said. “You two were in the hot seat today. My turn tomorrow. She'll get a former POW's view of all this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Major,” General Olds said. “She told me that you'll be in the hot seat again.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Guru. “She'll be doing a story on the Day One crews, those of us who are still around. And she plans another story on the women.”

“Aircrew, Major?”

“Yes, sir. And ground staff as well,” Guru said. “Probably more than one story. Cosmo and Revlon, our all-female crew, probably get their own story.”

“No doubt, Major,” Colonel Brady said.

“Major, tell your people I'll be sitting down with some of them tomorrow night. I'll be here at least a couple more days.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. A chance to share a table with an AF legend.....

Olds nodded. “You and your people have a good evening. The two of us Vietnam Vets still have some stories to swap.”

Guru nodded.

“You have a good evening, Major,” Olds said. “I'll see you later.” And Colonel Brady nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. He went back to the table, just as Ms. Wendt and the rest of the news people came in. “Well, General Olds will be sitting down with us tomorrow night.”

Heads turned at that. “You're kidding, right?” Kara asked.

“Nope,” Guru said. “He'll be here at least a couple more days.”

Sweaty grinned. “A chance to ask him about Operation BOLO....culling out half the MiG-21s in North Vietnam.”

Hoser nodded. “Maybe he got more than five MiGs....” His voice trailed off.

“We'll find out, or maybe not,” Kara said. “Won't we?”

“You've got that right,” Guru grinned.

Just then, the mess people came in. And there was a treat. “People,” one of the civilian restauranteurs said. “We've got Chicken-Fried Steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and the trimmings. Just as we do it here in Texas. Don't ask us how we got it, but it's real steak.”

After getting their food, everyone dug in. “Real Steak?” Dave Golen asked.

“Sure tastes like it,” Hoser said.

While everyone was eating, the CBS Evening News came on. Evidently it was a slow news day, even in wartime. “Not much happening down here today,” Sweaty observed. “Mother Nature was in charge.”

“Back in the saddle tomorrow,” Goalie pointed out.

Then someone shouted, “Turn it up!” The barkeep obliged, and CBS News' Bill Plante, who was their Chief Congressional Correspondent, was giving a report.

“An aide to Wisconsin Democratic Senator William Proxmire was arrested by the FBI after returning from a trip to Paris, and Congressional sources say that the aide was engaged with contacts at the Cuban Embassy in Paris. So far, the Senator's office denies any wrongdoing on behalf of the Senator, but FBI sources say that the Senator himself has traveled to Paris on several occasions, and that his name has come up in the investigation. The Senate Democratic leadership, so far, has refused to comment, but in a statement, they promise 'Full cooperation' with the FBI investigation. Bill Plante, CBS News, Senate Hall, in Philadelphia.”

“Proxmire....” Goalie spat. “That creep. You name the military program, he's been against it. F-15, B-1, AH-64, supercarriers, MX Missile, you name it. And he's been anti-NASA. He was against Shuttle, and killed any NASA research into space colonies.”

From the next table, Cosmo added, “Lot of astronomers weren't too happy with him. He tried to kill the Hubble Space Telescope, and blocked funding for SETI.”

“SETI?” Dave Golen asked. “What's that?”

“Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. Take a radio telescope, point it at a star, and see if there's any artificial radio signals coming from it. One astronomer said after Proxmire blocked SETI funding, 'Give him membership in the Flat Earth Society.'”

Mark Ellis observed, “He may not get that, but he may get himself a six-by-nine at Marion Federal Prison. Think about it: his aide got arrested, and that may not stop there. If this aide starts talking, and names some people, including this Senator.....”

“I'll drink to that,” Hoser said, and quite a few bottles or glasses were raised in affirmation.

After the news, attention shifted to a preseason college basketball game between Cal Berkeley and USF on ESPN, while others turned to the Pool Table or poker games. But Sweaty had brought some newspapers off the C-141, and people were reading either Stars and Stripes, The Los Angeles Times, or USA Today. “Anything?” Kara asked before heading off to the pool table.

“Not much in the LA Times,” Guru said. “Though they have the best comics page in California. Probably the West Coast.”

Goalie smiled, “Which is the most important part of the paper.” She perused Stars and Stripes. “Not much here, either.”

“There's an Op-ed in USA Today,” Sweaty said. “From former Senator George McGovern.”

“He lost to Nixon in '72, right?” Brainiac asked.

Guru nodded. “That's right. Second greatest landslide in American history, after Reagan's in '84. What's he saying, Sweaty?”

His second element leader glanced at the paper. “If you cut out the 1970s' peacenik talk? He's calling for a cease-fire with the Soviets, negotiations, and so on. “We must give our enemies a face-saving way to end the war. As John Kennedy once said, 'We must not negotiate out of fear, but we must not fear to negotiate.' Even if talks fail, at least we will have gone the extra mile for peace.”

“Where was he on invasion day?” Kara asked, incredulously. “There were a dozen or so nuclear strikes in his home state. Minuteman LCCs, remember?”

“And Sioux Falls is close enough to not miss the fireball from Omaha,” Hoser added. “He in a '70s time warp?”

“Looks that way,” Guru noted. “He's thinking this is 1972 all over again.”

Goalie shook her head. “Never thought I'd see this from an ex-Senator. He's so fixated on 'peace', that he's willing to sacrifice anything to get it. Even if it means living under a jackboot.”

“And nobody in his own party will listen,” Guru observed.

Mark Ellis, who was at another nearby table, nodded. “That's a given.”


Kara then went to the pool table that she held court at, and Guru went to get a plate of nachos from the bar. While he was waiting for the order, he saw something he hoped not to see. General Olds went to Kara's pool table and laid down his money. So did Kara, and both combatants went at it. Guru's order was filled, and he brought the nachos back to the table. “Kara's going after the General, or vice-versa.”

Goalie looked at him. “You noticed.”

“Yeah. And I'm watching out of morbid curiosity.”

It wasn't long until General Olds' skills showed themselves, and as with General Tanner on his visit, Kara found herself losing. She smiled, paid the $50.00, and went over to the table. Not quite in a rage, but close.

“Well?” Sweaty asked.

“That's three times a general has out-hustled me at pool. And no, I'm not happy,” Kara growled.

“He's been doing this since World War II,” Guru pointed out. “Get your revenge tomorrow night.”

“I will,” Kara vowed. “It's my money. And I want it back.” She then went to the bar in a fit of the sulks.

KT noted, “He'll probably take her again tomorrow night. The General's got a lot more experience.”

“Look at it this way,” said Guru. “She's got ten minutes to get sloppy drunk.”

“Ten minutes?”

Guru pointed at the clock, which said 1850. “That's when Twelve-Hour kicks in.”

Kara went back to the pool table, finished her third beer, and proceeded to teach a Marine F-4 WSO a lesson. She pocketed her winnings, then went to the poker table just as Doc Waters rang the bell. “Twelve-Hour Rule now in effect!”

People grumbled, but either poured their drinks out or turned them in. At Guru's table, and everyone else's, sodas were the drink of choice, as people talked about what was up the next day. “Well,” Guru said. “Menana, we're back in the saddle.”

“Look at it this way,” Flossy said. “Another day, another round of flight pay.”

“If you live to spend it,” Preacher noted. “Half of the time, we come off a stand-down and wind up losing people.”

“Not always,” Brainiac reminded him.


Things went on until 2100, when one of the Navy flight surgeons rang the bell. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!”

With that, those on the morning's flight schedule headed off to their tents to get some sleep. For tomorrow would be back to the grind, and another day on the firing line. Or, as one anonymous Marine aviator said, “Another day in a long war.”

Some artwork: a captured 2S1 (SO-122) in U.S. service:

A pair of MTLBs: one a standard MTLB, and the other is the antitank version with the AT-6 Spiral ATGM.

The next one:



335th TFS Squadron Offices, 0515 Hours Central War Time, 6 November, 1987:

Major Matt Wiser was walking to the squadron offices when he glanced to the east. The eastern horizons was starting to brighten, and a glance upwards revealed only a few scattered clouds in the sky. It promised good flying weather, and the Major smiled. Good. He went into the squadron's office and found Fridge at the SDO's desk. “Fridge,”

“Major,” Fridge said, starting to rise.

“That'll be enough of that,” the CO said. “We're in a war zone, and we can do without the jumping-up-and-down nonsense. There's a time and place for that, and this ain't either one.”

“Yes, sir. Habit.”

“And they're hard to break,” the Major noted. “The XO in?” He glanced towards his office.

“No, sir, not yet,” Fridge said. “I'll have him come your way.”

“Good,” said the CO. He noted what was coming over the radio on the SDO desk. “Wolfman Jack still going strong?”

“Yes, sir. Still 3:30 in L.A., and he's got another hour and a half to go.”

The CO nodded. “Yeah. Remember what I said, though. As soon as we get a new pilot, you're paired with that person and you're on the flight schedule.”

“Can't wait, sir,” Fridge said. He saw the CO's scowl. “Uh, Major, what I meant was...”

Guru took a look at the new Lieutenant. “I know, you want to put your training to use, and see how you'll do in combat. Don't worry about missing out on the show right now, because you're not missing a thing. Understand me?”

“I do, sir.”

“Good. Now, let me know when the XO comes in, and when Hacksaw arrives to take over for you. Get something to eat, get some sleep, and you'll still have a free afternoon for the most part.”

“Yes, sir.”

Guru nodded, then spoke to a few of the night-shift enlisted people, then went to his office. He went to a filing cabinet, looked for a particular form, He was busy filing it out when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

The door opened and Fridge was there.”Major? The Exec's here.”

“Thanks, Fridge,” the CO said as the Exec came in. “Morning, Mark.”

“Boss,” the XO said as he came in. As usual, he had a clipboard with the admin stuff and was balancing two cups of hot liquid. “You're in early. Normally, I'm the one waiting for you.”

“Got something that I wanted to get going on before I forget,” Guru said, taking a cup that Ellis offered him. “Cocoa?”

“As is the new usual,” the XO nodded. 'So, what's the 'something?'”

The CO showed Ellis the form. “An Article 15 on Frank.”

Ellis took the form, and scanned it. “You're not kidding. For what?”

“He called Goalie and Kara sluts, and in front of witnesses, mind. Not just me, but Don, and practically everyone in the Ops Office.”

Ellis returned the form the the CO. “He's never been known for any kind of common sense when it comes to keeping his mouth shut. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“Exactly,” Guru said. “And at the very least, he gets a letter of reprimand in his file, and the O-5 promotion board will see it, and there's no way he'd make Lieutenant Colonel. Which means he never gets his squadron command, and he leaves the Air Force as a Major.”

“Only one problem with that, Boss. The Academy Old-Boy Network might see things differently, and he may have friends who'll sweep it under the rug,” Ellis pointed out.

Guru nodded. “Well, we'll see how that goes,” he said. “I want to get this to JAG today.”

“And he can't go to JAG himself and claim retaliation, because there's witnesses, and any claim from him is considered frivolous,” the Exec said. “And last I heard, the JAG office on base has exactly one officer and a handful of enlisted, and they're knee-deep in paper.”

“Lovely,” Guru said. “Ask around-discretely, mind, if they're getting any more bodies in that office. The sooner they have more bodies, the sooner this gets processed. Meanwhile, I'll talk to Colonel Brady and ask his advice. I know-he's a Marine and we're Air Force, but he's probably done this before. One thing about the war, we're both missing out on Squadron Officer School, and getting our squadron level education the hard way.”

Ellis nodded, “Well, General Tanner did say when he was here that the School of Hard Knocks did turn out some pretty good O-4s and O-5s in WW II.”

“I remember him saying that,” the CO said. “Okay, what do you have for me?”

“Morning Report for MAG-11 and Tenth Air Force,” the Exec replied.

Guru nodded, then signed the papers. “That's taken care of. What's next?”

“Aircraft Status Sheet,” Ellis said. “We still have twenty for the morning.”

“For now,” the CO said. “Weather?”

“Here's the forecast. Partly to mostly sunny, VFR conditions predominating, highs in the low to mid '60s.”

“Any other admin stuff?”

“Supply requisitions,” said Ellis as he handed him the form. “Some avionics parts, brake and hydraulic fluid, that sort of thing. Nothing major.”

“For a change,” Guru said as he signed off on the requisition. “What else?”

“A list of who's on the R&R Rotation,” said the XO. “No aircrew on it, though.”

Guru nodded “Okay. Any marriage requests?”

“Not this time, Boss. And that's it for the morning.”

There was a knock on the door, and the CO said, “Come in and show yourself.”

The door opened and Goalie came in, balancing two cups of hot liquid, one on top of the other. “Morning, Boss.”

“Goalie,” Guru said. “Let me guess; my second cup of cocoa of the morning?”

“What's wrong with wanting my pilot fully awake and alert?” Goalie shot back with mock indignation.

“Nothing,” the CO said as she handed him the top cup. “And how was last night?”

“Slept like a baby, and ready to get back to the job.”

Guru nodded approval. “Good, and so did I. Now, just so you know: I'm starting the ball rolling on an Article 15 for Frank.” He took the cup and proceeded to drain it.

His GIB's eyes widened. “For what he said yesterday?” She saw the CO nod, then added. “Good. And since there's a whole room full of people who heard him say that, and there's no way he can say he was misunderstood or misconstrued. Congratulations: you just torpedoed his career.”

“Not necessarily,” the Exec said. He reminded both of them, “Remember the Academy Old-boy Network? They may not get him O-5 on the first try, but the second? Even money bet they do.”

“So they give him O-5 as one last favor, and he'll have enough time so that he can stretch things out so that he retires as a Light Colonel.”

“If he survives the postwar RIF,” Guru said. He glanced at the wall clock. 0550. “Chow tent opens in ten minutes. Let's get over there. I need to let Kara know, then talk to Colonel Brady so I can get his advice.”


A few minutes later, the 335th trio arrived at the Officer's Mess Tent. People were milling about, waiting for the mess people to open up, and among those waiting were General Olds and Colonel Brady. “Major,” Olds said.

“General,” Guru replied, saluting. “And Colonel,” he nodded. “Looks like we've got a busy day ahead.”

“Reminds me of Operation BOLO,” Olds said. “We had a twenty-four hour delay due to weather before that one. And we would up kicking some ass that day.”

“You did, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Sir, may I speak with Colonel Brady for a moment? Privately.”

Olds nodded, and Brady went off with Guru for a moment. “What is it, Major?” Brady asked.

“Sir, for your information, I've started the ball rolling on an Article 15 for one Major Frank Carson.”

“All I can say is, about damned time,” Brady said, a smile forming on his face. “What's the offense?”

Guru explained for a minute. “And in front of witnesses, sir. The paperwork will be forwarded to the Air Force JAG office on base today. However, there's no guess as to when it'll be processed. The office is understaffed and is knee-deep in paper, my Exec tells me.”

“Well, that's a bit of good news to start the morning off. Not enough for you to kick him out, but between you and me, you've sunk his career.”

“Unless the Academy Old-Boy Network does something if he goes before an O-5 promotion board, sir. And sir, you know as well as I do that every service has such an organization, even if not officially recognized.”

Brady nodded. “Unfortunately, Major, that's quite true. They'd probably make sure he serves out his twenty, and retires as a Light Colonel. And nothing anyone can do about it. Still, he's made many enemies, and not just in your squadron, but in MAG-11, and probably everywhere we've been.”

“Yes, sir. That's one thing he's good at,” Major Wiser said.

“That's true,” Brady agreed. “Keep me informed on how things go.”

“Yes, sir.”

The two went back, and found General Olds talking with some 335th officers. “General, getting started with the boys and girls?” Brady said.

“Yep. Told them about the time in a P-38 where I scored a kill while in the glide mode,” Olds said. “Two P-38s against 50-60 Me-109s.”

“And when he dropped his wing tanks, he forgot to switch to internal fuel,” Kara added. “But what the hell, he shot anyway.”

Guru had a smile, “Well, sir, a kill's a kill, no matter how you do it.”

“That it is, Major,” Olds said. Then he told them how he killed another 109, and nearly getting killed himself when he put his P-38 in too steep of a dive going after two 109s chasing a P-51. Then pulling out barely above a wheat field, then turning the tables on a pursuing 109, killing it, making him an ace.

“Well, sir, too bad your Me-262 was only a damage, then you'd have jet kills in two wars,” Sweaty pointed out.

“Maybe somebody can go and check the Luftwaffe records. National Archives has all of that somewhere,” Mark Ellis said.

“Even after the bomb in D.C.?” Hoser asked.

“Even then,” Judge said. “Saw on CNN once where they sent in special teams to clear out the Smithsonian, Library of Congress, National Archives, all of that. I'll bet they're going to decontaminate what needs to be, then rebuild those museums some day.”

“Another way to stick it to Ivan,” Olds said approvingly.

“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “Sir, excuse me. I need to talk to Captain Thrace.” Guru then went to Kara and motioned with his head. After getting away from the group, Guru turned to Kara. “Got some news for you. It's about Frank.”

Kara smiled. “He's leaving?”

“No, but it's the next best thing. He's getting an Article 15. For yesterday's remarks about you and Goalie.”

“Oh, happy day,” Kara grinned. “Couldn't happen to a more deserving asshole.”

“Yep,” the CO said. “It should be processed in a couple weeks-or longer, depending on how the JAG office can dig itself out of the paper they're busy with already.”

“Boss, you just made my day.”

“One more nail in his coffin,” Major Wiser nodded. “And for sure, he's out by New Year's. One way or another. And with this? He never sees O-5.”

“Hopefully,” Kara replied. “But today....some Russians and Cubans get to pay for his sins.”

“Convenience, “ the CO said. Just then the Marine Mess Officer flipped the sign over the entrance from CLOSED to OPEN. “Come on. Let's go eat, then we make some Russians burn, bleed, and blow up.”



After breakfast, the various aircrews assembled in their briefing rooms, while the flight or element leaders (if a two-ship) got their mission packets. Major Wiser went to the Ops Office, and found the Ops Officer a very busy man. “Don,” he nodded to Capt. Don Van Loan.

“Boss,” Van Loan replied. “Got yours, and I see Dave Golen's right behind you. Maj. Dave Golen was their IDF “Observer” though he'd been doing a lot more than just observing. “Got your packets right here.” He handed one to the CO, and another to Golen. This time, they wouldn't be going out as a six-ship, as had happened in the past.

Guru opened his, and noted the location. “Tolar, southwest of Granbury. This is the East German sector, right?”

“It is, Boss,” Van Loan said. “And Dave? You and Flossy are headed south of there, place called Paluxy. They're not sure what it is, but it's a suspected RDF site. Lots of vehicles with antennas, you get the idea.”

“About ten miles south,” Golen noted. “We'll take them out.”

Guru looked at a recon photo. “Any idea whose choppers these are?” His target was a helicopter dispersal field.

“No idea, Boss. Could be Soviet, East German, or Nicaraguan,” Van Loan said.

Both the CO and Golen checked their threat listings. They were pretty much the same. “Threats are pretty much the same, Dave. Okay....You and Flossy launch, then join up with us. You guys stick with us until time for you to peel off on your own.”

Golen nodded understanding. “Got you.”

“And your call sign if you get into trouble?”

“Mustang.”

Guru nodded. “We're Camaro. All right, if you hit trouble, holler. We'll be there.”

“And so will we,” Golen said.

“Good,” the CO said. “Okay, brief up, and meet us outside.”

“Will do,” Golen nodded, then he went off to talk to his element.

Guru looked at Van Loan. “Don? You have a good one, and you've been told about the Sparrows?”

“Sure have, and, Boss.....whoever gave us those Sparrows needs a kick in the ass to Goose Bay.”

“Somebody needs to shovel snow, I'll grant you,” the CO said. “Okay, you guys be careful.”

The Ops Officer nodded. “You too, Boss.”

Guru nodded, then went to the former classroom that his flight used as a briefing room. “Okay, folks, we've got a mission.”

“What's up?” Kara asked.

“Some East Germans, or maybe Russians, that's who's going up,” Guru said. “In pieces.” He took out a TPC map and showed the target area. “Right here, town called Tolar. Nine miles southwest of Granbury on U.S. 67. There's a chopper dispersal area a half-mile south of the town on F.M. We make it go away.”

Sweaty took a look at the map. “This is the East German sector. They'll be doing a lot of shooting.”

“They will,” the CO nodded. “This is a Divisional HQ, and it may be the same people the Army shredded a couple days ago, so the threat level may not be as bad as it looks.”

“Shredded with our help,” KT said.

“True, but they may have been pulled off the line and somebody else took their place,” Guru pointed out. “Assume they're fully up and ready. Divisional level means SA-6 or -8,” he reminded them. “There's probably ZSU-23s around, and there are ZU-23s around the field. Then there's the MANPADS and small arms threat. Throw in Army-level SA-4 and maybe 57-mm AAA and it might be a rough ride.”

“We getting Weasels?” Goalie asked.

“Not on this one. As for MiGs?” the CO asked, and he saw he had their total attention. “MiG-21s are at the old Connelly AFB near Waco, and Brownwood, while -23s are at Robert Mueller Municipal in Austin, and again at Brownwood. MiG-29s are at Gray AAF, Fort Hood, and at Bergstrom AFB, Austin. And Su-27s are there as well.”

Kara nodded. “Any word on who the Flanker drivers are?”

“Nope. They cold be Frontal Aviation, or Voyska PVO,” replied Guru. Frontal Aviation was the Soviet Air Force's equivalent to TAC, while Voyska PVO was their Air Defense Force.

“Ordnance load?” Hoser asked.

“Everyone's got the same loadout for once,” the CO said. “Everyone gets twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes, with the wing TERs having the Daisy Cutter fuze extensions. Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7s-” and Guru paused, seeing the skeptical looks coming his way. “Yeah, I know, but we've got no choice. Full load 20-mike-mike, with Element leads having ALQ-119, while wingmates have ALQ-101.”

“What's the weather?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“VFR all day long,” Guru replied. “And the usual on Jolly Greens and bailout areas. Anyplace rural and away from the roads.” He saw heads nod. “Okay, one last thing: Dave and Flossy are coming with us for part of the way: they have their own target. After the tankers, we go in low and fast. We get out the same way. Anything else?”

“What about the Sparrows?” Goalie asked.

“Good question. Kerry Collins had the missile techs mix the bad with the good, and that's the best he can do until we get Fs. Now, General Olds has informed General Tanner, and they're working on getting F model Sparrows, but that might take a few days.”

Hoser shook his head. “At least.”

The CO nodded. “You're probably right on that,” he said. “ Anything else?”

“How many today?” Brainiac asked.

“Plan on at least four,” the CO said. “That it?” Heads nodded. “Okay, gear up. We'll meet at 512. Time to go to work, people.”

The crews went off to their locker rooms and geared up, and when the CO left the Men's, he found Goalie waiting for him in full flight gear. “Ready?” She asked.

“Time to go earn our flight pay,” Guru said. “And make some Russians or East Germans burn, bleed, and blow up.”

They went outside, and found Dave Golen with his GIB, and both Flossy and Digger, waiting. “Guru,”

“Dave,” the CO nodded. “You all ready?”

“As we'll ever be.”

“Let's go.”

Then they went to 512's revetment, and found the rest of the CO's flight there, waiting. “Dave, Flossy,' Kara said.

“Kara,” Golen said, while Flossy nodded. “I see you're ready to get it done,”

“Got nothing else planned for the morning,” Kara quipped, and everyone laughed.

The CO smiled at that: nothing wrong with a little pre-mission humor. But now, it was game time. “Okay, people, listen up.” Everyone gathered for Guru's final instructions. “Okay, the usual. Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Sweaty said.

“Now, given that we've got Sparrows more crappy than usual? NO trolling for MiGs, people! Now, if you come across a recon run or a strike flight, that's one thing. But unless AWACS vectors us onto somebody, we decline combat. Not until we get some AIM-7Fs.”

“So,” Kara said. “We don't hassle with MiGs unless AWACS tells us to, or we jump recon or strike birds?”

“That's it. Not until we get those F Sparrows and have BVR stuff that actually works. Well, half of the time.”

“So they say,” said Hoser.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. The CO clapped his hands. “All right: let's hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and found Staff Sergeant Crowley, 512's crew chief. “Major,” Crowley said, snapping a salute. “She's ready to go. 512's locked and cocked.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, and when they checked the two Sparrow missiles they both exchanged nervous glances. Pilot and GIB finished the preflight, then mounted the aircraft.

While they went through the cockpit checklist, Goalie asked, “You nervous about the Sparrows?”

“That is an understatement,” Guru replied. “Hope we don't need them.”

“You're not the only one thinking that,” she said.

They finished the preflight, then Sergeant Crowley gave the “Start Engines” signal. One, then the other, J-79 engines started, and after the warm-up, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

The Tower replied immediately. “Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Lima. Hold prior to the Active.”

“Roger, Tower. Camaro Lead rolling.” Guru gave the thumbs-up to his Crew Chief. The ground crew pulled away the chocks from the wheels, and Sergeant Crowley gave the signal to taxi. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he got onto the taxiway, Crowley snapped a perfect salute. Both Guru and Goalie returned it, and 512 taxied to the runway, with the other three F-4s in the flight following, with Mustang Flight right behind them. They held prior to the runway so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. Then Guru called the Tower again.”Tower, Camaro Flight with Four, requesting takeoff instructions.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-four at six,” the controller replied.

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara in 520 followed, pulling neatly into position at his Four O'clock. The two crews exchanged thumbs-ups, then Guru called the Tower again. “Tower, Camaro Flight ready for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower flashed a green light to signal clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let her rip,” Goalie replied.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his canopy, and Goalie followed suit. He glanced to his right, and saw 520 all set for takeoff. “Then let's go.” He went to full power on the throttles, released the brakes, then 512 rolled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Sweaty and Hoser followed, and after that, Dave and Flossy. Then they all set course south.

The first mission of the day:



Over Central Texas, 0745 Hours Central War Time:


The six-ship formation of F-4s had cleared the I-20 line and was headed south. After the tanker rendezvous, the flight had gone in via the Brazos River, the dividing line between the East German sector to the west, and the Nicaraguan II Corps to the East. In the cockpits, the GIBs handled the navigation, with the ARN-101 “Arnie” system, though they were all doing the stopwatch and map method as backup, while the pilots not only flew, but kept their eyes out for threats. Going in on the river meant the Nicaraguans hardly shot at them, while the East Germans had their radars up and active. And it wasn't just enemy air or air defense that could be a threat, for power lines and radio or TV transmitter towers could also be a problem.

“How we doing?” Guru called from 512's front seat.

Goalie replied, “Thirty seconds to Granbury.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Granbury ahead. Watch for flak.”

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

“And....now,” Goalie called, and sure enough, some light flak began to come up. These chumps were awake, at least, as 23-mm and 37-mm flak at the U.S. 377 bridge as well as the often-attacked municipal airport, opened up on the F-4s, which flew right on by, unscathed. “And one minute to Glen Rose, then we turn.”

“Copy,” said Guru as he waggled his wings to the people down below.


In Granbury, the curfew had lifted at 6:00 AM, as usual, and the locals were beginning to go about their business. Although the west side of the city was technically in the East German sector, the Nicaraguans made up the garrison, and the local residents were actually glad to have the Nicaraguans, for they were much more....forgiving than the Soviets or East Germans were. Many had heard that an entire Nicaraguan Corps had been destroyed in Colorado, and the residents noticed that their occupiers were suddenly developing a wish to be someplace else, instead of Texas. The Mayor was actually talking outside City Hall with the garrison commander, a Nicaraguan Major, when Guru's strike flight came over. To his-and everyone else's amusement, the Major, along with many of his soldiers, ran for the nearest shelter. He also looked up and saw the lead F-4 waggling its wings, as well as the antiaircraft fire that came up, which missed. Today was shaping up, and if the rumor mill was right, the East Germans got a drubbing two days earlier, and maybe the U.S. Army would be showing up soon.


“Time to turn?” Guru asked as he headed south.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied. “And that's where Dave and Flossy peel away.”

“Roger that.” As Guru made the call, more flak opened up to their right. The Comanche Creek Nuclear Power Plant, though offline and having been sabotaged back in '85, still had AAA around it, and the flak batteries opened up, though the strike flight was nearly out of range. “Flak to the right, and watch for more up ahead.”

“Copy that. Stand by to turn,” Goalie called. Up ahead, the town of Glen Rose grew larger as they closed in. Sure enough, the flak around the U.S. 67 bridge opened up. “And...turn!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, and the rest of Camaro Flight followed, leaving the flak well behind. As they did, Mustang Flight went on their own course towards their target. “Mustang, Camaro. Good luck.”

“Roger,” Dave Golen replied. “Good luck yourselves.”

Camaro Flight then turned north, roughly following F.M. 56. “One minute,” Goalie said. “Set 'em up?”

“You read my mind,” said Guru. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and stand by to pull.” That call meant to arm their weapons, turn on their ECM pods, and get ready for their attack run.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Three copies,” added Sweaty.

“Four, ready,” Hoser said.

In 512's back seat, Goalie worked the weapons control panel. “Switches set. You're hot.”

“Roger that,” replied Guru as he turned on the ALQ-119 ECM pod. “Music's playing.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie said. “Stand by.....and....PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and 512 began to climb. As it did so, several radars came up on the EW repeater, just as Guru looked ahead and to the right. Sure enough, there were the helos. What kind, he couldn't tell, but no matter if they were Hips or Hinds. They'd all blow up just the same. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Time to go to work!”

“Right with you, Lead,” Sweaty replied.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie

“As I'll ever be,” she replied.

“Time to go,” Guru said as he rolled in on his attack run.



In Tolar, the local garrison, which had mainly been concerned with keeping U.S. 377 open and keeping the local population under control, had been a company from the 231st Rear-Area Protection Division out of Minsk, and the company, made of of mainly overage reservists, had been content to stay within the town. The company was mounted in captured American trucks, and with no artillery other than their own mortars, was content to stay right where they were. Now, the remnants of the East German 20th Motor-Rifle Division had pulled back to the town, while the Soviet 138th Tank Regiment, which had also taken a beating two days earlier, was a few miles to the west, in and around the town of Bluff Dale. Right away, the Soviet garrison commander had not gotten along with the East German colonel who now commanded the 20th MRD, telling the East German that though he was a Captain, he answered to his own chain of command, and until he was ordered otherwise, no, he would not be conducting any anti-guerrilla patrols, as there had been hardly any signs of the counterrevolutionary bandits, and the last thing he wanted was to generate such activity.

For his part, the East German Colonel had been the 20th MRD's deputy commander, until the General had been killed, and now he had the division. Or more correctly, what was left of the division. All three motor-rifle regiments had been badly mauled, the tank regiment was no better off, and both divisional artillery and air defense were in the same shape as the line combat regiments. To make matters worse, some genius had decided to locate a forward refueling and rearming point for the Army's attack helicopter regiment south of the town, and a flight of Mi-24Ds, with a couple of Mi-8s, had flown in the previous day, during a break in the weather. From what he'd heard, such forward points often attracted attention from either American aircraft, their insidious Special Forces, or the bandits who called themselves the Resistance. And the air force men insisted that his division provide troops for security around the field, and Army had told him to do so. Shaking his head, the Colonel left division headquarters, in what had been a bank, to talk to his air-defense commander. Their 2K12 (NATO SA-6) missiles had been hard hit, and the Major now in command of the air-defense regiment was insistent on getting replacements for both personnel and equipment. The Colonel glanced to the south, down the road known as F.M. 56, when he saw what looked liked aircraft, then the AA guns around the helicopter field opened fire. “AIR RAID ALARM!” The Colonel shouted, then he ran for a shelter.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his bomb run. As he did, he noticed the flak starting to come up. A quick glance at the RWR showed nothing locked on, but there was a lot of Triple-A coming up. Had somebody spotted them and gotten a warning off by radio or field phone? No matter....it was too late. Guru spotted a pair of what looked like Hinds, and one of them was spooling up. Too late, whoever you are...He lined up one of the helos in his pipper. “Steady....and.....HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes came off of 512's racks. He pulled level, then accelerated to the north, overflying the town of Tolar on the way out. “Lead's off safe.”

At the dispersal field, an East German AF Major was not having a good morning. Two of his Mi-24s were down with mechanical issues, and wouldn't be ready until noon at least. Then there was the attitude of the Army, who seemed not that interested in providing ground security for his helicopters, even though it was their responsibility, though the soldiers who were manning the perimeter and operating the shoulder-fired missiles seemed competent. At least the air force was responsible for the antiaircraft guns, and the ZU-23s had been manned at first light. Suddenly, two of the guns tracked to the south and opened fire. The Major took a look, and saw an F-4 coming right at him. “TAKE COVER!” He shouted, then he ran for a slit trench, and jumped in.

“GOOD HITS!” Goalie called from 512's back seat.

“What'd we get?” Guru asked as tracers came up after his aircraft, only to fall short or wide of the mark. Though an SA-7 type missile did get too close for comfort, passing below and to the right of the Phantom.

“Not sure, but there's a couple of secondaries.”

“I'll take that,” the CO said as he headed north for I-20 and the FLOT.


“Two in hot!” Kara called. She rolled 520 down onto the target, and saw Guru walk his bombs across the field, taking out a pair of helos-probably Hinds, she thought. Two more helos were spooling up on the south side of the field, but she could only take out one. You'll do, she said to herself, selecting a Hip that was in the process of warming up for takeoff. “And....HACK!” Kara hit her pickle button, sending another dozen Mark-82s down onto the field. She pulled up and away, calling, “Two off safe,” as she did so.

At the field, the East German Major huddled in the trench with several pilots, weapons officers,and ground crew. They heard the bombs going off from Guru's run, then Kara's, and several secondary explosions followed. He lifted his head as Kara's F-4 flew away, and he saw two Mi-24s and a Mi-8 burning, While another Mi-24 was in the process of preparing to take off. The Major started to get up, then he saw the ZU-23s swivel back to the south, then they resumed firing. That told him more aircraft were coming in, and he ducked back into the trench.


“SHACK!” Brainiac yelled from 520's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

“We get the Hip?' Asked Kara, who was jinking to avoid some of the flak that followed her out. And like the CO, an SA-7 flew past her F-4 as she headed north.

“Can't tell, but I think so.”

“Even a near-miss is as good as a hit,” Kara grinned underneath her oxygen mask. Celebrate later, she knew. Still got a way to go before home plate.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she rolled in. She noticed a Hind parked close to a man-made pond in the northeast corner of the field, and the Hind was spooling up. Sweaty noticed where Kara's bombs landed, and she saw a fireball as something blew up. She ignored the tracers coming up as she lined up the Hind in her pipper. “Steady...and...and.....HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button and twelve more Mark-82s fell onto the field. She pulled off and away, dodging some flak as she did. 'Three's off target.”


In his slit trench, the East German Major huddled next to another officer. He glanced at the man, and noticed his Political Officer, and that the man was praying. Well, now....the man regularly preached otherwise, but here he is. Then he heard the rumble of an aircraft, and a whoosh as Sweaty's F-4 flew by. Those in the trench felt the bombs going off, then the roar of a much larger explosion. But the Major didn't lift his head this time, for if there were three Imperialist aircraft, then there had to be four....


Preacher looked back as the F-4 pulled away, and saw the explosions-and a couple of fireballs. “SHACK!”

“What'd we hit?” Sweaty asked, jinking as she did so. Tracers were coming up, and missing. Which was good.

“Can't tell, but there were a couple of secondaries.”

“We'll take 'em,” replied Sweaty as a missile-probably another SA-7, flew over the F-4. She dropped the nose, gained speed, and headed north.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called. He rolled in, and saw the explosions from his element lead's bombs going off. With all the smoke, he had a hard time picking out a good drop point, but then he noticed some trucks at the south edge of the field. Fuel or munitions trucks? Didn't matter. He lined them up in the pipper, ignoring the flak and an SA-7 that someone had launched head-on, hoping for a lucky shot. “Steady....and....HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, and sent another dozen bombs going down on the target. He pulled off and away, and called, “Four off safe.”


The East German Major huddled in his trench as Hoser's F-4 flew by, there there was the sound of not only his bombs going off, but secondary explosions. He lifted his head out of the trench, and saw that his fuel trucks, or more correctly, what was left of them, were in the middle of a large fire. The fire had spread to several pallets of fuel drums, and those were currently exploding as well. Shaking his head, he got up and turned to the Political Officer. The man was white as a sheet, and this was the first time he had been bombed. That was his problem, the Major decided, The damage wrought by the Verdamnt Amis, though....he started barking out orders. Time to get some kind of order out of this madhouse.

“GOOD HITS!” KT yelled from her backseat perch. “You got the fuel dump!”

“Righteous, as Preacher would say,” Hoser replied. He, too, was jinking to avoid flak, and grimaced as a missile, probably an SA-7, flew right in front of their F-4. “Time to get the hell out of Dodge.”


“Four in, four out,” Goalie said from 512's back seat. “All off safe.”

“Not yet,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a game on until the I-20.”

“Camaro, Mustang,” Dave Golen called. “We're off target and on our way out.”

“Copy that, Mustang,” Guru replied. “See you at the tankers.” Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro One-one. Say threat?”

“Stand by,” the AWACS controller-this one female, replied. “Camaro One-one, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-seven-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing Two-zero-zero for seventy-five, Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-six-five for eighty, Medium, closing.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro One-one, Crystal Palace. Closest bogeys are Fishbeds.” That meant MiG-21s.

“Copy.” Guru then glanced to his right. Kara in 520 was right with him in combat spread, and he knew that Sweaty and Hoser weren't that far behind. “Sweaty, Guru. You there?”

“Right behind you, Boss,” Sweaty replied. “Got eyeballs on you and Starbuck.”

“Roger that. If these Fishbeds want to play, we'll lead 'em to a wall of Eagles.”

“One minute to the fence,” Goalie reported. That meant the I-20 line, which defined the battle lines for the most part in this part of Texas.

Guru nodded, still keeping his eye out for threats. Even as they were on their way out, it wasn't just the East Germans who might be a threat. The Army sometimes had the idea of “Shoot them down and sort them out on the ground.” Though they'd never lost anyone to friendly fire, it had happened to others, he knew. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He reached for the IFF switch and turned it on.

“Approaching the fence......Now,” Goalie said. Just then, I-20 appeared, then disappeared as they flew past.

“Crystal Palace, Camaro One-one,” Guru called the AWACS. “Say threat?”

“Threat bearing One-seven-five for forty-five,” AWACS replied. “Medium, now....going away.”

“Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Looks like they don't want to play.”

“Maybe next time,” Guru said. And maybe we'll have some decent Sparrows, he thought.

Camaro Flight then climbed to altitude, and joined up on the tankers. As they joined up, Mustang Flight came in, and they, too, took their turn at the KC-135s. This time, everyone came back, but from talking to the AZ ANG's tanker crews when they were based at Williams, the tanker crews were naturally curious as to what the fighters were doing. But it was a heartbreaker when they refueled a four-ship going out, and three, or even two, came back. And it was a strict rule that the tanker crews never asked what happened to the missing aircraft. After the refueling, the two flights headed back to Sheppard.

When they got to Sheppard's traffic pattern, the pattern was busy with both incoming and outgoing flights. Camaro and Mustang had to wait their turn, And it was about fifteen minutes until their turn came, but both flights came in and landed. As they taxied in, the crews noticed the news crew filming them. 'Looks like we'll be on TV again,” Goalie said.

“You, me, and quite a few other people, remember?” Guru replied.

“Sure do,” Goalie said.

Guru taxied in to the squadron's dispersal, and found 512's revetment. He taxied in, and then shut down. The ground crew brought the crew ladder, and both pilot and GIB unstrapped and took off their helmets. Then they climbed down from the aircraft. “One and done,” he said. “Three more, at least.”

“Just as long as nobody starts hollering for CAS,” Goalie nodded as their assistant crew chief handed her a bottle of water. “Then we fly five or six more.”

The CO grimaced. “Don't say it.” Then Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, came over with a bottle of water for him. “Sarge,”

Crowley was beaming. “How'd it go, sir?”

“Made some Hinds or Hips go away, Sarge,” Guru said. “On the ground, though.”

“Shit hot! Uh, you know what I mean, sir.”

The CO grinned. “I do, Sarge. If you have to use that language when we come back from a strike, I'm the last person who'd be complaining.”

“Thank you, sir!” Crowley said. “Major? Any problems I need to know?”

“No issues, and no battle damage,” Guru replied. “Let's not waste any more time. Get her turned around for the next one.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. He turned to the ground crew. “Okay, you heard the man. Let's get the CO's bird turned around.”

Guru and Goalie walked to the revetment's entrance, and Goalie asked, “Still want to send him on the R&R Rotation early?”

“If I can,” the CO replied. “He does work for Kev O'Donnell, and I'll talk to him and find out when it's Crowley's turn. I don't want to have to give him his R&R papers and say 'Here's your two weeks. Go to Vegas, or San Diego, Hilton Head, or go to Tahoe and ski. Or take the two weeks at home with your family. Enjoy yourself. Oh, by the way, that's an order.””

“Don't blame you,” Goalie said.

They got to the revetment's entrance and found Kara with Brainiac, waiting. Then Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT showed up. “One and done,” Kara said. “Too bad we don't count ground kills. Because I saw you get two.”

“And you got one,” Sweaty told Kara.

Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs then showed up. “Guru,” Golen said.

“Dave,” the CO nodded. “How'd it go with you guys?”

“Don't know what that was that we hit. Headquarters or a RDF site, I have no idea,” Golen replied. “Just a lot of vehicles with antennas.”

“And there's a junkyard there now,” Flossy added.

“No doubt,” Sweaty said.

“Come on: let's get the debriefs done,” Guru said, putting his CO face on. “We've got forty-five to an hour, then time to go back out.”

Heads nodded, and they headed back to the squadron's offices. When they got there, Hacksaw, the day-shift SDO, was there. “Boss,” he said. And he remembered not to stand up.

“Hacksaw,” Guru nodded. “Anything I need to know?”

“Nothing much, Major,” Hacksaw replied. He then sneezed right after. “Damned cold.”

Guru nodded sympathetically. “Listen to Doc, take your pills, and you'll be back in the saddle in no time,” he said.

“That I am, Boss.”

“Anything I need to know?”

“No, Boss,” replied Hacksaw. “And no message traffic, either.”

“Okay, thanks,” Guru said. The crews went to the locker rooms to get out of their flight gear, then they went to their briefing room. They found Sin Licon, their Squadron's Intelligence Officer, waiting for them..

“Major,” Licon nodded as he unfolded a TPC chart “How'd things go?”

“Pretty good, I'd say,” Guru replied. He showed their ingress route, and where they had drawn flak.

“And you put your bombs where?” Licon asked, indicating a recon photo.

The CO tapped with a pen. “Right here.”

“Got a couple of secondaries,” added Goalie. “Not sure what they were.”

“Hinds or Hips,” Kara said. “Saw them go up as I came in.” She pointed where her bombs had landed.

“Same here,” Sweaty nodded. She pointed to the pond where a Hind had been parked nearby.

Hoser nodded. “She got that, and we had the best for last.”

KT grinned. “We got the fuel dump.”

Licon nodded. “Secondaries?”

KT replied, “Big ones. When fuel goes up, you know.”

The intel nodded. “Okay, Major It looks like this place is out of business for a while. I'm assessing four choppers destroyed, maybe one or two damaged. And as Hoser and KT indicated, the fuel dump went sky-high.” Licon turned to Dave Golen. “Major Golen? How was your strike?”

Golen nodded, and pointed to the map, and a recon photo of his target area. “There were a dozen or so vehicles in that field, and most of them had antennas deployed.”

Flossy added, “Were there. We left that place a junkyard.”

“Secondaries?” Licon asked.

“Some,” Digger said. “But what they were....”

“Okay,” the Intel nodded. “How were the defenses for both of you?”

Guru pointed to a photo of his target area. “Plenty of flak, and shoulder-fired missiles. But no heavy flak, and no radar missiles or radar-guided flak.”

“Same here,” Sweaty noted. “A lot of shooting, but not accurate.”

“We had the same thing,” Golen added. “Twenty-three millimeter or machine guns, but no heavy SAMs.”

“And no MiGs?” Licon asked,and he saw both flight leaders shake their heads. “Okay, I'll write these up and get them sent off. Thanks, Boss, and Major Golen.” The Intel gathered up his materials and left the room.

“Now what?” Kara asked.

“The usual,” Guru said. “Get something to eat or drink, check your desks, because in forty-five or so, we get ready to do it again.”

Flossy nodded. “And with full VFR, we're doing this all day.”

“That's a given.” A knock on the door followed, and the CO said, “Come on in and show yourself!”

One of the Ops NCOs came in. “Major, this just came in for you.” The Staff Sergeant handed the CO a message form..

Major Wiser took it. 'Thank you,” he said, then he scanned the form. “Well, well. This is interesting.”

“What is?” Goalie asked.

“We're getting company. The RAF is coming to our little corner of the war,” the CO said.

The rest of the crews looked at each other, then it was Kara who said what was on everyone's mind. “What? This on the level?”

“Says here it is,” Guru said. “It's for Colonel Brady, but information to every other Squadron CO on this base. We're getting a liaison team today, and in about ten days, we get aircraft.”

Several of the crews looked at each other again, then at the CO. “Boss,” Sweaty asked, “What kind of birds we getting? Or can you tell us?”

Guru looked at the form. “Doesn't say, but I'll bet it's their F-4s. Given that at least half of the birds on this base were built in St. Louis by McDonnell-Douglas....but if they bring their Tornados, the F-111s and A-6s will appreciate the help.”

“Maybe,” Digger said. He'd been offered a chance to fly as a WSO on either F-111s or the AF-operated A-6s, but stuck with Double-Ugly.

Guru nodded agreement. “Maybe is right. Still, that's in the future. Get something to eat and drink, check your desks, because we're all back at it in forty-five to an hour.”

Heads nodded, then Kara said, “You heard him.”
Hearing that, everyone filed out. Except for Goalie. Not only was she his GIB and lover, but she was his closest confidante in the squadron. “Well?”

“The Brits,” Guru said. “Never thought we'd see them coming this way. All of their action has been up north or defending the UK.”

His GIB nodded. “Well, two people separated by a common language and all that,” she said. “They won't be the only allies down here.”

Guru nodded back. “The ROKs out of Roswell and Carlsbad in New Mexico. And they're very good, as we know. And if the Brits are bringing F-4s, then I have an idea for 'em.”

“Let me guess: strike escort. And in full air-to-air mode.”

“Right you are. It could be two weeks, or two months,for that matter, before we get AIM-7F, and having those guys with Sky Flash would be a plus. If, that is, they're bringing F-4s. If it's the Tornado, then the deep-strike guys get some help.”

“Well, we'll know soon enough,” Goalie said.

Guru nodded. “That's right.” He looked at the wall clock. 0910. “I better check my desk and see if there's any CO stuff to take care of. You do the same, then we get together and do this all over again.”


The two went to their respective offices, and Guru found a couple of minor things requiring his attention. He took care of the paperwork, then went through yesterday's USA Today. He had just finished when there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah?”

The door opened, and his Exec came in. “Boss.”

“Mark,” the CO nodded. “You've heard?” He waved the message form.

“Sure did,” the Exec. “Well, they'll make good company, and we can use the help.”

The CO looked at his Exec. “That we can,” he said. “And I've got an idea how they can help.” He told Ellis what he'd told Goalie.

Ellis nodded. “Dedicated strike escort? That's something we all can use.”

“It is,” said Guru. He noticed the clipboard in his Exec's right hand. “What have you got?”

“Frank's filed another couple of complaints.”

The CO frowned. “Now what? The girls flash him again coming out of the shower?”

“That,” Ellis nodded. “And some NCOs have a still going, he thinks.”

“Our NCOs?” Guru asked. “Anyone drinking on duty?”

Ellis shook his head. “No, but Frank's convinced there's a still going someplace.”

The CO did the same, then said, “Remember, Marines have a habit of making 'Jungle Juice' as they said back in the day. Hell, even in Southeast Asia, much less WW II or Korea. Still.....if anybody wants to have a still a la Hawkeye, B.J., or Trapper? As long as they enjoy the fruits of their labor-pardon the pun-off duty only, I'm not getting involved.”

Ellis nodded. “I'll have Ross pass the word to be discrete.”

“Do that,” Guru said.

“And Frank's complaints?”

The CO nodded towards the shredder. “You know where they go.”

Ellis fed the papers to the shredder. “That's that.”

“Okay,” said Guru. “That's it?”

“It is for now,” Guru said. He saw Ellis nod, and get ready to leave. “Mark? You be careful out there. I'd hate to have to break in Don as Exec.”

“Will do, Boss.” the XO replied with a smile, then he left. Guru nodded, then went to his office window. The sight of F-4s, A-4s, and A-7s taking off and landing was music to his ears. Then he went to the squadron's break room and got himself a chicken sandwich. Though filled from breakfast, he made it a rule to always eat something before flying a mission, for if he was shot down, he wanted to have a full stomach that could last a couple of days, if necessary. Or longer. And Goalie understood, for she had taken up her pilot's suggestion. The CO finished the sandwich, then went to the Ops Office. Before he got there, Kara came out with a briefing packet. “Kara,” he said. “That ours?”

“Just coming to get you. We've got our next mission,” she replied.

“Okay, round everybody up. I'll be right there.”

“Got you.” Kara said, then she went off to get the other members of their flight.

The CO opened the packet and looked at the target. Well, haven't had one of these in a while, he thought. He waited a few minutes, then went to the briefing room, and found everyone in the flight there. “People, we've got a new mission.”

“What's next?” Sweaty asked.

Guru took out the briefing material. “Town called Comanche, halfway between Stephenville and Brownwood on U.S. 67-377. We're going for the county airport north of town and ripping it up.”

“Who's based there?” Asked Hoser.

The CO looked at the briefing sheet. “Says here transports; An-24s or -26s, plus Czech-made Let 410s. But probable Su-25s as well. And get this: this is also a probable FOL for fighters. We may catch some MiGs on the ground.”

“Beats killing them in the air,” Goalie said.

“It does. This is on the border between the Soviet 32nd Army and the East Germans, so we might have both to worry about on the way in and out.”

“Lovely,” Preacher nodded. “We getting Weasels?”

“Good question,” Kara said.

Guru nodded. “We are. Coors Flight will meet us up at the tankers. And before you ask, we're only getting two of them.”

“What's the defenses like?” KT wanted to know.

“Getting to that,” the CO said. “There's at least two 23-mm batteries, and there's a couple of 57-mm as well. Not to mention small-arms and MANPADS. Throw in an SA-2 site, and the Army-level stuff from Brownwood and Stephenville, and we'll be glad we've got the Weasels. Even if we only have two. An EF-111 will do standoff jamming, not just for us, mind, but several other strikes. And before you ask, MiG threat is unchanged from this morning.”

Heads nodded at that. “Ordnance load?” Goalie asked.

“Element leads have a dozen Rockeyes,” the CO said. “Wingies get six Mark-82s and six M-117s in Snakeye mode. Full load air-to-air, and the usual ECM pods.” He then pulled out a recon photo, and it looked like an SR-71 shot to him. “Okay, here's the deal on the target area. Notice the prewar ramp area?” The CO pointed to a couple of small hangars and a couple other buildings close to the southern end of the runway. “That's where the transports are. There's a couple An-24s or -26s there, and what looks like a Let-410. They've built a new ramp area to the north and a dispersal area to the northwest, which is where the Frogfoots are. On the east side of the runway is another new ramp area. It's empty on this shot, but if there are fighters there now? That's where they'll be.”

Sweaty looked at her CO. “So who hits what?”

Guru looked at the photo, and thought for a minute. “Okay. I'll take the suspected fighter ramp to the east side. Kara?” He looked at his wingmate. “You have Mark-82s and -117s. Take out the runway. If I miss a fighter, I don't want anyone getting airborne.”

Kara nodded. “Got you.”

Sweaty asked, “And the second element?”

“The Frogfoot ramp area? It's yours,” Guru said, tapping with a pen on the photo. “You've got the second round of CBUs, so make them go away.'

“My pleasure,” Sweaty grinned.

“Good. Make it your pleasure,” nodded Guru. “Hoser? Take the prewar ramp area. Kill any transports, and rip up the hangars.”

Hoser looked at the photo, then at the Major. “Can do, Boss.”

There was a knock on the door, and the CO said, “Show yourself and come on in!” The door opened and Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs came in. “Dave, what can I do for you?”

“You going to an airfield?” Golen asked. “We've been tasked to follow up a strike.” He showed the CO their mission order.

Guru looked at his mission orders, and Golen's. “You're going in ten minutes after we are, and to an alerted airfield,” he said. “No way. You and Flossy are coming with us.”

“What about the ATO, Major?” Flossy asked.

“Screw the ATO,” the CO said firmly. “I'm not losing people because some bastard idiot at Tenth Air Force thought it was a good idea to send you in on a target that's waiting for you because we just went there. What's your ordnance load?”

“Ten CBUs with Gator mines,” Golen said.

“Twelve Snakeyes,” Flossy added. “Six Mark-82, six M-117.”

The CO nodded. “You guys discuss targeting, or were you waiting to talk with me first?” He asked.

“The latter,” Golen said, and Flossy nodded agreement.

“All right,” Guru said. “Dave? You angle your run so that you cover the ramp areas and runway with your mines. Flossy?” He tapped the fuel dump to the east of the runway. “Get the fuel dump.”

Golen nodded. “Got you,” and Flossy nodded again.

“Good,” the CO said. “Now, you fellows go ahead and gear up. I need to talk to the girls for a moment about something that happened this morning. Flossy, this includes you.” He nodded at her. “When I'm finished, we all gear up, and meet at 512.”

The male officers nodded, and headed out of the room. Hoser closed the door behind him, and then Kara asked, “What's up?”

“I got a complaint from Frank about you guys,” Guru said, in CO mode. “And not just about you all, but Ryan Blanchard, plus Cosmo and Revlon. Did you all have to flash him when you came out of the shower? Again?”

“Well, Major,” Kara said with a grin. “We can't slug him, however much he deserves it, because that's a Court-Martial. So this is the next best thing.”

Major Wiser looked at his wingmate. “Let me guess: he said his 'trailer trash' remark again.” It wasn't a question.

“He did,” Goalie said. “Not worth another Article 15, though.”

“Article 15?” Flossy asked. “For what?”

“He made some ill-advised remarks about Kara and Goalie yesterday, and in the presence of everybody in the Ops Office,” Major Wiser said. “His career's sunk, and with luck, Frank never sees O-5. Then remember, he's out come New Year's-or sooner-if he fucks up big time. And Sundown Cunningham may be coming sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and if Frank's still around? Sundown may do us all a favor, and send him packing.”

“That may be worth the wait,” Sweaty said.

“Yeah,” the CO nodded. “Okay, do me a favor. Don't show any more of your anatomy to him than is necessary. If he opens his mouth again? Just moon him.”

“What if he complains about that?” KT asked.

“Any complaints he sends me get fed to the office shredder,” Major Wiser replied. “So screw him.”

“No thanks,” said Flossy, her arms folded in front of her chest. “Once was enough, mind.”

The CO nodded again. “No offense, Flossy, and you know what I mean.”

“None taken, Major, and I do know what you're talking about,” Flossy smiled. “I'll be watching when Sundown Cunningham kicks his ass out of here.”

“We all will,” Kara said.

“Happily,” Major Wiser said. “Just remember what I said, Okay?” Heads nodded at that. “All right, gear up. We got a mission to fly.”

Everyone headed for their locker rooms, and when Guru came out of the Men's, he found Goalie waiting for him, as usual. “You ready?” She asked.

“Time to go to work,” he nodded. “Let's go.”

Before CO and GIB left the office, they found Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer. “Boss,” Van Loan nodded.

“Don, the ATOs come from Tenth AF, right? No MAG-11 involvement.”

“Righto, Boss,” Van Loan said. “What's up?'

“Some genius there programmed Dave and Flossy to hit our target ten minutes after us,” the CO growled. “Somebody's had a brain fade.”

The Ops Officer looked at him. “Boss, that's asking for it,” he said. Van Loan knew that somebody might get killed or captured as a result of that kind of mission planning. “So what are you guys doing?”

“Dave and Flossy are coming with us,” Major Wiser said. “Instead of ten minutes, it'll be thirty seconds.”

“Somebody probably thought it was a good idea to hit them while they were busy cleaning up,” Van Loan pointed out. “Still.....”

“I know. Get to my briefing room and gather my briefing material and Dave's. Hang onto it. Because we'll need to talk about this. Get Colonel Brady involved, and General Olds, too. Then we'll notify General Tanner, and see if we can't get somebody's balls crunched.”

Van Loan knew what the CO had in mind. “Boss, if I found out this was happening to me? I'd want somebody's balls crunched as well.”

Major Wiser nodded. “We're on the same page, then,” he said. “Okay, you can tell Mark, but nobody else for now.” Then the CO turned to his GIB with a questioning look on his face.

“Lips are sealed,” Goalie replied.

“Good. And Don?” Major Wiser turned to Ops. “You be careful out there. If anything happens to you, you do know who your successor is.”

“Kara,” Van Loan replied. “And we all know paperwork is not her strong suit.”

“No, it isn't,” Guru replied, knowing from experience. “You have a good mission.”

Ops nodded. “You too, Boss.”

Guru nodded, then he and Goalie headed on out to the dispersal area, and found the rest of their flight at 512's revetment. “People,” Guru said.

“What took you so long?” Brainiac asked.

The CO smiled. “Had to have a talk with the girls about not showing any more of their anatomy to Frank than is necessary.”

Preacher asked, “They flashed him again?” He saw the expressions on Sweaty's, Kara's, and Goalie's faces grow coy, and he knew the answer. “Figures.”

“And we had a talk with Don about whoever screwed up the ATO,” Guru said. “Somebody had a brain fade, and they need their balls crunched for that.”

“Good for them,” Hoser said.

“It is,” the CO said. “Dave? You and Flossy got the same brief we did about defenses, MiG threat, and so on, correct?” He saw their IDF “Observer” nod agreement, and Flossy did as well, along with their GIBs. “So we're all on the same page, then.” They nodded again, “Good. Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Call signs between us.”

Kara nodded, then said, “Boss, what if somebody, like the Weasels, asks why we're a six-ship when we're briefed as a four-ship?”

“Use any convenient excuse: mix-up in the ATO, comms failure, or whatever. They were ready, so they launched with us,” Guru replied. “Got it?”

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Sweaty grinned.

“Good,” Major Wiser nodded. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Game time. Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512. They found Sergeant Crowley and the ground crew wrapping up final checks. “Major,” Crowley said, snapping a salute. “She's all ready for you, sir.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did the walk-around, then he signed for the aircraft. Then they mounted 512 and got themselves strapped in. They were going through the preflight checks when he asked. “How about another case of 'fold, spindle, bend, or mutilate'. Something General Olds would approve.”

“He'll probably say you didn't follow the letter of the ATO, but the spirit is what counts,” Goalie said. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, check yours. And that's what counts. Arnie?” Guru asked, referring to the ARN-101 DMAS system.

“All set and ready. We're good to go. Preflight checklist complete.”

Guru nodded, then gave his Crew Chief the thumbs-up. Sergeant Crowley responded by giving the “Start Engines” signal. One, then two, J-79 engines started, and went through the warm-up. He checked his control panels. No problems with hydraulics, engine temp, or whatever. Everything was good to go. Then Guru called the tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Charlie. Hold prior to the Active. You will be number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru called. “Camaro Lead rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who then gestured to the ground crew. They pulled the chocks away from the landing gear, then Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he cleared the revetment, Crowley snapped a salute. Guru and Goalie returned it, and as 512 headed down the taxiway, the other three in the flight, plus Dave and Flossy in Mustang Flight, followed. As they taxied, the crews noticed the news crew getting them on tape, and besides Kodak Griffith, there was another observer: General Olds.

“Wish you were going with them, General?” Kodak asked.

“Part of me wishes I was,” Olds nodded. “The other part of me knows that combat's a young one's game these days. I'd have been glad to have them with me in the Wolfpack, twenty years ago, going Downtown and fighting MiGs.” Olds pointed to Kara's bird, 520. “But it's their turn now, and they're doing just fine.”

“Yes, sir,” Griffith said, nodding agreement.

Olds nodded, then looked at the Marine. “And you'll be back in the saddle soon enough. Don't worry about missing out on the action, because you're not missing a damn thing.”

Guru taxied out, and waited his turn as a Marine F-4 flight, then a Marine Hornet flight, took off, then it was their turn. He taxied just short of the Active and held there so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. It was time.....”Tower, Camaro Lead with four, requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, clear for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-eight for ten.”

“Roger, Tower,” replied Guru. He taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. Guru went through a final check with Goalie, and glanced over to Kara and Brainiac in their bird. They gave the CO and Goalie a thumbs-up, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. Then it was time. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clearance for takeoff.”

The Tower, as usual, didn't reply on the radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Ready to rock. Let's go,” Goalie replied.

“Canopy coming down.” Guru pulled his canopy down, closing and locking it, and Goalie did the same. Guru did a quick glance over at Kara's bird, and saw they were ready. “Time to go.” he said. Then he went to full power, released the brakes, and 512 rolled down the runway and into the air. Kara did the same in 520, going with the CO. It was then Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, and as Camaro Flight orbited, Dave Golen's Mustang Flight followed. They formed up, then the six-ship headed down towards the I-20 and the front lines.

Tearing up a MiG field, and finding out another AF legend is coming:



1015 Hours Central War Time, Over Central Texas:



Camaro Flight, with Mustang right behind, was heading south, after the pre-strike refueling at the tanker track, and Coors One-Five and One-Six had joined them. The Weasel crews had been briefed that they would be giving cover to a four-ship, and when six had joined up, the Weasels were naturally curious. When told that there had been a screwup on the ATO, the Weasel leader said, “Not the first time. Had a pair of Weasels briefed to cover a four-ship once, turned out to be eight. Some ride.”

Now, they were going into enemy territory, right along the boundary for the Soviet 32nd Army to the west, and the East Germans to the east. Both formations had their Army-level air defense radars up, though at 450 feet AGL, the strike flight was, so far, unmolested. While the pilots flew the aircraft, the GIBs handled the navigation and monitored the EW repeaters. So far, so good.

“De Leon dead ahead,” Goalie called from 512's back seat. The town was at the junction of State Routes 6 and 16, and just south of the town was Proctor Lake.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He was not only busy flying the aircraft, but keeping his eyes peeled for threats, both on the ground and in the air. “Flight, Lead. Watch for flak at the town.”

“Two copies,” Kara replied, and the others did so in turn.

“And...now,” Goalie called, and the flight flew past the town. To their surprise, there wasn't a shot fired.

In the town, the Commander of the 155th Motor-Rifle Division was in his office at the City Hall. His division had managed to retire in good order from Kansas down through Oklahoma and into Texas, though they had been “smacked around”, as the Divisional Chief of Staff put it. The division was still combat-worthy, and though their equipment and personnel losses had been made good somewhat, the General wasn't sure how a division with a tank regiment equipped with T-72s and three motor-rifle regiments with modernized T-55s was going to perform, since their opposite numbers to the north, the American 23rd “Americal” Mechanized Division, was reported to now have M-1s instead of M-60s. Well, we'll see, thought the General as he went to his office window. He was surprised as anyone when the eight F-4s flew past, Only after the aircraft had passed by did the air defenses open up, as several Mi-24s were based at the little airstrip the locals called an airport. Too little, too late, he knew. As he went back to his desk, he heard some cheering out the open window. The local population had heard and seen the American aircraft fly by, and they were clearly hoping that the sight was an advance preview of the U.S. Army's return. Shaking his head, the General thought that maybe accepting this command, instead of a teaching position at the Omsk Higher Combined Arms Command School, hadn't been such a good idea. At least you slept in a soft bed every night and there were no risks to be taken. Not here.


“How long to Proctor Lake?” Guru asked. That was their next turn point.

“Thirty seconds,” came Goalie's reply. “EW still clear.” She had her own EW repeater.

“Gotcha,” Guru replied. Then he saw it, Proctor Lake dead ahead. He turned slightly to the left, intending to fly down the east side of the lake, towards the town of Proctor itself. As the flight matched him, they came over the small town of Proctor, and turned on a course of One-eight-zero.

In Proctor,which was more a collection of ruins than a town, though the grocery store and a mini-mart had survived, the local garrison was quite content to stay where they were. Soviets from the 231st Rear-Area Protection Division, they were a single platoon, with a single mortar and a heavy machine gun, they were told to keep U.S. 67-377 open, and they did so, by staying put, much to the disgust of the East Germans in the area, who were occasionally taking sniper fire, having improvised mines going off near their vehicles, and suffering phone outages due to lines being cut. The locals, the few townspeople who had survived, along with the local farmers and ranchers who came to town to get their rations, were pleased to see their occupiers arguing amongst themselves, and were actually rooting for these Soviets, who didn't want to get too involved, and their platoon leader actually agreed. The average age of his men was forty, and any kind of sustained effort in the field would rapidly render most of them hors de combat. So when Guru's strike flight flew overhead and the locals waved, the Senior Lieutenant simply ignored them. Which was much to the disgust of an East German counterpart who was passing through on a patrol with his BTR-60PB-equipped platoon.


“How long to next turn?” Guru asked.

“Newburg,” Goalie replied. “Just off of State Route 16. One minute thirty.”

“Copy. Crystal Palace, Camaro One-one. Say threat?” Guru was calling the AWACS.

“Camaro One-one, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing one-six-five for sixty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-four-five, for fifty. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-six-five for forty-five. Medium, going away.”

“So far, so good...” Goalie commented. “One minute.”

“Don't say it,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a ways to go.”

“That we do,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds. EW still clear.”

“Roger that.” The seconds flashed by, and the little town-this one more a crossroads and a church, went by beneath them. Guru turned to the north, just to the east of Route 16, on a heading that would take him right to the target.

Goalie checked the ARN-101. “Thirty seconds to pull.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by to pull.” He turned on his ECM pod, and Goalie set up the ordnance.

“Copy, Lead.” Kara replied, and the others did so in turn.

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie said. “Switches set. You're hot.”

“Coors, Camaro. Time for you guys to go to work.”

“Roger that, Camaro,” Coors One-five called. “Weasels in hot!” Radars came up, and “Magnum” calls came over the radio.”

“Five seconds to pull,” Goalie said. “Stand by...PULL!”

Guru pulled up, and as he did, the flak started to come up. As he glanced around, he saw the target. “Flight, lead. Time to go to work.”

“All set back here,” Goalie told him.”

“Let's go,” the CO replied, rolling in on his bomb run.


At the airport, Captain Alexander Zuyev of the 2nd Squadron, 176th IAP, was furious. Not just with his Regimental staff, but whoever designed the MiG-29A without the ability to be refueled in the air. So, he and his flight had to land at this airport, and though the runway had been lengthened and a ramp area built to support fighter operations, there were no protective revetments for the aircraft, and just a few slit trenches for personnel. His Regiment had been based in Georgia prewar, and though they had deployed via sea to Cuba in 1986, the Regiment was still new to North America, and at Gray AAF near Fort Hood, they had been told by pilots from the 33rd IAP, which had been in theater from the start, that things weren't as they had been briefed. There were very few of the original pilots left flying, and the others? Killed, wounded, or missing (no one dared use the term “Captured”, and yet several pilots had told Zuyev that some of their squadron mates had been taken prisoner, despite the Political Officer's misgivings. Though the area was relatively clear of the Resistance bandits, the occasional mortar attack or sniper activity showed that the American underground was still active. Then there were the Americans in the air, for not only was the USAF active, but also Marines, and even some land-based naval squadrons, and that included F-14s. The MiG-29A was still slightly inferior to the F-4, due to problems with the MiGs' NO19 radar, though the R-27T was felt to be better than the AIM-7, though the MiG-29 was more maneuverable. But the F-14s and F-15s were carrying an improved Sparrow, and it outranged the R-27. The AIM-9L that the newer American fighters were carrying easily outranged the R-60 and R-60M, though the MiG-29 had one advantage: a helmet-mounted sight.

Now, Zuyev and his flight were waiting for their aircraft to be refueled, while they watched the Su-25s based there going out on close air-support missions, and the occasional transport took off or landed. The base seemed to be well defended, with ZU-23 and S-60 57-mm batteries, the latter being radar-guided, while an S-125 site was a couple of kilometers away. The Army in the town also had its own air-defense assets, and so far, the field had not been hit in daylight, though the F-111s and A-6s did come over at night. He stepped out of the operations tent, where his squadron mates were playing dominoes, and glanced to the south. Zuyev saw the smoke clouds in the air, and they were getting closer. Then two of them revealed themselves to be F-4 Phantoms, and they began to fire missiles. He ran into the tent and yelled, “AIR RAID!” After coming out of the tent, he saw another F-4 coming in, and this one was headed right for their ramp area. Zuyev and his comrades, instead of running for their aircraft, which were still being refueled, ran for a slit trench and jumped in. Then the bombs began to fall.


“Lead's in!” Guru called from 512 as he rolled in on his bomb run. He easily picked out the fighter ramp area and saw four MiG-29s parked there. Well, now, he thought. If I can't get you in the air.....Guru lined them up in his pipper, and noticed the Triple-A starting to come up. Then an antiradar missile flew into one of the flak batteries, and that battery fell silent. A nearby SA-3 site came up, but a prompt “MAGNUM!” call from one of the Weasels, followed by a HARM, and the site went off the air. No way, Ivan....”Steady....steady....and HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and twelve Rockeye CBUs came off the bomb racks. He pulled up and away, calling, “Lead's off safe.”


In his trench, Zuyev heard the F-4 come by, and then what sounded like a thousand firecrackers going off as the CBU bomblets went off. Then he heard four loud explosions as the MiGs, and their fuel trucks, exploded. Zuyev poked his head out of the trench, and sure enough, all four MiG-29s had been blown apart and were burning, along with the fuel trucks. He saw one of the ZU-23 batteries shift fire to the south, and that meant another attacker. He briefly saw another F-4 coming in, and he ducked back down into the trench.

“SHACK!” Goalie yelled from 512's back seat. “And we got secondaries!”

“What kind of secondaries?” Guru asked as he headed north, jinking as he did so.

“Big ones!”

“I'll take 'em,” replied Guru, then he focused on the egress. Instead of flying for Uncle Sam, now it was for yourselves on the way out.


“Two's in hot!” Kara yelled over the radio as she put 520 on its bomb run. Ignoring the tracers coming up as the flak batteries let go on her, she lined up the runway in her pipper. She saw an Su-25 taxiing to the runway, and said to herself, Not today.....you're grounded, Ivan. “Steady......and....HACK!” Kara hit the pickle button, and sent a dozen Snakeye bombs down onto the runway. She pulled up and leveled out, going to afterburner as she did so, and called out, “Two's off target.”


Captain Zuyev, in his trench, heard Kara's F-4 fly by, and he not only heard the bombs going off, but felt the concussion, too. While the trench didn't collapse, it did shake from the concussion. He heard another explosion, and thought for a moment the attacker had been brought down, but as he peeked up, he was disappointed. For what had happened was that some of the CBU bomblets had been set for delayed detonation. And a GAZ-66 truck filled with base personnel trying to get to cover, had run over one. Shaking his head at the stupidity, he started to rise, but then noticed the ZU-23s tracking back to the south. Another pair of aircraft were coming in, he knew, without even looking. Zuyev dropped back into the trench, shouting, “It's not over yet!”

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called. He glanced back and saw the bombs going off the length of the runway. “You got it!”

“The runway?” Kara asked, setting course to follow the CO north.

“Got it!”

“And these chumps are grounded,” replied Kara, dodging some flak as she followed the CO's smoke trail.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She put her bird into the bomb run, and she had seen what Kara's bombs had done. Not only had they hit the runway, but an Su-25 had been caught in the bomb blasts and was now burning wreckage on the runway. Sweaty lined up the ramp where the Frogfoots were parked, and she could see at least a dozen of them, being refueled and armed. Not your day, Ivan......She lined the ramp in the pipper, not even noticing the 23-mm flak coming up, concentrating on the bomb run. “Steady......HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and a dozen Rockeyes came off the racks, unloading their CBU bomblets onto the Su-25 ramp. She pulled up and away, setting her course north to follow Kara and the CO. “Three's off safe.”

Again, Zuyev and his comrades huddled in the trench as another F-4 came by, and this time, the explosions were on the other side of the field. He poked his head up to take a look, and saw numerous explosions and fires in the Su-25 ramp area. Shaking his head, he glanced to the south, and saw another F-4 coming in. He ducked down as the aircraft released its bombs.


“SHACK!” Preacher called to Sweaty. “Lots of secondaries!”

“Those guys are grounded?” Sweaty replied, pitching up to avoid some tracers.

“Righteously grounded!”

“Good for them.” Sweaty then picked up Kara's bird as they headed for the I-20.


“Four's in!” Hoser called. He rolled his bird in, and saw the Triple-A shift fire to him. He picked out the hangars and the transport ramp, and there looked to be an An-26 parked there. Well, now....Hoser lined up the ramp area, intending to put his bombs between the hangars and the transport. “Wait....wait....and.....HACK!” A dozen more Snakeyes came off racks, and down onto the airport. Hoser pulled up and away, calling, “Four's off safe.”


Zuyev heard Hoser's F-4 come by, and a dozen more explosions as the bombs went off. Then there was another, louder. He glanced up, out of the trench, and saw an An-26 transport blown apart, with the tail blasted off and one wing missing, while the hangars had been blasted apart. Shaking his head, he started to get up when someone pointed to the south. More Americans coming in. He jumped back into the trench.

“Mustang Lead in hot!” Dave Golen called. He noticed the flak coming up, and saw the gunners were shooting behind. Golen ignored the flak, and an SA-7 that came up, and came in at an angle. He lined up the pipper between the runway and the transport ramp. “Steady....steady.....and NOW!” Golen hit the pickle button, and ten CBUs with their GATOR mines came off the racks, covering the ramp, taxiway, and the runway with the mines. He glanced to his right and saw an SA-7 fly past, hit his afterburner, and headed north. “Mustang Lead off target.”

Zuyev heard the fifth F-4 come by, and and wondered what the aircraft had dropped. There had been no explosions at first, then cries of “MINES!” from the ground staff came. GATOR mines, he knew. No matter what else happened, this field was out of action for a while. And it wasn't over yet....

“GOOD HITS!” Golen's GIB called.

“How good?” Golen replied. How would they know if the mines had been put where they were supposed to go? Unless...

“Somebody ran over one,” came the call back.

“That'll do,” Golen said as he headed north.


“Mustang Two's in!” Flossy called. Though the last one in, she saw the Weasels still orbiting, and they wouldn't be leaving until she called off target. There was a lot of flak coming, and she jinked, not wanting to give the gunners an easy target. Having nearly been shot down once already, she had no desire to go the full distance. Flossy lined up the fuel dump, just east of the fighter ramp, and not only saw the fuel tanks, but also some fuel trucks. Time to fry some Russians, and send some more sky-high, she thought. “Steady.....and.....HACK!” Flossy hit the pickle button, and sent a dozen more Snakeyes down on the field. She pulled up and away, calling as she did so, “Mustang Two off safe.”

In the trench, Zuyev heard Flossy's F-4 come in, and not only did he and his comrade hear and feel the bombs going off, but also the large explosions that followed in their wake. That meant the fuel depot, and it also meant this field was now out of action for a while. He stood up, and shook his head. Despite the mines, and the CBU bomblets, base personnel were trying to fight the fires and tend to the wounded. Wanting to help, he and his comrades asked a ground officer, “What can we do to help?”

“Stay in the trench! You pilots are too valuable!”

Not wanting to argue with the man,who was a Lieutenant Colonel, Zuyev and his flight sat back in the trench, wondering how in the hell they would get back to Grey AAF.


“GOOD HITS!” Digger called from 1639's back seat. “You got the fuel dump!”

Flossy grinned underneath her oxygen mask. “Good secondaries?”

“Big ones!”

“Shit hot!” She called as she followed the others north.


When he heard Flossy call “Off safe,” Guru called the Weasels. “Coors, Camaro. That's all of us.”

“Roger that,” Coors One-five replied. “MAGNUM!” He fired the last of his antiradar missiles, then added, “We're on our way out.”

“Copy that, fella.” Guru said. “How far to the fence?” That meant I-20 and the front lines.

“Six minutes,” Goalie replied.

“Roger that,” said Guru. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threat?”

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

“Copy, Cystal Palace. Say bogey dope on nearest threat?”

“Camaro, Crystal Palace. Inbounds are Blue Bandits.” That was an old Vietnam-era call that signaled MiG-21s.

“Roger that.”

Goalie was doing some quick calculations. “They'll get to us just at the Fence.”

“And they get a wall of Eagles,” Guru replied. He knew the F-15s would be waiting. “Coors, Camaro. You on us?”

“Right with you,” Coors One-five replied.

Guru then glanced over to his Five O'clock, and saw Kara in 520, already tucked in combat spread. “How'd it go, Starbuck?”

“Nobody's using that runway for a while,” Kara said.

“Copy. Sweaty?”

“On your six,” Sweaty replied. “Hoser's right with me.”

“Roger that, Sweaty,”

“Mustang's right behind Sweaty,” Dave Golen added.


As they headed north, they overflew elements of the Soviet 32nd Army. Though the Soviets were expecting air attacks, the last thing any of the air-defense elements at Division and Army expected were to see American aircraft coming from their rear. Coming low and fast, the strike flight had a clear run to the I-20, though some did shoot at the outbound aircraft, no one in the Phantoms noticed the SA-9s or SA-7s shot at them.

The flight approached the fence, and as I-20 appeared, Guru called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Can you get the Eagles on the Blue Bandits?”

“Affirmative, Camaro,” the controller replied. “Got a flight of four coming in.”

In their cockpits, the crews looked up, and saw four F-15s heading south above them. “Got visual,” Kara said. “Get some.”

“Camaro Lead, Rustler Lead. Got some Blue Bandits on your six? We'll get rid of 'em for you.”

“Roger that, Rustler Lead. And thank you!” Guru replied to the F-15 leader.

“Camaro Lead, Roger. FOX ONE!” Rustler Lead called as he sent an AIM-7M after a MiG-21, and the other three in his flight followed suit.

“Camaro, let's get out of here,” Guru said, and the whole package followed.


They hit the tankers for the post-strike refueling, then the Weasels broke off and headed back to their base at Reese AFB near Lubbock. “Maybe we can do this again,” Coors One-five had said as the F-4Gs turned for home.

“Likewise,” Guru replied.

The strike flight then headed back to Sheppard, and as usual, the pattern was busy. Outbound AF, Marine, and Navy flights, a Marine KC-130 coming in, and returning strike aircraft made the base a busy one. They were fifth in the landing pattern, and everyone hoped there wasn't a returning aircraft with battle damage, for they not only jumped to the head of the line, but belly landings had a habit of closing runways. This time, that didn't happen, and all six F-4s came in when their turn came. When they taxied in, canopies raised, the crews noticed the news crew filming them, as usual.

Ms. Wendt noticed no one holding up fingers as the six Phantoms taxied past. “Nobody was in a fight this time, looks like.”

Kodak Griffith heard that. “You're really catching on now, Ms. Wendt. Half of the people on this base expected you to last only a day or two.”

Hearing that, she laughed. “Really?”

“I wouldn't be surprised if there was a pool,” Kodak said. “How long you would last. If you weren't a newcomer to combat zones.....”

“People were that suspicious?” She asked. Wendt remembered what General Tanner and his PAO had told her at Nellis. The military was still wary of the media, even after two years of war. Old habits from the Vietnam days died hard, the General had said.

“Skeptical would be the term I'd use, Ma'am,” Kodak replied. “Nobody knew how you'd react to your first Scud attack or air alarm. You know what to do, and now, you people are familiar faces on the base.”

Wendt nodded. “Well, I'll set any skeptics straight tonight.”

Guru taxied 512 into its revetment, and after getting the “Shut Down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, his CC, he and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist. “Two and done,” he said as the ground crew brought the crew ladder.

“And how many more?” Goalie asked. “Don't want any more five- or six-mission days for a while.”

“You're not the only one. It's hard on us, and harder on the ground crews.” Guru then unstrapped, took off his helmet, and stood up in the cockpit. Then he got down and shook hands with Crowley.

His Crew Chief was beaming. “How'd it go, Major?”

“Tore up an airfield, and made some MiG-29s go away on the ground.”

“Hot damn! Uh, sir.”

Guru smiled. “Don't worry, Sergeant. That kind of language is proper on the ramp. No matter what that....other Major may think.”

“Yes, sir.”

Guru nodded, then he and Goalie did the post-flight walk-around. “No damage, Sergeant. She's working like a champ. Whatever you're doing with 512? Don't change a thing.”

“Major, we won't change a damn thing,” Crowley said. It was a source of pride to him that the CO's bird was in such fine shape. Even if, on occasion, the Major brought it back with a hole or two.

Guru nodded again. “Good, Sergeant. Before you get her turned around, get something to eat if you haven't already. That's an order.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley turned to the ground crew. “You heard the CO! Finish up the post-flight, then we'll get some chow.” Then he turned back to the CO. “Major, don't worry. We'll have her turned around and ready.”

“Thanks, Sergeant.” Guru said, then he and Goalie headed out of the revetment. “Now, let's get the debrief out of the way, eat, and then....”

Goalie nodded. “Back at it,” she said. “Just hope they don't come and say, 'ATO's been tossed, you're on CAS.”

“Don't say it.”

They got to the edge of the revetment and found both Kara and Brainiac waiting. “Boss, you weren't quite a ground ace in a day, but close.”

“What?” Guru asked. “I know we got some of those MiGs.”

Kara grinned. “Too bad they don't count ground kills like in WW II, but you guys got all four Fulcrums. Saw them go up.”

Hearing that, CO and GIB grinned. “Nice cap to the morning,” Goalie said.

“It is that,” Guru said. “You did a number on the runway?”

Brainiac nodded. “That we did.”

“That Frogfoot ramp?” Sweaty said as her element came over. “We tore that up. And made some Su-25s go away.”

Hoser added, “Same thing for the hangars and a transport on that side.”

Dave Golen and his people came over. “Guru,” he nodded. “They won't be getting that base going again for a while. Not until they clear those mines.”

“They're good for that,” Kara said.

“Good work, Dave. And the fuel dump?” Guru asked.

“It was there....” Flossy nodded.

“Was is right,” Digger added.

“Okay,” the CO nodded. “Let's get the debrief done, then we can eat. You need to take care of squadron paperwork, if any, then we get ready and do it again.”

They walked back to the squadron offices, talking about anything but the war, and found everyone from the office waiting outside. Curious, Guru led his flight over, and found Mark Ellis, who noticed him. “Boss,”

“Mark,” Guru said. “What's going on?”

“EOD is sweeping the building. They started just as you guys taxied in. Be about twenty minutes,” the XO said. “And this came in for you. Colonel Brady knows, but you're the senior Air Force flying officer on this base. So does the base commander.” He handed the CO a message form. “And before you ask, I thought it was a joke. So did General Olds. He called Tenth Air Force. He didn't talk to General Tanner, but got his Ops Officer. It's the real deal.”

Guru read the form, then looked at his Exec. “You're not shitting me? This is for real?”

“For real,” said Ellis.

Guru reread the message. “We've already got one Air Force legend on base, and we're getting another one?”

“Steve Ritchie?” Kara asked.

“Not him,” Guru said. “Go back a bit further.”

“Boots Blesse or Ralph Parr?” Goalie ventured. Both were Korean War aces with ten kills each, and were among the ten AF aces in Korea who had made double ace.

Guru shook his head. “Just a WW II double ace who also happened to be the fastest man alive on several occasions at Edwards. And the best AF pilot who was never an astronaut.”

Heads turned at that, and quite a few people looked at the CO. Then it was Kara who broke the silence. “Yeager?”

Guru nodded. “The one and only. It'll be interesting with General Olds and General Yeager on base.”

“Yeager,” Goalie said firmly. It wasn't a question. “Chuck Yeager's coming here.”

“You got it.”