[Matt Wiser]

The day's first mission:


Over Central Texas, 0740 Hours Central War Time:


Camaro Flight had met up with their KC-10 tankers, and after topping up their fuel tanks, had joined up with two F-4Gs that would provide the Wild Weasel support on this one. Coors One-five and One-six were the two, and they were now just above and ahead of the strike flight as they went into enemy territory.

Now, Camaro Flight was following the Leon River, south of I-20 and the front lines, and along the boundary between the Soviet 32nd Army and the East Germans. The pilots had their heads on a swivel, keeping an eye on their instruments, and then out of the cockpit, looking for threats, while the GIBs concentrated on the navigation and the electronic warfare displays.

“How long to Proctor Lake?” Guru called from 512's front seat.

“Two minutes,” Goalie replied. “EW still clear.”

“Copy that,” Guru said. He was scanning for threats, and he knew that those could come with no warning on their EW displays. Optically-aimed flak, missiles, or an IR missile, all were killers, and he took nothing for granted, even with a clear EW display.

State Route 16 served as the boundary, and as the strike flight headed south, there was some military traffic on the road, but they took no fire. Apparently, the Soviets or East Germans were surprised to see the F-4s heading south, and by the time they were ready to fire, the strike birds were gone.

“Got the lake coming up,” Guru said. He glanced at the EW display. Sure enough, a faint strobe appeared, followed by the SEARCH warning light. “Got a radar.”

“I've got it,” Goalie said.

Then the Weasel lead came up. “Camaro Lead, Coors One-five. That's a Mainstay radar.”

Nothing anybody can do about that, Guru thought. “Roger, Coors.”

“Turn point in ten,” Goalie called.

“Visual on the lake,” Guru said as Proctor Lake appeared.

Goalie made the call. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, and MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a left turn, and both the others in his flight, and the two Weasels, followed. “New heading of Zero-nine-zero.”

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Goalie said. “One minute thirty to the next turn point.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. He glanced at the EW display. The strobe was still there. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

An AWACS controller replied almost immediately. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing One-nine-one for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-four-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven-five for seventy-five. Medium, Going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace.” said Guru, keeping up with his visual scanning as he headed east. So far, so good. And no more radars.

“Thirty seconds,” was Goalie's call from the back seat.

“Got it,” Guru called as the Central Texas landscape flew by. At least they were here, and not flying out in the desert of West Texas, with few lakes or rivers to serve as visual landmarks. “Hico dead ahead.”

“Steady..” Goalie called. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one....MARK!”

Guru put the F-4 into a easy right turn, roughly being parallel to State Route 6, with Meridian the next stop. “How long to Meridian?”

“One minute thirty.”


In Hico, the local garrison commander, an East German Major, was concerned with not only keeping U.S. 281 and Route 6 open, as they were main supply routes, but also keeping the local population under control. Though the Soviets often patrolled the roads-and there was a Rear-Area Protection Division that handled that, a bridge on U.S. 281 on the outskirts of town was his problem, and that concerned him. Then there was the Stasi detachment, who seemed intent on making his life, and that of the local population, miserable. Several of his men had been arrested and sent to a penal unit for “Defeatist remarks”, or “Non-belief in the Final Victory.” while the Stasi was also searching for “Counterrevolutionary and Fascist Elements” among the locals-and that only made the locals' attitude only worse. Clearly, their political and social development made socialism here a very impractical notion, even though there had not been much in the way of bandit or guerilla activities in the area. But with the Stasi-and the PSD around as well, though he had hardly anything to do with them-their conduct might just be the spark to ignite such activities. Especially with the front lines to the north, and any fool could see that the U.S. Army was closer than the propaganda news sheets or the “Liberation Radio” broadcasts said.

Now, the Major was going to have his morning staff meeting, and hopefully, that PSD swine-who even the Stasi loathed, would stay away. He was approaching City Hall, having just passed through a checkpoint, when sirens started to howl. The Major glanced up, and saw six F-4 Phantoms flying over, the howl of their jet engines attracting cheers from the civilians, and as he took a look around, his men running to shelter, while anti-aircraft gunners raced to their guns. But by the time the guns were ready, the aircraft were gone. Well, that's this morning's excitement, the Major thought as he went into City Hall.


Camaro Flight headed east, roughly parallel to State Route 6, with the pilots navigating visually, and the GIBs handling the INS, but also doing it the old-fashioned way, with stopwatch and map. “How long to Meridian?” Guru asked.

“One minute,” Goalie replied.

Guru checked his EW display. The SEARCH strobe was still there, and brighter. That Red AWACS might have them. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he ordered. That meant turn on their ECM pods.

“Two copies,” was Kara's reply, and the others followed.

“Meridian coming up,” Goalie warned. “Turn in thirty.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He glanced ahead, and saw the town appear. “Call it.”

“Turn in five, four, three, two, one....MARK!”


In Meridian, that town was full of Soviet soldiers, and the locals were commenting that they hadn't seen this many Russians since the invasion. These were from the 144th Guards Motor-Rifle Division's 254th Guards “Matrosva” MRR, and they had been shattered by their encounter with the First Cavalry Division and the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment. To the acting commander of the regiment, the former commander of the Third Battalion, it would be a while before his regiment was ready for offensive action again. They, and the rest of the division, had been pulled out of the line to reorganize and refit, and the Major in command knew it would take a while, given the Army's supply difficulties. And, he expected, a division half made up of Estonian reservists was likely to be lower on the priority list than a prewar Category A unit that had come from GSFG.

Getting his regiment refitted was not his only problem. The local garrison, soldiers from a rear-area protection division, were content with staying in town and keeping the road open-which they did by simply staying put. There had been very little guerilla activity, and the Captain who commanded the company that made up the garrison, didn't want to do anything that would stir that pot up. Then there was his Zampolit, who had held the job in the regimental artillery battalion, and the man came across to the Major as being too eager, and was equally upset, for the Party man had found out that many of the Komsomol members and party workers in the regiment had been killed or wounded. That, at least, kept the Zampolit busy, and not in the way of getting the Regiment ready to fight, and not getting involved with the garrison commander or his hands-off attitude towards the local civilians.

Suddenly, there were shouts, then hands pointed skyward. Six American F-4 Phantoms-some of which had inflicted considerable grief to his Regiment-flew by. The regimental antiaircraft battalion had been savaged in the recent fighting, with not a single 2S19 AA vehicle left, and only a couple of Strela-10 (SA-13) launchers. By the time the crews got their weapons ready to fire, the American aircraft were gone. Shaking his head, the Major went back to his command vehicle. There was a lot of work to do to get the regiment ready to fight again, and not a lot of time.


Guru put the Phantom into a hard left turn and begain to climb. Seven miles to Morgan, and that meant about twenty seconds to target. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and let's go in.”

“Two, copy,” Kara said.

“Three, roger,” Sweaty called back.

“Four copies,” was Hoser's call.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Weasels cleared in.”

“Roger that, Camaro,” Miller One-five called. The Weasel leader and his wingman climbed and all sorts of radars began to come up. “MAGNUM!” And a HARM antiradar missile left the rails. Miller One-five had four HARMs, while One-six had two Standard-ARMs and four Mavericks.

“They're in,” Goalie commented. “Switches set. We're hot.”

“Got an SA-2,” Guru said as he climbed. That would be the Hillsboro SA-2 site. Then it suddenly went off the air, as “Magnum” calls continued from Miller One-five. “Target in sight.”

“Ready back here,” Goalie said as another HARM missile shot went in.

“Time to go,” Guru said as he rolled in on his bomb run.


At the Meirdian helicopter field, the Second Squadron, 116th Helicopter Regiment was busy with the day's operations. One flight had already gone forward, on an armed reconnissance mission, while the rest of the squadron was awaiting mission orders. The squadron's crews had heard that the motor-rifle blockheads had taken a serious pounding the past few days pulling the East Germans out of a fire, and now the 4th Guards Tank Army was coming in to shore things up, if the rumor mill was accurate.

The Lieutenant Colonel commanding the squadron was not a happy man, for his regiment had been shot up twice already. Once at a place called Casper in Wyoming, and then again, at Wichita. Originally equipped with Mi-24V (NATO Hind-E) helicopters, those had been given to some other regiment, and Mi-24Ds with the 12.7-mm Gatling Gun had been provided instead. To the Colonel, that indicated that not only were things not going well in the war-and any fool could see for himself, even the Zampolit-but that production was slipping back home, or that the Navy was having trouble in getting the Army and Air Force what it needed across the Atlantic. Even such things as mail from home were either being delivered late, or not at all, and naturally, there was some grumbling about that. Though the Zampolit had promised that one way or another, the mail from home would get through, along with everything else they needed, the Colonel was having doubts. He knew the Soviets weren't winning, for if they were, why was the front back in Texas? Even General Suraykin, when he visited the Regiment the day before, had expressed concern about developments, but the Party hack was optimistic.

Having briefed his crews, he was heading to his supply officer when the AA gunners around the field began to fire. The Colonel didn't need a siren to tell him. Air attack coming in. So he jumped into a slit trench, and was unceremoniously joined by several other pilots and gunners.


“Lead in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his attack run. He spotted several Hind helicopters parked, at least two flights, and selected a flight parked on the east side of the field. Ignoring the 23-mm flak coming up, along with at least one SA-7 shot that flew harnlessly by on the right, Guru lined up one of the Hinds in his pipper. Killing you is easier on the ground, Ivan.....”Steady.....Steady....And....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and released his dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes onto the choppers below. After bomb release, Guru pulled up and away, jinking to avoid flak and any SAMs, and staying below the SA-2's minimum altitude. “Lead's off target.”


The Colonel heard Guru's F-4 fly by, and then not only heard the bombs going off, but felt the concussion in the trench as it shook. Then he heard two additional explosions, and knew right away that at least two of his helicopters were now wrecks. He started to poke his head out of the trench to have a look, but one of his men pulled him back in. American aircraft didn't attack alone-at least, not since the early days, he remembered.


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

Hearing that, Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. That meant a couple of ground kills. Though they didn't count, still...two less Hinds to bother the ground-pounders. “How good?”

“Good and big,” Goalie replied.

“I'll take those,” Guru said as he picked up the Brazos River as an SA-7 flew by just below the aircraft.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she came in on her run. She saw the CO's run, and two fireballs where Hinds were parked. Good job, Boss, she thought as she lined up where another flight of Hinds was parked, and decided to walk her bombs right across the helos. Kara, too, ignored the 23-mm flak that came up, and saw a Standard-ARM missile fly past her as it tracked down a gun radar west of the town and exploded it. Not your day, Ivan.....She lined up the second helo in the group she had selected, and her thumb settled on the pickle button. “Steady....And...And....NOW!” Kara hit the pickle button, releasing her bombs. She then pulled up and away to clear the target area, jinking as she did so, just as the CO did, to avoid flak and any SAMs. “Two's off safe,” Kara called.


“Damn!” The Colonel said as Kara's Phantom came over and dropped its bombs. He heard the explosions, and once again, heard two more as helicopters exploded, then came another. Pulling himself from the men, he poked his head out of the trench to look around. Not only were several helicopters burning wrecks, but a fuel truck had also been hit, drenching the surrounding area with burning fuel. No one was attacking the flames, for the antiaircraft gunners were swinging their weapons around again. More Americans? He didn't doubt it for a second as he ducked back into the trench.

“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called. “Got a big secondary!”

“How big?” Kara asked, jinking to avoid some 23-mm tracers.

“Fuel big, I think,” her GIB replied.

“Their lucky day,” Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask as she picked up the CO's bird.

Sweaty came in on her run. “Three's in hot!” She, too, ignored the flak coming up as she looked for targets, and selected two Hips that were parked on the south side of the field. Good morning, Ivan....This is your wake-up call, she thought as she came down on the target. Sweaty, too, ignored the flak coming up as she lined up the Hips, and was one turning its engines? Too late. “Steady...And...HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and released her twelve Mark-82s down on the target. She then pulled up and away, avoiding the flak as she jinked. “Three off target.”

“Of all the...” The Colonel muttered as Sweaty's F-4 came in, and left a dozen bombs in its wake. Then he heard another explosion, followed by a second, and wondered what had been hit. This time, he didn't let his curiosity get the better of himself, and stayed in the trench as the AA gunners kept firing. Three in and how many more left?

“SHACK!” Preacher shouted as Sweaty pulled off the target. “Got a secondary, maybe two.”

“The helos?” Sweaty asked as she headed north, and saw one of the F-4Gs fire a Maverick missile at some target east of the town.

“Think so,” her GIB replied. “Something blew.”

“Fair enough,” she replied as Sweaty picked up Kara's bird, then the CO's.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He noted where everyone else had put their bombs, and saw the fuel dump hadn't been hit. No fuel, no choppers flying, he knew, so he lined up a collection of fuel bladders and what looked like fuel drums in his pipper. Hoser, like the others, ignored the flak coming up, as he concentrated on his bomb run. You're grounded, Ivan, was his thought as he lined up the fuel dump in his pipper. “And...And...And....HACK!” Hoser hit the pickle button, sending his bombs down onto the fuel dump. Then he pulled up wings level and pulled away, jinking to avoid the flak as he did so. “Four's off safe.”

“Sookin sin...” the Colonel muttered. Son of a bitch. Now what? He asked himself as Hoser's plane came in. The Colonel actually caught a glimpse of the F-4 as it came over, and he wondered what the target was, only to have several explosions follow in the Phantom's wake. The Colonel got out of the trench and saw that his fuel dump was now exploding, and several fuel drums had been tossed out of the dump, and when they landed, they, too, exploded. Shaking his head, he grabbed his deputy commander and his senior maintenance officer. “Get as many ground staff in the fire-fighting. Save what undamaged helicopters you can.”

“Comrade Colonel, what about the pilots?” The Zampolit asked. He'd overheard the Colonel.

“They're too important.” His flight surgeon came by with several medics. “Have as many pilots and gunners as you can get help with first aid. GO!”

The surgeon nodded, and ordered several of the crewmen in the trench to come with him. The Colonel watched them go, then shook his head. Someone didn't want them here, and he knew it. But he was a professional, and went on with doing his duty, no matter what.


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted. “We got the fuel dump!”

“How many secondaries?” Hoser asked as he pulled away.

“How many do you want?”

“Enough,” replied Hoser as he picked up his element leader, eyeballing Sweaty's F-4.


“Four in, four out,” Guru said. “But we're not done yet.”

“Now we fly for ourselves,” Goalie replied. “Not Uncle Sam.”

“Right you are,” replied Guru. “Coors One-five, Camaro Flight clear of target.”

The Weasel leader acknowledged. “Roger that, Camaro Lead. Coors is clear-” Then there was a burst of static.

“Coors One-five is down!” Coors One-six called. The Weasel wingman was female, and she was trying to stay calm, but everyone could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Any chutes?” Guru asked.

“One, and we've got a beeper.”

“Copy,” replied Guru. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Coors One-five is down near our target area. One chute and one beeper.”

“Roger, Camaro Lead. Will relay to Jolly Greens. Be advised you have bandits inbound. Threats bearing One-eight-zero for fifty. Medium, closing.” the AWACS controller called.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Coors One-six, on us. Nothing you can do for your lead.”

“Copy, Camaro Lead,” One-six called back. “Got a visual on you.”

Guru looked to his left and then right, and saw Kara joining up on him in Combat Spread. “Got visual on Two,” he called.

“On your wing,” Kara replied.

Sweaty came in next. “Three's in, and Four's with me.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as he saw the remaining F-4G join up with them. He noticed that all of its ordnance had been expended. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say bogey dope?”

The controller replied immediately. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. Inbound threats are Floggers. Second threat bearing One-six-six for fifty, Medium Closing. Bandits also Floggers.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. “Can you arrange a reception committee?”

Aboard the AWACS, the controller grinned. “Can do, Camaro,” he called. “Cowboy Lead, Crystal Palace. Banidts bearing One-seven-five for fifty. Medium, closing. KILL. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm, clear to fire.”

In his F-15C, Cowboy Lead acknowledged, then led his flight south. MiG-23s? Good.


“How long to the fence?” Guru asked Goalie as the U.S. 67 bridge at Glen Rose appeared to the left. As usual, the Nicaraguan gunners weren't firing, but the East Germans on the west side of the Brazos were.

“Three minutes,” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He noticed the A/A radar light on his RWR panel, and two more strobes. High Lark radars from MiG-23s, he knew. How good was their LD/SD? Not intending to find out if that had been upgraded, he dropped from 550 feet AGL down to 350, and the others followed suit.

“Two minutes,” Goalie called. “Flak at the dam,” she added as they came to the Lake Granbury Dam, and the AAA gunners there opened fire, but the strike flight was too low and too fast to track optically.

“Got it,” said Guru. Once they passed the dam, there was still the U.S. 377 bridge at Granbury itself. And the MiGs were getting closer.....”Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Where's the help?”

“Cowboy Flight inbound,” the controller replied.

Then Goalie called, “Granbury bridge,” as flak from the west side opened up.

“Copy,” Guru said as they flew past. Next up was the FLOT and I-20.

“Camaro, Cowboy Lead. Got some bandits on you?” The F-15 leader called.

“Cowboy, Camaro,” Guru called back. He'd been glancing back on occasion, hoping to get a visual on the MiGs, but no joy. “Get some.”

“Roger that,” the F-15 leader replied. “Cowboy Flight, Lead. Go radar, and take your shots.”

The F-15s locked up the first flight of MiG-23s and launched Sparrows, killing two of the Floggers. Then a second flight came in, and the F-15s splashed two more, then it became a free-for-all in the air. Two more MiG-23s went down, and one F-15 was damaged, before the fight ended.

“Crossing the fence....now!” Goalie called as the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared. Though the actual front line was a few miles to the south, the freeway was considered the FLOT for navigation purposes.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, out.” He turned on his IFF transponder, knowing the Army I-HAWK battery guarding the I-20 bridge over the Brazos could be light on the trigger finger. Like all air-defense pukes, their motto was “Shoot them down and let God sort them out.”

“Camaro Lead, Coors One-six,” the Weasel wingmate called as they joined up on the tankers. “They told me there'd be days like this.”

“First time?” Guru asked.

“Losing a lead? You could say that.”

Guru knew what she meant. He'd lost his squadron CO two weeks into the war, and had watched it happen. It never got any easier. “Been there, done that.”

After the post-strike refueling, with KC-135s this time, the F-4G headed west, back to Reese AFB. “Camaro, Coors. See you later. If we can avoid losing a lead, maybe we can do this again.”

“We'll be here,” Guru said.

The Weasel gave him a thumbs-up, then she turned for home.


The flight headed back to Sheppard, and when they got there, this time, they were first in the pattern. They formed up and came in, and after landing, the flight taxied to their dispersal. As they did, two MC-130s were seen near the old SAC molehole, which had been taken over by SOF after the base was recaptured. “Wonder what that's about?” Guru asked.

“Snake-eater business,” Goalie said. She had run into a classmate a year before the war who had gone into the SOF business as an nav on their special-ops C-130s, and he'd been tight-lipped about what he did and where.

“No bet on that,” Guru said as he popped his canopy and raised it, and Goalie did the same. Then he taxied to the squadron's dispersal, and the rest of the flight did the same. Then they found their respective revetments.

After taxiing into 512's revetment, Guru shut down the engines and the ground crew brought over the chocks and the crew ladder. Pilot and GIB went through the post-flight checklist, then climbed down from the aircraft. As usual, Sergeant Crowley was waiting. “How'd things go, Major?”

“Made some parked helos go away,” the CO said as Crowley offered him a bottle of water, and he accepted.

“In pieces,” added Goalie as she downed half a bottle herself.

“Shit hot, sir! And Ma'am,” Crowley said. “How's my bird?”

“Working like a champ, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Get the strike camera footage, then get her prepped for the next one.”

“You got it, Major!” Crowley said. “All right you guys! Let's get her turned around,” he waved to the ground crew.

Pilot and GIB left the ground crew to their business, as they walked to the entrance to the revetment. They found Kara and Brainiac already there. “Good work on those choppers, Boss.”

“How many?” Guru asked. “Thought we had at least two.”

“That many, and they were Hinds,” Kara said.

“Same here,” Brainiac added.

Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser and KT came up next. “That was a good one, Boss.” Sweaty said.

“Better than that,” said Hoser. “You guys tore up those helos.”

KT grinned. “And all we got was the fuel dump.”

“Good job,” Guru said. “Okay, we need to debrief. Check your desks for any paperwork, and get something to eat, because in an hour or so, we're at it again.”

“And then you get your F-20 ride after that,” Goalie reminded the CO.

Guru nodded. “That I do. How about you, Kara?”

“Had enough of those -20s, thank you very much,” she spat. “Only F-20 I want to see is in my gunsight at a Red Flag when this is all over.”

“Be careful of what you wish for,” Preacher said. “You might just get a little more than that.”

“Especially if that punk Clancy or his pal Pruitt become Aggressors after the war,” Sweaty nodded.

“Let's wait until there is an 'after the war',” Guru reminded them. “Still got this one to take care of.

Kara nodded. She knew there was a fair chance that either one of those punks might get themselves killed before all was said and done. And herself, too, for that matter. One more little detail... “First, we go Downtown to Mexico City.”

“That we do. Come on, let's go see Sin,” Guru said, referring to their intel officer. “Then we get ready to do it again.”