[Matt Wiser]

New day, and the next mission:



335th TFS Operations, 3 November, 1987; 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser went into the Squadron Ops building, and he actually felt refreshed. A good night's sleep and a hot shower in the morning did wonders to erase the effects of four beers the night before. One thing that he kept in mind was that he wasn't the first newly-minted Squadron CO to have to write a condolence letter, and he wouldn't be the last.

When he got in, he found Capt. Kerry Collins, the NDO, waiting. “Major,” Collins said, this time staying in his chair.

“Kerry,” the CO said. “I guess you're starting to break the habit.” The CO meant the habit of what General Tanner called “This jumping up-and-down business. The shooting's started, so we can dispense with that.”

“Yes, sir,” Collins said. “Still, kinda hard for an Academy Grad to break that habit.”

“It'll come back in peacetime, whenever that is,” Major Wiser said. “So keep in in the back of your mind. The XO in?”

“Just came in, Major.” Collins nodded towards the CO's office.

“Okay. What are you guys listening to?” Major Wiser meant the office radio.

“Wolfman Jack doesn't go off the air until 6 A.M. California time, so his overnight show's still on,” Collins said. “But we've got a few people who want AFN's country station on once in a while.”

“The NDO chooses that,” said the CO. “Make it clear.”

“Yes, sir. Three more days on the pills, Doc says. Then another checkup.”

“Listen to Doc,” Major Wiser reminded his NDO. “There's times when he outranks all of us. And this is one of 'em.”

Collins nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, Kerry. Thanks.” The CO then headed to his office, and opened the door. “Good Morning, Mark.”

“Morning, Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said. “How'd you sleep?” The XO handed the Major a cup of hot chocolate.

“Pretty good,” the Major nodded. “And no nightmares, which is also good.” He took the cup. “And what do you have for me this morning?”

“The usual,” replied the Exec. “Morning report for MAG-11, and the aircraft status report.”

Major Wiser scanned the papers, then signed them. “Anything else?”

“The two new birds from Japan should be here by 1100,” the XO said. “We can have them flying after noon.”

“No,” the CO shook his head. “Hoser and KT get one. The other? We'll let one of the two new crews get it. Whichever one got the best grades from Kingsley Field.”

Ellis nodded. “I'll tell Van Loan.”

“Good. What else?”

“Ross found one of your requests. It'll be on the C-141 today.”

“Did he, now?” Asked the Major. Seeing his Exec nod, he asked, “Which one did he miss?”

“He didn't say, only that you'd be pleased,” said Ellis.

“Either a new PAO or a Pave Tack pod,” the CO commented. Then there was a knock on the door. “Show yourself and come in!”

The door opened, and Goalie came in, with a cup of coffee in each hand. “Morning,” she said to her CO and pilot (and boyfriend). “GIBs come bearing gifts.”

“And so does the Exec,” the CO said. “Just asking, but where do you get the coffee?”

“From the night duty shift,” Goalie said. “Theirs is a little stronger than usual, since they have to stay awake all night.”

The CO nodded. He recalled stints as NDO and knew that staying awake at night was a bit hard, to say the least. “As long as you get the jolt.” There was another knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Capt. Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, came in. “Boss, we got our ATO, and you'll be happy.”

“No CAS?”

“Not yet,” Van Loan said. “But that can change anytime, as you know.”

Everyone nodded understanding, as they knew from past experience. The old maxim “No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy”, often came true. “It can. So, what's on tap first?” The CO asked.

“For you guys?” Van Loan replied. “You're going down south of Stephenville. Back to the East German sector.”

“What's the target?”

“Liberation Radio transmitter tower and control building.”

Goalie looked at her CO, then the Ops Officer. “Isn't that something for laser bombs?”

“It will be, when we get another Pave Tack pod,” the CO said.

“That's for half the flight: the other half gets a vehicle collection and repair point across the road,” Van Loan said, pointing to the ATO.

“All right, Don.” He looked at the other two officers. “Anything else before we go eat?” Heads shook no. “Okay, yesterday's behind us. Let's go eat, then let's hit it.”

The four officers left the CO's office and found the night shift getting ready to turn things over to the day shift. And the CO was pleased to see that the despised and loathed Major Frank Carson, who was the squadron's biggest headache after the Soviets and their lackeys, was not around. “Any morning that Frank's not around is a good morning.”

“Give him time,” Goalie said. “He'll show his ugly self around.”

“Down, girl,” the CO said. “But you're more than likely right. Let's go eat.”

The officers made their way to the Officer's Mess Tent, and found AF, Marine, and Navy officers waiting for the Mess Tent to open up. “At least we don't have to worry about one thing,” Van Loan noted.

“What?”

“Remember the joke from M*A*S*H? 'The mess tent is fine, the food puts you away.'?”

“One of Hawkeye's best,” Ellis noted.

“It is,” the CO agreed. “There's also “I wonder how the cook got off at Nuremberg?'” Then he saw Colonel Brady, the MAG-11 CO. “Colonel,” Major Wiser politely nodded.

“Major,” Brady said. “How'd you sleep? Not that often you get to see a squadron commander get slightly drunk.”

“Slept well, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Though seeing Captain Thrace get more than slightly drunk is a more common occurrence.”

“I resent that, Boss,” Kara said as she came up. “You know me and twelve-hour.”

“True, Kara,” the Major said. “But it's when we're not bound by twelve-hour that you show your colors.”

Kara nodded. “Guilty.”

“So, what's up, Major?” Sweaty asked.

“We've got an ATO, and no CAS. Briefing after we eat,” Major Wiser said.

“Good,” Kara said. “Let the Hog drivers handle the CAS stuff. That's their lifeblood.”

“Down, girl,” the CO reminded his wingmate. “We have to give them a hand once in a while,like we did yesterday. Even if we get burned.”

Then the Mess Officer showed up at the entrance and flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chowtime, folks.”

“Come on, people,” Colonel Brady said. “Let's eat, then we all got a full plate today.”


After breakfast, the various crews gathered in their briefing rooms. The Major's flight was waiting in theirs when he came in, having attended to some minor business, namely, signing off on another airman's application for Pararescue School, and getting the briefing packet for the first mission for the day. “All right, people!” The CO said. “Here's our mission.”

“What have we got?” Sweaty asked.

“Down in the East German sector, south of Stephenville,” Major Wiser said as he pulled out the contents of the briefing packet. “Right here, ten miles south of town, at the junction of U.S. 281 and F.M. 223. We have two targets.”

“Two targets?” Kara looked at her CO. “What's the deal here?”

“Simple,” the CO said. “East side of the intersection is a radio transmitter tower and control building. The local 'Liberation Radio' affiliate. We take them off the air.”

Goalie had a grin from ear to ear on her face. “Hopefully, right in the middle of one of that scum Hall's speeches.” She was referring to Gus Hall, the “President” of the so-called “Liberation Government of the United States,” the term used by the collaborationist government that was a Soviet creation and puppet.

“To be wished for,” Preacher said. “Or maybe interrupting someone's daily reading of the works of Lenin.” the ex-seminary student spat.

“Maybe,” the CO said. “The other target is west of the intersection. It's a damaged vehicle collection and repair point. Not sure whose it is, Intel says, but chances are, it's East German.”

“So who hits what?” Scorpion asked. “Uh, sir.”

“Coming to that,” Major Wiser said. “Sweaty?” He looked straight at his second element leader. “You and I take the radio facility. Kara?” The CO turned to his wingmate. “You and Judge get the repair yard.”

“Nice,” Kara nodded. “Ordnance load?”

“Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes, each bird. Full air-to-air, and the usual tanks and ECM pods.”

“Boss?” Sweaty raised her hand “Defenses?'

“Good question. We are getting Weasels, because this is just south of Stephenville, which is an East German Army-level HQ, if you'll recall from past visits. There's at least one SA-4 battalion around, and both 23-mm and 57-mm AAA around town. The target area itself? Only 23-mm and MANPADS expected, but given what happened yesterday....”

“Assume they've brought in some heavy stuff,” Brainiac finished for his CO.

“Correct,” Major Wiser said. “Coors One-five and One-six will join us at the tankers over Mineral Wells.”

Kara nodded. “MiG threat?” She asked.

“Connolly AFB near Waco has MiG-21s and -23s. -21s are reported at Brownwood to the southwest of Stephenville, along with Robert Mueller Municipal in Austin. MiG-29s are known at Gray AAF at Fort Hood, and Bergstrom AFB. The Flankers? Bergstrom, also,” the Major finished.

“Dave and Sandi coming with us?” Goalie asked.

“No, not this time,” the CO replied. “Now, bailout areas: anyplace away from the roads. The East Germans are more likely to go off the roads than, say, the Nicaraguans are, Find a place to hole up, and with luck, Jolly Green comes for you at night.”

“Unless somebody lands in some East German's lap,” Judge noted.

Goalie rolled her eyes. “That would be really bad luck. Landing in some East German bivouac, and finding out the guy who tells you 'For you the war is over', is the guy whose grandfather did the same thing at Stalag Luft III back in WW II.”

The CO had a chuckle at that, and so did everybody else. A little humor never hurt, especially after a day like they had yesterday. “That it would,” he agreed. “Okay, Tanker Track TEXACO is over Mineral Wells. The Weasels join us there. Low-level in, pop-up and strike, then low-level out. We go out over the Nicaraguan sector. They won't expect strike birds coming at them from the rear.”

“And they might be still asleep,” Kara said.

“Hopefully,” Major Wiser said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay, gear up, and let's go to 512.”

The Major's flight went to their locker rooms and geared up, then they headed on out to the squadron's dispersal area. On the way, they met up with Capt. Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer”, his wingmate, 1st Lt. Sandi Jenkins, and their GIBs. “Guru,” Golen said, calling the CO by call sign.

“Dave,” Guru replied. “Getting ready to go out?”

“We are, and hopefully, the MiGs come,” Golen said. He was hoping to add a few more scalps to his tally. “And if I can help Sandi get her fourth and fifth, so much the better.”

The CO nodded. “Fair enough, but no trolling for MiGs. If you have an opportunity, like a strike or recon flight, or a helo? Take it. But don't go out looking for trouble. Chances are, you'll be in too much trouble to handle.”

Both Golen and Jenkins nodded in the affirmative. “Not on the agenda, Guru.”

“Good. Sandi, you hear that?”

“Loud and clear, Major.” Sandi replied. Having nearly been shot down once, she didn't want to repeat the experience.

“Good. You guys have a good one,” Guru said.

“Thanks, and we will,” Golen said. Then his element headed out to man their aircraft, as did the CO's.

When the CO's flight got to his revetment, he gathered them around for his final instructions. “I know, this sounds like a broken record, but call signs between us only. Mission code to AWACS and other interested parties. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss,” Kara said. “What's our mission code today?”

“Rambler,” Guru said. “Just like Operation BOLO.”

“If we get jumped, hope our Sparrows work better than theirs,” Sweaty commented. The AIM-7s they used were much improved over the ones that had been used in Southeast Asia, but habits from SEA died hard. F-4 crews often ripple-fired their Sparrows to improve the chances of a kill, just as their brothers in Southeast Asia often did.

“To be hoped for,” Guru said. “All right: anything else? Scorpion, Judge, any questions?”

“Nada, Major,” Scorpion said, while Judge, his GIB, nodded.

“Good,” the CO said. He clapped his hands once. “Mount up and let's hit it.”

The crews went to mount their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went to 512, where the Crew Chief, Staff Sergeant Crowley, was waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru said, returning the Crew Chief's salute.

“Major,” Crowley said. “512's ready to rock, sir,”

“Good,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their preflight walk-around, then Guru signed for the aircraft. Then he and Goalie mounted the aircraft, and the crew chief and his assistant helped them get strapped in. Then they went through their preflight.

“No newsies this morning,” Goalie commented as she went through the checklist with Guru. “Betcha they slept in.”

“Wouldn't surprise me,” Guru said. “Though she did want to go see that mass grave.”

Goalie's jaw dropped. “She want to lose her breakfast? Ejection seats?”

“Maybe, but then again, anything on Soviet atrocities is probably fair game for her,” replied Guru. “Armed top and bottom; check yours.”

Then Goalie remembered the unofficial motto of the news media. “If it bleeds, it leads.” She shook her head.”If she does lose her breakfast, her problem.”

“It is,” Guru said. “Checklist complete?”

“Preflight complete. We're ready.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He nodded to his crew chief, who then gave the 'Start Engines' signal. One, then two, J-79 engines were soon up and running. Then he called the tower. “Tower, Rambler One-one with four, requesting clearance to taxi and takeoff.”

“Rambler One-one, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three Left. Hold prior to the runway.”

“Roger, Tower, Rambler One-one rolling.”

Guru then gave another thumbs-up, and the ground crew pulled the chocks away from the landing gear, then Sergeant Crowley signaled him to taxi. Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and as he did so, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, and both pilot and GIB returned it. Guru taxied to the runway, and held so that the armorers could remove the weapon safeties. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler One-one requesting taxi for takeoff.”

The tower replied immediately. “Roger, Rambler. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-four-zero at ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied, then he taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. Guru looked at his wingmate, who gave him a thumbs-up. Then he called the tower one last time. “Tower, Rambler One-one requesting clearance for takeoff.”

This time, as usual, the Tower didn't reply, but flashed a single green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let's get going,” Goalie replied.

Then both pulled down and locked their canopies, and Kara and Brainiac in 520 did the same. Then Guru ran his engines to full power, released the brakes, then he rolled 512 down the runway and into the air, with Kara right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Scorpion's turn, as they roared down the runway and into the air.



Over Central Texas, 0740 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight headed south, following the boundary between the Nicaraguans and the East Germans. It was a route often used by strike aircraft, and not just the 335th's missions, to hit this part of Texas. One thing about it, the Nicaraguans rarely turned on their air-defense radars or warmed up their SAM sites unless they were the ones actually being attacked. It was a sign that the Nicaraguans' enthusiasm for the war was cooling, and strike packages took advantage of it.

“Two minutes to turn point,” Goalie said from 512's back seat. That meant the U.S. 67-State Route 220 intersection, west of the small town of Chalk Mountain.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He was keeping his head on a swivel, watching for any threats. He saw Kara in 520 tucked right in, maintaining combat spread, and knew that Sweaty and Scorpion were right behind him. Just above and ahead of him were the two F-4Gs from Coors Flight that had joined up when they hit the tankers. “So far, no radars up.”

“Maybe they're still asleep?”

“Maybe,” Guru said. He called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler One-one. Say bogey dope?”

“Rambler One-one, Warlock.” The controller replied. “Threat bearing One-six-zero for eighty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for ninety-six. Medium, closing-uh, stand by.”

“What's that about?” Guru asked over the IC.

His GIB was just as confused. “I'd like to know myself.”

“Rambler, Warlock,” the controller came back. “Threat bearing one-seven-five for one hundred. Medium, now going away.” He went on. Third threat bearing Two-two-zero for seventy. Medium, going away.”

Guru breathed a sigh of relief. If the second threat were Su-27s, there wasn't much F-4s could do, except get low, do a Doppler Break, and holler for help. If any was around......”Copy, Warlock.”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said. “Stand by to turn.”

“Roger that,” Guru said.

“And...”Goalie said as the intersection appeared. “Turn. New heading is Two-six-five.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Two-six-five.” He turned 512 onto the new heading, and the rest of the flight followed suit.

“One minute thirty to Route 281,” Goalie said.

“Sky's clear,” Guru said as he checked the RWR repeater. “Maybe they are asleep.”


Below, on Route 220, a Nicaraguan supply convoy was approaching the U.S. 67 intersection when Rambler Flight flew past. The convoy's commander was apprehensive as the F-4s flew by, and he saw that his men were abandoning their vehicles, as they fully expected to be attacked. They were all relieved when the Yanqui aircraft kept on going, right into the East German sector. The commander, a Captain, picked himself up from a roadside ditch and shook his head. Why they didn't hit his convoy, he didn't know. But if the Yanquis were headed into the East German sector? Good. Whatever they hit there wasn't his problem.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said.

“Copy,” Guru replied. They would pass over 281, hit a small reservoir, then turn north for the target.

U.S. 281 then appeared, and the crews could see some traffic on the highway. Military, and almost certainly East German.

“That's the road. The lake's dead ahead,” Guru said. “Time to go to work.”

“Roger that,” Goalie said. She knew what her pilot wanted. All of their air-to-ground ordnance set up to go in one pass. She quickly worked the armament switches. “Switches set.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied as they hit the small reservoir and turned north, pulling up as they did so. “Coors, Rambler. Time for you guys to go to work.”

“Roger, Rambler,' Coors One-five called. The two F-4Gs climbed to 5,000 feet, and as they did, SAM radars came up. And so did “Magnum” calls over the radio as HARM and Standard-ARM antiradar missiles were launched.

“Rambler, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and let's go.”

“Copy that, Lead.” Kara replied.

“Three's ready,” Sweaty added.

“Four, roger,” Scorpion.


Guru pulled up, and as he did, he could see the radio transmitter that was his target. “Rambler Lead, target in sight. Lead's in hot!”


At the radio transmitter control building, the duty technicians were going about their business, and only paying scant attention to the broadcast. Of the four techs, three were locals, who had only taken the job so as to get more food for their families, while their supervisor was a dedicated follower of the Collaborationist government now in Austin. The techs heard the newscaster on “Liberation News” claim that “Despite setbacks, the Socialist Forces have complete air supremacy over the Liberated Zone,” then came the rumble of jets. One of the techs ran outside and saw the two F-4Gs pulling up and begin firing missiles, while he saw another smoke trail coming right for them. He had lived near an Air National Guard base in San Antonio, and knew full well what that was. F-4 Phantom. The tech ran in and yelled. “Air Raid!” The other techs followed him out and jumped into a hastily-dug shelter as the F-4 came in.

In 512, Guru was lining up the transmitter tower. Oh, for a Pave Tack pod and a couple Paveways, he thought. Well, next one, maybe we can do it. He put that thought out of his mind as he lined up the tower in his pipper. Guru noticed the vehicle repair yard across from the transmitter, and some tracers coming up from it. Too little, too late, Franz, he thought. “Steady, steady......HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, and a dozen five-hundred pound bombs came off of 512's racks. “Lead's off target,” he called as he pulled out of the bomb run and headed north.

The techs huddled in their bomb shelter as Guru's bombs exploded around the tower. One of the techs looked up and saw the tower sag, then part of the tower snapped like a twig, and a hundred feet of the steel tower came crashing to the ground, not fifty feet from them. Then he saw another smoke trail to the south, and ducked back in.

“SHACK!” Goalie called.

“We get it?” Guru asked as he banked to the north, keeping away from Stephenville proper.

“Can't tell, but I think so.”

“Sort it out later,” Guru said as he headed for I-20 and the front lines. Then he saw a “4” on his EW repeater. “Coors, Rambler. Got an SA-4 up.”

“Copy that, Rambler. We're on it. MAGNUM!” Coors One-five called as he shot a HARM at the offending radar.


“Two's in!” Kara called from 520. She rolled in on the repair yard just as Guru called off target, and she saw the bomb bursts around the transmitter. She also noticed the flak coming up from the machine guns and 23-mm around the yard, and ignored it. Kara lined up the western half of the yard in the pipper. “Steady...HACK!” She hit the pickle button, and Mark-82 Snakeyes came off 520's racks. As she pulled up, tracers followed 520, but none came too close. “Two's off safe,” she called.

The techs at the transmitter site looked from their shelter as Kara's F-4 flew past, leaving bomb bursts in its wake at the East German repair yard. Several fireballs erupted as bombs went off, though what they had exploded, the techs didn't know. Then one of the techs, the one who had lived near an ANG base, jumped up out of the shelter and ran to the north, ignoring the calls of the others to come back. He glanced behind him, and saw another F-4 coming in. He found an old drainage ditch and jumped into it.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's rear seat. “We got secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she followed the CO towards I-20.

“A few,” came the reply from the back seat. “And no flak.”

“Good!” Kara said as she headed north.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she rolled in. She picked out the control building, and noticed that the transmitter tower had been blown in half, and that the lower half might tip over. Sweaty lined up the control building in her pipper, and ignored the 23-mm coming up from the repair yard's perimeter. An SA-7 or SA-14 came up as well, but didn't guide, and flew harmlessly by her bird as she hit the pickle button . “HACK!” A dozen more Mark-82s fell onto the transmitter facility, then she, too headed north. “Three off safe,” Sweaty called.


The techs who had stayed behind heard Sweaty's F-4 come over, then they looked up and saw the bombs coming off. All three ducked instinctively back into the shelter, as the bombs exploded. Unknown to them, a five-hundred pound bomb landed right on the control building, blowing it apart, while a second bomb landed right next to the shelter, with a third landing right on top of it, penetrating the roof and exploding inside.....

“SHACK!” Preacher yelled. “Got a good hit!”

“We got the building?” Sweaty asked as she headed north.

The ex-seminary student glanced back. “I think so,”

“Take your word for it,” Sweaty said as she egressed towards I-20.


“Four's in!” Scorpion called. He rolled in onto the repair yard, and like Kara before him, he ignored the light flak coming up. Scorpion saw where Kara's bombs had gone off, and he aimed for the east side of the yard. He saw several tanks in the yard, and lined them up in his pipper. “On target...and HACK!” Scorpion hit the pickle button, and twelve more Mark-82s fell onto the repair yard. As he pulled away, he called.”Four's off target.”

The surviving tech looked up from the edge of the ditch where he'd run to, and saw not only Sweaty's run blow the control building apart, but he thought a bomb had landed on the shelter he'd just run away from . Then Scorpion's F-4 came over, and more explosions came from the repair yard. Good, he thought. Maybe some of those East Germans got what they deserved. He picked himself up, and decided to start walking home along Highway 281. Maybe he'd find somebody that he could report this to, or maybe not. Let them find out for themselves, he decided.

In Stephenville City Hall, the Commander of the East German “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg” the Army-level formation that the East Germans had sent to fight in America, was holding his morning staff meeting. The air raid alarm had sounded, and not only the General, but his staff officers, had gone to windows to watch. They saw two F-4s orbiting, and occasionally firing missiles, as his own SAMs and antiaircraft guns fired at the intruders. The General then noted four F-4s, one after another, heading north as they kept clear of the town. The General also knew that if they could see this, so could the local population. He turned to his political officer. “Comrade Political Officer? I'd like to see you explain this? Not just to our own soldiers, but to the civilian population.”



“Coors, Rambler Lead. We're all off target.” Guru called the Weasel leader.

“Roger that, Rambler,” Coors One-five replied. “We are Winchester and on our way out.”

Guru grinned underneath his oxygen mask. So far, so good. Now, though, until they cleared FLOT, which meant I-20, they weren't flying for Uncle Sam, but for themselves. He glanced to his Four O'clock, and saw Kara in 520 coming right into combat spread. “There's Kara,” Guru said over the IC.

“Sweaty's behind us,” Goalie said as they overflew the Nicaraguans. “And these chumps are still asleep.”

“Maybe the Army made their heavy air-defense assets go away,” Guru said. It wasn't long until the twin ribbons of concrete that was I-20 appeared, and only then did the flight turn on their IFF. The Army was also known for a “shoot them down and sort them on the ground” attitude. “Warlock, Rambler One-one,” Guru called the AWACS. “Say threat.”

“Rambler, Warlock,” Threat bearing One-eight zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Eagles inbound to intercept.”

“Roger that, Warlock,” Guru replied. “Sweaty, you there?”

“Right behind you, Lead,” Sweaty replied. “Got Scorpion with me.”

“Good girl,” Guru replied.

Rambler and the Weasels joined up with the tankers, and after their post-strike refueling, headed for their respective bases.

“Rambler, Coors One-five. Nice doing business with you, fella.”

“Nice job on the SAMs,” Guru replied. “Maybe we can do this again later.”

“Be glad to,” Coors One-five replied, then the two Weasel Phantoms broke off and headed for their base, which was Reese AFB near Lubbock, while Rambler headed for Sheppard. It wasn't long before Rambler was in Sheppard's traffic pattern, and, as usual, they had to wait while outbound flights, in this case two of Marine Skyhawks and a 335th flight, departed the base. Then they came in and landed.

As Rambler Flight taxied in, Ms. Wendt and her crew were filming. “Four out and back,” Kodak Griffith noted. “Always a good thing.”

“Especially after what happened yesterday?” Ms. Wendt asked.

Kodak nodded. “You bet,” he said. “Looks like you're catching on.”


Rambler flight taxied by with canopies raised, and the crews noticed the TV crew at work. “Missed us going out, but they catch us coming back,” Goalie observed.

“They probably slept in,” Guru said. He taxied 512 into its revetment, and after his crew chief gave the signal, shut down his engines. “One down, three or four to go,” he observed.

“I'll take three,” Goalie said.. They ran through the post-flight checklist, then climbed down from the aircraft.

“No guarantee,” Guru said. Both he and Goalie did a quick post-flight walkaround, then he turned to Sergeant Crowley. “No battle damage, Sergeant, and no other issues. She's still working like a champ.”

“Thanks, sir!” Crowley said. “What'd you hit?”

“Made their 'Liberation Radio' go off the air in this part of Texas,” Guru said. “Maybe we shut up that SOB Hall in the middle of a speech.”

“To be wished for,” Goalie nodded.

“Yeah, Pull the strike camera film, Sergeant, and get her turned around ASAP.” Guru told his crew chief.

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “Okay,” he told the ground crew. “Let's get the CO's bird turned around ASAP.”

The CO nodded approval. “Good man, Sergeant,” He and Goalie went to the edge of the revetment, and found Kara and Brainiac waiting. “Well, how'd things go for you guys?”

“Tore up part of the repair yard,” Kara said. “And not having anyone shoot heavy stuff at us was a bonus.”

Brainiac nodded. “I'll go along with that, Boss. No heavy-caliber flak at all.”

“And we saw what you did on the transmitter tower,” Kara added. “Half of it fell off, and the rest? Looked like it'll fall down any minute.”

Guru nodded, just as Sweaty, Preacher, Scorpion, and Judge came up. “Sweaty,” he said. “How was it for you?”

“Don't know about the control building, but you did a number on the tower,” Sweaty replied.

“Kara just told me. Scorpion? How about you?”

Scorpion nodded. “Tore up the other half of the repair yard, and Sweaty did get the control building.”

“Okay,” Guru said. “Let's go debrief, then check your paperwork, because in an hour or so...”

“We go out and do it again,” Kara finished.

“That we do,” the CO agreed. “Let's go.”

As they walked towards the Squadron Ops building, they noticed two more F-4s taxiing in. By the tail numbers, they were Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins. “Dave's back,” Kara noted.

“And Sandi,” Guru said. “No fingers up in cockpits, so no kills.”

“Can't splash anyone if they don't come and play,” Sweaty added.

“Speaking of which,” Scorpion asked, “Who were those guys the AWACS told us about?”

“Licon might know,” Guru said. “Maybe we'll find out in the debrief. Come on, and let's get it over with.”


The crews went into Squadron Ops and found the day shift had taken over, and things were humming nicely. Even Casey Kasem's Morning Show on AFN sounded good. They got out of their flight gear and went to their briefing room. There, Capt. Darren Licon, their SIO, was waiting. “Major,” Licon said. “Ready to get this going?”

“Might as well,” Guru said.

Nodding, Licon took out a TPC chart and some reconnaissance photos of the target area. “Major, could you show your approach and strike route, please?”

Guru and the others indicated their ingress route, and the approach to the target. “Went in here,” Guru said. “Dropped on the transmitter tower.”

“Results?” Licon asked.

“Couldn't tell ourselves,” Goalie said.

“They got the tower,” said Kara. “Half of it was lying on the ground when I came in.”

“All right,” Licon was taking notes. “And the repair yard?”

“Got the western half,” Kara pointed on a photo.

Licon nodded. “Any secondaries?”

“Got a few,” Brainiac said. “And before you ask, the flak was pretty light.”

“Didn't have any for us,” the CO said.

“Maybe coming in woke them up,” Kara said. “Light stuff: either machine guns or ZU-23s.”

“Any MANPADS?” Licon asked.

“Nope,” Kara replied.

“Sweaty?” The intel asked. “How'd it go with you?”

Sweaty pointed to the same photo Kara did. “Hit the transmitter control building.”

“And?”

Preacher said, “Couldn't tell. Too much smoke and debris.”

“They got it,” Scorpion added. “Nuthin' left of that building.”

“Thanks, Scorpion,” Licon noted. “And you hit the other side of the repair yard?”

“That we did,” Judge said. “Got some secondaries.”

The intel made some more notes. “Any other resistance?” He asked.

“Had an SA-7 or -14 come up at us,” Sweaty said. “Head on, and he didn't guide.”

“We had an SA-4 radar come up on the way out,” Guru added. “The Weasels took care of him, I think.”

Licon nodded. “Okay, sir, that about covers it. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Who were the threats coming after us? AWACS said F-15s were going to intercept.” The CO said.

“Don't know right off, Boss. But I can try and find out. There's been more MiG activity this morning compared to the last couple of days.”

“Okay, see if you can find out, Darren.”

“Will try. Anything else, Boss?” Licon asked.

The CO looked around, and heads shook no. “I guess that answers your question.”

The intel nodded. 'I guess it does, Thanks, Boss.” Then he headed to debrief the next flight.

“Now what?” Goalie asked.

“Check your desks, and clear any paperwork,” Guru said. “Get something to eat or drink, and be here in an hour for the next one.”

“SSDS,” Sweaty noted.

“You got it. And they may try and squeeze as much flying out of us as they can,” Guru told everyone. “Before we left, I got handed the long-range weather forecast. There's a storm coming into California tomorrow, and we may feel it a couple days later.”

“Two or three days of intense flying, then a stand-down due to General Nature.” Kara noted. And by the tone of her voice, it wasn't a question.

“You got it.”


Guru then headed for his office, and after checking his IN box, and finding there wasn't that much paperwork, other than routine matters, he cleared that quickly. He then got a cup of coffee from his coffee maker and went over yesterday's Stars and Stripes. Not much happening anywhere, he mused. After skimming the news, he went to the most important section of the paper: the comics. The CO was just about finished when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

Goalie came in. “Got something for you to sign. Airman Chris Turner wants to to Airman to Pilot.”

“One of yours?” the CO asked, and he saw his GIB nod. “What's his background?”

“Cal Tech,” Goalie said. “Five semesters. And you won't believe his major.”

The CO took a look at the application. “Astrophysics? Has being around fighter pilots convinced him that there's better things to do than stare through a telescope or watching a monitor at Aercibo?”

“Guess so.”

“Okay, just so he knows: they haven't changed the commitment for pilots or navs. Even if the war ended the day after he got winged, he still has a twelve-year commitment as a pilot. Eight for navs,” the CO reminded his GIB.

“He does,” Goalie nodded.

The CO nodded,“Fair enough.” He signed “Approved.” and handed back the application. “With that background, the Review Board will stream him into flight. Anything else?”

“Yeah, Both Mark and Don are back.”

“Okay,” the CO said. “Get them both here, along with yourself and Kara. Got something to run by you all.”

Goalie nodded. “Got you.” A few minutes later, she bought the XO, Ops Officer, and Kara.

“What's up Boss?” the Exec asked.

“Okay, Mark, what'd you hit this morning?” Asked the CO.

“Suspected division-level HQ,” replied the XO.

“Okay, Don?” He turned to Don Van Loan, his Ops Officer. “How about you?”

“Supply dump,” Van Loan said. “What are you getting at?”

“That supply dump-and the repair yard Kara hit this morning were area targets. Mark, you hit a point target with dumb bombs, and so did Goalie and I. A dozen Mark-82s on a radio transmitter tower.”

“What's your point, Boss?” Kara asked.

“My point is, we've got Pave Tack pods-two of them, and we're getting a third today. And we've got three Pave Spike pods. Along with crews qualified to use them. We're going to start using them,” The CO said.

“How?” Van Loan asked. “We don't have that many laser bombs.”

“Get some more from the Marines,” the CO said. “And Mark? Find Ross and fill him in. Tell him to get his scroungers out looking for laser bomb kits. The usual rules apply for the scroungers, however.”

“Will do,” Ellis said.

“And what are we going after?” Kara asked.

The CO nodded.”Point targets like that radio transmitter, or bridges, to name but a couple. If we get results with the smart bombs.....”

“Then they'll give us more missions with those,” Goalie finished.

“Right. Don?” Guru turned to his Ops Officer. “When you get a point target in the ATO, pencil out the assigned ordnance and pencil in some laser bombs. Find people qualified on either Pave Tack or Pave Spike and give them the mission.”

“And when General Tanner comes by next?” Ellis asked.

“I'll show him the gun-camera video, and ask that we get laser bomb missions as part of the ATO. Along with the needed ordnance,” replied the CO. “Right now, we're doing this by hook or by crook. But if we show him results....”

“We'll get that on the ATO,” Kara nodded. “Boss, anyone ever tell you that you can be a sneaky bastard?”

“Ellis did,” Guru smiled. “Got to be that when I was Exec. All right: this is between us for now. Though if he ever found out, I know somebody would be smiling.”

“Who?” Ellis asked.

“Robin Olds. Who would you expect?” Asked the CO. Ever since Colonel Rivers had taken over the 335th, the unit had been run just like the legendary Robin Olds had run the 8th TFW in Vietnam. If one had to fold, spindle, bend, or mutilate a few regs, or go over, around, on top, or underneath some bureaucrats in order to get results, then so be it.

“Kind of forgot about that,” The XO said. “You kept the photo of General Olds that Colonel Rivers had on the office wall.”

“That I did,” Guru said. “All right: apart from Ross, this is compartmentalized. Just between us for now until we start flying some laser bomb missions. Got it?” Heads nodded at that. “Okay, anything else?”

“Just this, Boss,” Kara said. She handed him a paper. “Got our Frag Order. The mission packet's being assembled right now.”

The CO looked at the paper. “All right. Kara?” He then looked at his wingmate. “Get our flight together, and find Dave, Sandi, and their GIBs. They're coming with us.”

“What's the mission?” Kara asked.

“Anti-airfield,” the CO said. “Get everybody to the briefing room. Be there in fifteen.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Kara said. “I'm gone.” She then went out the office door to round up everyone.

“Mark? Don? Anything else?” Guru asked. Heads shook no. “Okay, remember what I said, and see you later.”

“Good luck, Boss,” Ellis said as he left, and Van Loan echoed him.”

“Thanks, guys.”

Goalie looked at her pilot and CO. “Where are we going?”

“Brownwood Airport,” Guru said. “We get to pay two MiG regiments a visit.”

His GIB looked right at him. “Two? Who came up with this?”

“No idea, but we get to visit a MiG-21 regiment, which is East German, and a Soviet MiG-23 regiment. How's that before lunch?”

“Just as long as we don't wind up eating Kasha and Borscht for lunch,” Goalie reminded her pilot.

“No argument there,” Guru said. “Let's get the brief done, then we fly.”