[Matt Wiser]

Next strike:



Over Central Texas, 1325 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was headed south, having just passed the U.S. 377 bridge at Granbury. The pre-strike refueling had gone off without a hitch, and so had the initial penetration into enemy territory. The strike flight had encountered flak, this time from both sides of the Brazos, which was unusual, but given that somebody had just hit the Granbury Municipal Airport. unknown to any of the aircrews.... and so the flak gunners were still on edge-both East German and Nicaraguan.

“Somebody's got them worked up,” Guru said as the bridge disappeared behind them.

“No kidding!” Goalie shot back. “Who scheduled us to go past there right after a strike?”

“See what I can do about that,” Guru replied. “Flak ahead at the Dam.” He was referring to the Lake Granbury Dam up ahead. “How far to the Glen Rose Bridge?” That meant U.S. 67.

“One minute,” Goalie said. “And flak at One,” she called. Sure enough, 23-mm and 57-mm fire began to come up. This time, there were no radars guiding the guns, and the strike flight easily avoided the ground fire. “We're clear.”

“Copy that.” Guru then called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

A controller replied at once. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing One-six-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for seventy-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing Two-zero-two for ninety. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” said Guru. “Glen Rose coming up.”

This time, the flak only came from the west side, as the East Germans opened fire, but the Nicaraguan gunners stayed quiet. “And they're behind us,” Goalie said as the bridge flew by. “Thirty seconds to the next bridge.”

“Got it,” Guru replied. His head was on a swivel, checking outside the aircraft for threats, then glancing at his instruments, and then at his EW display. Sure enough, there was an air-search radar, but far away. “Mainstay again.”

“How many of those do they have?”

“Need to ask Sin that when we debrief,” Guru replied. “Brazospoint bridge coming up.”

“Got it,” Goalie said. “Flak at One,” she called, as flak came up again from the East German side of the Brazos. In a flash, they were past the bridge. “One minute to the 114 Bridge.” She meant the State Route 114 bridge. And once they got there, the flak would be from both sides, as the Libyans were on the east side of the river.

“Copy,” Guru called. He glanced at his fuel gauges. These low-level runs ate up a lot of gas. Well, that's why they made tankers, he knew.

The strike flight maintained its southerly course, following the river where possible. Pilots and GIBs were focused, the former watching out of the cockpit and scanning their instruments, while the GIBs handled the navigation. “Bridge dead ahead,” Goalie called. “And so's flak.”

“Got it,” Guru said. Sure enough, the gunners on both sides of the river were shooting, and more intense than usual. For there was a convoy crossing the bridge, and there were even tracers coming from some of the vehicles. “Too bad...”

“What?”

“Convoy on the bridge. Not their turn to die,” he said calmly.”

Goalie chuckled. “Maybe next time,” she said as the bridge, with the convoy, flew past. “One minute thirty to the turn point.”

“Roger that.”

The river soon turned into Lake Whitney, and the F-4s dropped a hundred feet lower. They weren't exactly skimming the lake, but the lower, the better. The fact there were no power lines crossing the lake helped. And much to the crews' surprise, there were some boats on the lake. Locals were fishing, to supplement the rationed food allowed by the occupiers, and even some Soviet soliders, looking for some fresh food instead of Red Army fare, and all were surprised to see four F-4s coming in low over the lake.

“Got some boat traffic,” Guru noted. “Turn in when?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie said. “Stand by....and five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a hard right turn, and lined up on a 270 heading. “Meridian in when?”

“One minute ten,” Goalie confirmed.

Guru checked to his right. Kara in 520 was still there, tucked in at the Five O'clock position. He glanced to his left, and found Sweaty and Hoser also there. Good. “Still got the air-search radar.”

“Mainstay?” Goalie asked. “Thirty seconds,” she added. That meant Meridian.

“Probably,” replied Guru. “Meridian in sight, and no flak.”


In Meridian's City Hall, The Nicaraguan garrison commander was actually pleased with how things were going. Though a Soviet motor-rifle division had passed through, headed north, and another Soviet division was due in later, heading to the west side of Lake Whitney to rest and refit, things were calm. Even with the KGB and MVD troops, he was surprised to find. As for that PSD swine, well, the man seemed to think that the garrison should have known him by sight, but.....his fault for not being quick to show his ID after curfew when a sentry stopped him. No great loss, the Major felt, and even the Mayor, who he knew was likely biding his time until the U.S. Army returned, actually agreed with him.

Then, a very loud rumble got his attention. He went to his office window and looked outside. Sure enough, more Yanqui aircraft flew by overhead, and to his amusement, the MVD troops, isntead of
manning whatever air-defense weapons they had, ran to the shelters. He had heard from a Russian counterpart that the MVD troops weren't known for their smarts, and the Nicaraguan was finding out that this was largely correct. Not even some cheers from the local population didn't bother him as he went back to his desk.

“No flak,” Guru noted.

“Not this time,” Goalie said. “Hico next up. One minute twenty-five.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. Time to call the AWACS again. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-eight for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-one for sixty-five. Medium, closing,” the controller replied.

“Roger, Crystal Palace.”

Just like the last time they were down here, the strike flight generally followed State Route 6, There wasn't much traffic on the road, meaning military traffic, as convoys or armored columns would likely be using towns to hide in during the day. It wasn't long before Hico came into view.

“Hico coming up.” Guru said. “No flak so far.”

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Stand by to turn.”

Then some tracer fire came up. “Lead, Two,” Kara called. “Flak at Eleven.”

“I see it, Two,” replied Guru. “Stand by to turn.”

Goalie started the count. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a sharp turn to the right, and picked up State Route 220, ignoring the light flak as he did so. The rest of the flight made the turn with him, and they lined up along the highway. “How long to IP?”

“Forty-five seconds.” Goalie reported. “Set'em up?” She meant the armament control panel. Though the pilot had a panel, the GIB did as well.

“Good girl,” Guru said.

She worked the armmament controls, setting up things so that all of the bombs would be released in one pass. “You're set.” Goalie called. “IP coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, music on, and time to pull.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, as did Sweaty and Hoser.

“Pull in...three, two, one, NOW!” Goalie said.

Guru pulled back on the stick, and as he did, the F-4 climbed, and more radars appeared on his RWR. He went wings level and then lowered the nose slightly to pick up the target. As he did, he was amazed at what he found. “Holy....there's no C3 site. But a whole damned regiment, looks like.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Goalie said.

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “Looks like our target just changed. Drop on the armor down below.”

In 520, Kara saw the sight and grinned. “Copy, Lead.” Their turn to die today, she thought.

“All set?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” she replied.

“Then let's go.”


At the U.S. 67/Route 220 intersection, the battered 254th Guards Motor-rifle Regiment was gathered. The regiment had been roughly handled in its first engagement in America, and many of the regiment's leaders had been killed or wounded. And, the acting regimental commander, a major who had been commanding the regiment's third battalion noted, as this regiment went, so did the division, the 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division.

Though the division had benefited from six months' training in at its home station in Estonia prior to deploying to Cuba, where it had gone through further training before arriving in Texas, the reality of combat was that the Americans had not gotten complacent after Wichita-which many of the Division's officers had heard horror stories about-but that they were more than ready for a fight after their Summer Offensive.

Now, the Major hoped, now that they had been pulled out of the line, the regiment-and the rest of the division, would be able to refit, reconstitute, and get ready to return to the front. And maybe, he could find a way to get rid of his Zampolit while they were at it. The man was on his nerves, upset that so many Party members and Komsomol organizers had been killed or wounded. Clearly, in their first action, the most enthusisatic Communists had led the way, and the Party man was not pleased that their enthusaism had led to high casualties.

That's his problem, the Major thought as he climbed down from his command vehicle, a BTR-70, and called his Chief of Staff over. That officer, a Captain, had the same job in Second Battalion, but from First? No officer higher than Senior Lieutenant had come out of the action in one piece, and those above that young officer were either dead or in the hospital. Just as the Chief came to him, the Regiment's Sergeant-Major, the Major's old one from Third Battalion, yelled, “Air Alarm!”

“What?”

“Enemy aircraft, Comrade Commander! Get down!”

The two officers jumped into a just-dug slit trench, as the air alarm sounded.


Guru rolled in on his attack run. “Lead's in hot!” he called. As he came down on the unexpected target, he noticed some tanks that appeared to be laagered up, just north of the 67-220 intersection. Your turn now, Ivan. Or is it Franz? No matter, he thought. Guru noticed some light flak coming up, and it looked like unguided 23-mm with some heavy machine-gun tracers mixed in. Ignoring that, and a MANPADS that flew past 512, he lined up the tanks in his pipper. “Steady...And...Steady....And....NOW!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing his dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes down on the tanks below. He then applied full power, and began jinking to avoid any flak or missiles coming his way. “Lead's off safe.”

“Damn!” the Major yelled as the bombs exploded to the north. He felt the concussion, even in the trench. Though he'd been attacked from the air before, as well as fighting off the Americans over the past two days, still....He glanced up and took a quick look. Several T-72s were damaged, at least one had been flipped over by a near hit, and one had taken a direct hit and been blown apart. Then he got back down, for he'd learned the hard way over the past three days that American aircraft didn't attack alone.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “Got some secondaries.”

“How many?” Guru asked as a missile, maybe an SA-13, flew past him on the left as he jinked right.

“Got a couple.”

“We'll take 'em,” he replied as he headed north, eyes open for those damned basketball-sized tracers.


“Two's in!” Kara called. She came down on 520's bomb run, and she saw the CO's run in, and some secondaries as he pulled away. As she came in, Kara noticed what looked like artillery pieces and their prime movers down below, just southeast of the intersection. Regimental artillery? You'll do. She lined up the guns in her pipper.....”And....And...HACK!” Kara hit the pickle button, sending her dozen Mark-82s down on the guns. She then pulled level, applied power, and headed north, jinking as she did so. “Two's off target.”


The Major heard Kara's F-4 fly over, then the bombs went off in the plane's wake. Then several additional explosions came, and he knew that the regimental artillery had been hit. He wanted to take a look for himself, believing only two aircraft had come in, but seeing several tank commanders and soldiers turn their weapons back to the south told him otherwise. More American aircraft were coming in., so he ducked back into the trench.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac yelled from 520's back seat. “Loads of secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as a missile flew below the aircraft as she jinked. She, too, was watching for large tracers....

“Enough!”

“Have to take that,” she quipped as Kara headed north and picked up the CO as she did so.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. She saw the effects of Kara's bombs going off, and noted the light flak coming back up. No ZSU-30s? Good. She picked out several APCs clustered together just to the north of the intersection, to the left of where the CO had laid his bombs on some tanks. Your turn to die, Sweaty said to herself as she lined them up in her pipper. “And....And....HACK!” Another dozen Mark-82s were released upon the Soviet regiment, then Sweaty applied full power and began jinking as she headed north, not seeing an SA-14 fly past her left wing. “Three off target.”

“Sookin sin!” the Major said aloud to himself as Sweaty's F-4 came over. . Son of a bitch. These Yankees were determined. Though he'd seen several American aircraft fall to air-defense systems over the past two days, the Americans had systematically gone after those assets. And now.....all his regiment had for air defense were the air defense platoons in the battalions, and a handful of ZU-23s operated by regimental artillery, and also the headquarters company, along with a single Strela-10 launcher. And they were nearly out of missiles. He glanced at where the F-4 had deposited its bombs, and saw that they had landed on Second Battalion's position. Several BTR-70s were either flipped upside down, tossed aside like toys, or, in at least one case, had taken direct hits from bombs, and were now so many pieces of rubbish flying in the wind. Shaking his head, he ducked down again as more anti-aircraft fire opened up. How many Yankee aircraft were coming?

“SHACK!” Preacher said. “We've got secondaries!”

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid flak. “Good ones?”

“You just answered your own question,” replied Preacher. He glanced to the right and saw a missile-a MANPADS, he thought, fly over them by about fifty feet.

“Then let's get the hell north,” Sweaty said as she headed for the Brazos.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came down on his run. He, too, ignored the flak as he went down on the regiment, and saw what looked like some supply vehicles at the Route 220/F.M. 197/F.M. 199 intersection, just south of U.S. 67. Nice...and you'll do, he thought as he lined the trucks up in his pipper. “Steady...” Hoser called as the flak came up. “And....and....HACK!” He hit his pickle button, and released his bombs. Another dozen Snakeyes fell onto the Russians down below. Hoser pulled wings level, applying power as he did so, and began jinking. “Four's off target,” he called.

“Damn it!” The Major shouted as Hoser's aircraft right over him, and explosions sounded in its wake. Fortunately, none were too close, and after the American had cleared the area, he and his Chief of Staff got out of the trench and surveyed the area. Howls of agony came from the tank battalion and Second battalion, as the wounded literally screamed for attention. Secondary explosions continued from where a battery of D-30 howitzers had been parked, and that meant the regimental artillery was now down to a handful of men and a couple of guns-if that. And smoke to the south meant the regiment's supply column had been hit. Shaking his head, he turned to the Chief of Staff and began issuing orders. Time to get this madhouse back in some kind of order.

“SHACK!” KT yelled. “We have secondaries!”

“What kind?” Hoser asked as he tried to pick up Sweaty as he jinked.

“Big ones!”

“I'll take those,” he said as he eyeballed his element leader. Hoser, too, kept an eye for those tracers. He and KT had been shot down once, and that was enough for the both of them, thank you very much.


“Hoser's off,” Goalie said in 512's back seat. “Four in and out.”

“Not until we're across the fence,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a game on.” He was watching for those tracers.....”Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller replied at once. “Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-seven-five for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for fifty. Medium, closing.”

“Copy, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope.” Guru was asking for ID on the bandits.

“Corvette, Crystal Palace. Initial threats are Floggers. Second threats are Fishbeds.” That meant MiG-23s and MiG-21s.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He did some calculations in his head. “How long to the Fence?” He asked Goalie.

“Two minutes,” was the reply.

“Crystal Palace, Corvette Lead. Can you have a welcoming committee for the bandits?” Guru asked the AWACS.

“Roger that, Corvette. We'll have some friends waiting for 'em. Cowboy Two-one, Crystal Palace. Threats bearing one-eight-zero for forty-five. Medium, closing. Kill. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm and fire.”

“Cowboy Two-one, Roger,” an F-15 flight lead called.

In 512, Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask. “Those MiGs get a wall of Eagles.”

“Their lucky day,” Goalie said. “One minute thirty to the Fence,” she called as the Brazos River appeared.

Guru banked left to follow the river, then the U.S. 377 bridge at Granbury appeared. As usual, the East German gunners opened fire, but this time, the Nicaraguans stayed quiet.

“Corvette Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-eight-zero for twenty-five. Medium, closing,” the AWACS controller warned.

“Eagles coming?” Guru asked the controller, not bothering with mission code right then.

“Corvette Lead, that's affirmative.”

Then the F-15s appeared overhead, heading south. And “Fox one” calls came as the Eagles engaged the MiG-23s.

“Crossing the fence.....now,” Guru said as I-20 appeared. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He turned on his IFF transponder, and the rest of the flight did the same. Those Army air-defense pukes liked to shoot first and argue afterwards, especially the I-HAWK crews. And the I-20 bridges over the Brazos had an I-HAWK battery close by....

“Eagles had some fun,” Kara called. She had been listening in on the fight. The F-15s engaged the MiG-23s, killing three, and as the survivor turned for home, the MiG-21s came in. Two of those were splashed before the F-15s had to break off for fuel.

“Maybe next time,” Guru said.

“Guess so,” Kara replied.

The flight climbed back to cruising altitude, and met up with the tankers. As they took on fuel, they saw two more F-4Es and an RF-4C join up on another tanker cell, and that meant Dave and Flossy had brought Athena and Helo back. The Photo-Phantom turned west for Cannon AFB after refueling, while the fighters headed for Sheppard.

When they got to Sheppard, both flights had to wait, as outbound flights and an inbound C-141 had priority. Then they were cleared in. After landing, they taxied to their squadron dispersal, and popped their canopies. And as usual, the news crew was filming.

“They ever going to stop?” Guru wondered aloud.

“Has to be a slow day,” Goalie said. “But doesn't our interview air soon?”

“Should be tomorrow night,” Guru replied.

“Wonder how we'll look?”

“We'll just have to wait and see,” Guru said as he taxied into 512's revetment. He got the “Hold” signal from Sergeant Crowley, and after the ground crew put the chocks around the tires, then came the “Shut down” signal. After shutting down, and going through the post-flight checks, Guru took a deep breath. “Three and done, not counting the 'Check ride.'”

“And time for one more,” Goalie said. “Swell.”

“Don't remind me.”

The ground crew brought the crew ladder, and pilot and GIB climbed down. After a quick walk-around, Sergeant Crowley came over. “Major, Lieutenant? How's my bird?” He handed the CO and GIB each a bottle of water.

Guru took a drink, then nodded. “She's working like a champ, Sergeant. Get her turned around for the next one.”

“Sir, how'd you guys do?”

“Helped turn a regiment into a battalion,” Goalie said after taking a long drink from the bottle. “Hopefully.”

Crowley smiled. “Sounds good to me, Ma'am.”

“Same here, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Let's get her ready.”

“Yes, sir!”

Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac already there. “Well?” Kara asked. “Where'd the C3 site go?”

“Good question,” Guru said. “Sometimes what was briefed is replaced by something else. Others....”

“Empty space,” Sweaty spat as she and Preacher came, with Hoser and KT following. “Where'd those guys come from?”

“Also a very good question,” the CO replied. “Let's get debriefed. Maybe Sin Licon has some answers, or he'll be just as surprised as we were.”

KT nodded. “Probably the latter,” she said.

“Yeah,” Brainiac added. “Now what?”

“Debrief, then get some kind of workout in, because we've got time for one more,” Guru said.

“Any kind of a stand-down coming?” Kara asked. “We could use the rest.”

“Not for four or five days,” Guru said. “I know, we can all use a break. But not until then.” He nodded in the direction of the squadron's office. “Come on. Sooner we debrief, sooner we can make Doc happy.”

“And we get to do this again in an hour and a half,” Sweaty said. “Have to earn our flight pay.”

“That we do.”