[Matt Wiser]

Strike, and some more air-to-air:


Over Central Texas, 1610 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south into enemy territory. They had met up with their tankers and topped up, with the 335th birds hooking up to KC-135s, and the RAF plugging into a KC-10. The flight then had met up with the two F-4Gs tasked to them, before getting down low and penetrating into hostile airspace, with the sun getting low in the west. If anyone was out there, looking for them, the old adage “Beware the Hun in the Sun” from both WW I and II, still applied.

Major Matt Wiser had his eyes on a swivel, as usual. A quick check of his instruments, then the EW display, then outside. A habit that had kept him and his GIB alive, and one that had been drummed into his head at the RTU at Homestead-how many years had it been? No matter, it would have been that many lifetimes, he knew. A quick glance again at the EW display showed it clear-for now. “EW clear,” he said. “How long until Proctor Lake?”

His GIB was on the ball, as usual. “Twenty-four miles,” Goalie replied. “One and a half minutes.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. They were following the Leon River, which wasn't much of a river, but it led right to the lake. “And time to Highway 16?”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie advised. She took a look around visually, then checked her own EW display. Something had just popped up. “Got something on the EW display,” she said as the SEARCH warning light came on.

“Got it,” Guru scowled beneath his oxygen mask. The strobe was to the southeast, and no way to know how far. But only one radar in this part of Texas could pick them up this low. “Mainstay again.”

Goalie scowled herself, then shook her head. “Lovely. Somebody's got to do something about those guys.”

“Maybe somebody's cooking something up,” Guru replied. “Maybe a sub's going to sneak into the Gulf and pop some Tomahawks into wherever they're parked.”

Goalie liked the sound of that. “Here's hoping,” she said. “Highway should be coming up.”

“Got it,” said Guru as State Route 16 appeared. Though a MSR and the boundary for the Soviet 32nd Army and the East Germans, it was empty of traffic at the moment. “And that's that,” he said as they overflew the road. He then turned right to follow the river to the lake. “Time to the lake?”

“Twenty-five seconds.”

“Roger that,” Guru then called the AWACS, orbiting somewhere along the Texas-Oklahoma border area. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

A controller replied immediately. “Rambler Lead, Warlock. First threat bearing One-four-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for sixty. Medium, going away. Fourth Threat bearing One-eight-zero for eighty-five. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Warlock. Do you have bogey dope?”

“Affirmative,” the controller said. “First and second threats are Floggers. Third are Fulcrums, and the fourth are Flankers.”

Hearing that, Guru's head perked up, as did Goalie's-and so he hoped, everybody else's in the flight. Flankers? When was the last time they heard that? “Roger that, Warlock.”

“Flankers?” Goalie asked. “Been a while since we've heard that call.”

“It has,” Guru replied. “Lake's coming up.” The north shore of Proctor Lake appeared, and he turned slightly left, to skirt the lake along the east shore, and thus avoid overflying the dam-with its attendant flak batteries. As the flight cleared the lake, there was still some 23-mm flak as trigger-happy gunners opened up, though the strike flight was too fast to track. Then came U.S. 67-377, and the small town of Proctor. A few vehicles were visible in the town, but no traffic on the highway as Rambler Flight headed south.

In the town, the local garrison-made up of Reservists from a Rear-Area Protection Division out of Minsk, was simply minding its own business. Namely, keep the road open, provide a presence to deter any “bandit' (Resistance) activity, and otherwise maintain order. The Soviet company commander knew that his men were in no shape for any kind of a serious fight, with a company's worth of BTR-152s (and his battalion was the only one in the regiment so equipped-the rest making use of captured trucks), a platoon of three T-54s whose data plates showed they had rolled out of the Chelabinysk Tank Works in 1950, a mortar battery, a few DshK machine guns and ZPU-2 14.5-mm guns for air defense, and not much else. Given the quality of the men-all of whom were either over thirty-five or barely eighteen, the Captain wondered what would happen first-either they would take to their heels at the first sight of American armor, or simply surrender. At least the Political Officer understands-the Captain thought, for the Zampolit was also a Reservist, pulled from a job in the Minsk Party and sent here. It took all of an hour in this miserable place called Texas to get him homesick, just like the rest of the men.

As long as those bandits who call themselves the Resistance stay away, the Captain thought. He got up from his desk-his headquarters was in what, prewar, had been an auto-parts store and had belonged to the manager. He went outside, and found some locals lining up outside the local market. Now, his previous thought came to mind, as he knew the Resistance was around, just lying low. Then the rumble of jets came, as a dozen or so American F-4s thundered overhead, and the locals were cheering. Was it like this for the Fascisti when our Il-2s or Pe-2s came over, he wondered. At least they didn't bomb us, he thought. Where they were going and what they intended to attack wasn't his problem.


“How far to Highway 36?” Guru asked as Proctor disappeared behind them.

“Eight miles,” Goalie answered. “Thirty seconds.”

“Copy that,” Guru replied. He maintained his visual scanning, and checked his EW display. The Mainstay's signal was still there, and the strobe had gotten brighter, which meant the signal strength was increasing. Guru then took 512 down to 450 Feet AGL from 500, and the rest of the flight followed. Another glance showed just the Mainstay's signal, and no other radars. “Still there,” Guru spat.

“The Mainstay?”

“Yep.”

“Swell,” Goalie said. “Highway 36 coming up.”

“Got it,” said Guru as the highway appeared. No traffic, he saw. Too bad, because if they were on an armed recon, the flight would be prowling roads like this one, looking for targets. He turned onto the new heading of Two-three-five, heading generally to the southeast. “How far to the Colorado?” Their next turn point was the Colorado River.

“Two minutes,” Goalie replied. “Thirty-two miles.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as the flight continued on course, the rolling hills of this part of Texas actually helping out, as this low, the Mainstay radar, along with most fighter radars, had trouble picking them out of the ground clutter.

“Fifteen seconds to Route 16.”

“Got it.” Guru then saw the highway appear, and as it went by below, there was no traffic, other than what looked like a jeep. “Somebody got lucky.”

“Not their day,” Goalie replied, seeing the jeep-like vehicle. “One minute forty-five to the river.”

“Roger that. How far to 84-183?” Guru was referring to U.S. 84/183.

“Forty seconds.”

The strike flight kept heading southwest, and as they reached F.M. 218, halfway to U.S. 84/183, they overflew a column of people walking down the road. Unknown to the aircrews, the column was of prisoners being marched from a work assignment back to a labor camp. To Brenda Wallace, who had been arrested just after the invasion simply for being an assistant county librarian, the sight of the aircraft overhead was a good omen. The guards-all of them from the MVD, ordered everyone down, and as they took cover, she looked up, and saw the aircraft overhead. Brenda glanced at her friend, Karla Hayden, a former Army MP who had been discharged a few weeks prior to the invasion, and had been arrested due to that and her husband being a deputy sheriff, and both nodded. They grabbed their shovels-which they had dropped, and as two guards got up, smashed the shovels into the guards' skulls. Both picked up the guards' AKM rifles and magazines, and sprinted off the road into some nearby brush. They heard the sound of gunfire, and not knowing that others had the same idea they had, kept running. Unknown to the two, several others had managed to escape, either with weapons or without. “Now where do we go?” Brenda asked after they'd gone a half-mile or so.

“My ranch-or what's left of it-it's about two days' hike north of here,” Karla said. “First we find a place to hole up.”

“And then what?”

“I know a few people who-if they're not dead, will take us in,” said Karla. “Then we heal up some, and find a way to make Ivan pay.”

For the first time in two years, Brenda grinned. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, then gunfire and shouting off in the distance got their attention.

“We'd better go,” Karla said, shouldering her AKM. “Let's get the hell out of here.” Both escapees then got further away from their pursurers.


“Talk to me,” Guru said. “How's our time?”

“Thirty seconds to 84-183, one minute to the river,” Goalie called.

“Roger that,” he replied. Then Guru called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler, Warlock,” the controller replied. “First threat bearing One-one-zero for forty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-four-five for sixty. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-eight-five for seventy. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-seven-five for eighty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru said. “Do you have bogey dope?”

“Affirmative,” said the controller. “First and second threats are Floggers. Third threats are Flankers, and fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Rambler Lead copies.” Flankers still....maybe that was where the Mainstay's orbiting? “Still some Flankers.”

“I heard,” Goalie said. Highway 84-183 coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru said as the two-lane highway appeared. Once more, there was no traffic moving. “Be glad we're not on an armed recon.”

In the back seat, Goalie nodded, mainly to herself. “You're not the only one,” she said. “Thirty seconds to the river.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He took a look at the EW display, and saw just the strobe of the Mainstay's radar. As long as that was the only one...

Goalie checked the DMAS and the INS, as well as her map. “Fifteen seconds to the river.”

Guru nodded himself. “On it.” A few seconds later, he called, “River in sight.” Then he turned right onto a course of Two-seven-zero, and the others followed suit. “Steady on, and how far?”

“Twenty-eight miles,” Goalie called. “One minute forty-five.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. They quickly came to where the F.M. 45 bridge had stood, but it had been dropped sometime in the past and wasn't back up. “How long until Highway 377?”

“Ten miles,” Goalie said. “Forty seconds.”

“Copy.”

It wasn't long until Rambler Flight got to the U.S. 377 bridge. Guru turned slightly right, avoiding the two 37-mm batteries guarding the bridge, and ovrflying what had been the town of Winchell, but was more a collection of ruins than anything else. Once clear, he got back onto a westerly course. “Highway 183 next up.”

“Copy that,” replied Goalie. “Forty seconds to turn.” The highway bridge over the Colorado was their next turn point.

The rolling hills and ranchland went by, as Rambler Flight headed west for the turn point. “Tally on the bridge,” Guru called. “And the flak.” The Soviet-manned 23-mm and 37-mm batteries defending the bridge opened up. “Turning now,” he said, putting 512 into a medium right turn, just enough to avoid the flak, but enough to pick up U.S. 183, which was another MSR in this part of Texas. “And on 183,” Guru said. “How long to Santa Anna?” That was the IP.

“Twenty miles,” said Goalie as the ruins of what had been the town of Rockwood flew by beneath them. “One minute fifteen.”

“Copy,” Guru said as the farmland and ranchland whizzed beneath them. They were at 450 Feet AGL and still doing 500 KIAS. A quick glance at the EW display still showed the Mainstay signal and nothing else. “Just the Mainstay.”

“Still?” Goalie asked. “Forty-five seconds.”

“Still,” said Guru, his head on a swivel. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called back, as did the others.

Goalie worked the armament control panel in the back seat. Though Guru had one up front, it was easier for her to do it so that he could concentrate on flying the plane. “Switches set,” she called.

“Good girl,” Guru said as he turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Fifteen seconds,” said Goalie. “Santa Anna straight ahead.”

“Got it,” Guru replied as the town became visible. “Flight, Lead. PULL.” He pulled back on the stick, and as 512 gained altitude, the EW display lit up as several radars came on line. “Coors, Rambler. Time to shut some radars down.”

“Roger, Rambler,” Coors One-one called as the two F-4Gs shot ahead of the flight to do their SAM-suppression. “MAGNUM!” A HARM missile left the rails, searching for a target radar.

“One-seven, One-eight, do your TARCAP thing,” Guru called Dave Gledhill's element.

“Roger, Lead,” Paul Jackson, Gledhill's pilot, responded.

“Target at Eleven,” Goalie advised as the supply dump came into view.

“So it is,” Guru replied as “Magnum” calls filled the airwaves. “Sweaty, Lead. Target's in sight. Dealer's choice where you put your bombs. One-five and One-six, get your target in,”

“Roger, Lead,” Sweaty called.

“Roger, Guru,” Dave Golen replied.

“We're set,” said Goalie from the back seat. “All in one.” She meant all bombs released in one pass. That had been a squadron rule since Day One.

Guru nodded as he rolled in. “Then let's do it.” He took 512 down on the bomb run.


In Coleman, General Sisov was in his headquarters, the City Hall, and he was not a happy man. Three days earlier, Marshal Kribov's visit had been delayed-not just due to the air strike on the airport, but that the Marshal himself had been caught in a strike, and his own Yak-40 transport had been wrecked. Though the Marshal had been pleased at what he found when he did get there, dismissing the air strike as an incident of war, he had been upset at some of the manpower issues raised in their meeting. The General had raised the issues of reservists from the RSVN and Vosyka-PVO arriving, and the Marshal hadn't been happy to hear that. Still, despite what the Marshal himself called “Serious reservations,” he told the General to get on with it, and do the best he could, given the circumstances. The RSVN soldiers, who had served as guards around missile sites, at least had some potential as infantry, while the V-PVO men? They would have to learn on-the-job how to operate the various SAM systems at Division and Army level, even though they were a far cry from the S-75 (SA-2) or S-125 (SA-3).

The General got up from his desk and left his office-which had been the Mayor's prewar, and had displaced the garrison commander, a fat Major who still commanded a battalion from a rear-area security unit from Leningrad. At least the Resistance in this area isn't a factor, Sisov thought, though his own intelligence people were convinced-unlike the rear-area people, that the Underground was simply keeping a low profile and biding its time until the U.S. Army got close enough, for the most part. Still, the occasional grafitti, roadside bomb, cut phone line, and sniper activity did show the Soviets that the Resistance had not gone away entirely, and the General knew it. At least my Zampolit isn't too eager, he thought. The new man, who had been the deputy to the previous one, was more concerned with keeping the Army's soldiers motivated than in doing anything to antagonize the civilian population, and that was very important, for the last thing General Sisov wanted was any serious issues with the locals, who didn't hide their contempt for their occupiers, even though things were calm for the most part.

General Sisov gathered his aide and Chief of Staff, and all three were about to leave the headquarters office when shouting outside drew their attention. Suddenly, his Air Force Liaison Officer and two other Air Force men ran for the stairs that led to the roof. Sisov and the two officers with him followed. When they got to the roof, they found the Air Force men with binoculars, and several soldiers with Strela-3 (SA-14) shoulder-fired missiles. “What's going on here?” Sisov roared.

“Air raid alarm, Comrade General,” the senior Air Force man, a Major, replied, pointing to the south.


“Lead in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 down on its bomb run. He saw the airport off to the east, which they had hit the day the RAF flew their first missions, and the flak coming up from both the airport and the supply depot that was the target for his element and Sweaty's. Guru ignored the flak coming up-the 23-mm and 37-mm from around the depot, and the 57-mm from the airport, as he picked out what looked like some fuel trucks at the supply depot. You'll burn, the CO thought as the trucks grew larger in his pipper as he approached bomb release. “And...Steady...Steady...And..And...HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, releasing his twelve Mark-82s, then he pulled up and away, applying power and jinking to clear the town and the flak. “Lead's off target,” Guru called as he cleared the targe area.


“Not again,” muttered General Sisov as he watched Guru's F-4 make its run. Two of the soldiers on the roof shot missiles, but neither one appeared to guide, the General saw. Then he saw the bombs come off the F-4, and Sisov knew what the target was. Not the Army's main supply depot, he said to himself. Then several fireballs erupted, and that meant fuel. Sisov shook his head, and turned to see the Air Force men watching through their binoculars. Was this an air show to them? Then the General saw the AA guns turning back, and picking up another aircraft before they resumed firing.


“BULLSEYE!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “We've got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as he jinked left to avoid some tracers, then right to avoid a missile-probably an SA-7 by the size of the smoke trail.

“Several, and they look like fuel tanks going up.”

“Just what I had in mind,” Guru replied as he turned north.


“Two's in!” Kara made the call as she took 520 in on her bomb run. She saw the CO's run, and the fireballs left in his wake, and Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. There's more where that came from, Ivan, she thought as she picked out some more trucks-some of which looked like fuelers, others were just plain supply trucks. The flak came up, and Kara ignored it, concentrating on her bomb run. Even a missile, which just flew by on the right side, didn't faze her. “Steady...And..Steady....And...And.. NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, sending her dozen Mark-82s down onto the Russians below. She then pulled up and away, jinking and applying power as she did, giving the AAA and SAM gunners a harder target. “Two's off safe,” Kara called when she cleared the area.


“Of all the...” Sisov muttered as he saw Kara's F-4 come in. Another soldier fired a missile, only to see the missile seek the setting sun instead of the aircraft, much to the operator's fury (and Sisov's). The General watched as the F-4 released its bombs, then as it pulled away, several explosions-and more fireballs-erupted in the aircraft's wake. The General winced, then he saw the AA gunners on several rooftops spraying machine-gun and 23-mm fire at the departing aircraft, and their tracers fell well short. He looked around, and saw two more F-4s orbiting, and occasionally firing a missile at some target, and two more also orbiting, at a higher altitude, but doing nothing. Then the AA gunners turned back to the south, and that meant more Americans coming in.


“SHACK!” Brainiac shouted in 520's back seat. “Got multiple secondaries back there!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she jinked right to avoid some flak, then left to dodge a missile, then she went right again to pick up the CO.

“Several, and they were good-sized.”

“Good for them,” said Kara as she spotted a smoke trail, then the CO's bird.


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty made that call as she came in on her run. She saw Kara's bird pull up, and the fireballs in its wake. She came in, and spotted several revetments in the northern part of the dump, and that meant ammo. Grinning beneath her oxygen mask, Sweaty lined up some of the revetments in her pipper. She, too, spotted the flak coming up, and ignored it. Even a SA-7 type missile that came head-on, but failed to guide. Ivan, this just isn't your day, she thought as she approached bomb release. “Steady....Steady....And...And....And.....HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and sent her dozen Mark-82s down onto the burning dump below. She then pulled up, jinking as she went and applying full power to get clear. Once clear of the town, it was time. “Three's off safe.”


“Of all the...” General Sisov muttered as he watched Sweaty's plane make its run. The AA gunners tracked the aircraft, but their shooting left much to be desired, as their tracers flew wide of the target. Then he saw bomb release, and watched as a dozen bombs fell onto the supply dump. A dozen explosions resulted, followed by several sympathetic detonations marking artillery or tank ammunition going up. The General frowned, then heard the cheering below. No doubt the locals were seeing all this, and were showing their appreciation. At least there's not a PSD scum around, Sisov thought-that swine had been killed by a roadside bomb, and no one-locals, garrison, or anyone from 32nd Army for that matter, cared a whit. Then the AA gunners jolted him back to the present, as they turned their guns back south.

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher shouted from Sweaty's back seat. “Multiple secondaries!”

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she jinked left to avoid a missile, probably an SA-7, then right to dodge some flak tracers.

“Multiple big and righteous!” The ex-seminary student shouted.

“Amen, brother,” Sweaty quipped as she jinked right again, then left, and picked up the CO and Kara, first the smoke trails, then visual on the birds.


“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he came in on his run. He saw the smoke columns and fires burning below, but he was able to pick out a part of the dump that hadn't been hit. As he came in, Hoser saw some trucks, and some more revetments, probably ammo storage. Good, he thought. Ivan, you're having a really bad day. Hoser saw the flak, and the MANPADS, coming up, and ignored them as he concentrated on the bomb run. “Steady....Steady....And...And....NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button, releasing his dozen Mark-82s, then he pulled up and away, applying power and jinking as he did. Once he cleared the target area, then he made his call. “Four's off target.”


“Sookin sin...” said General Sisov. Son of a bitch... This certainly was a bitch of an afternoon, he thought. They'd been bombed before-but still....having his Army's main supply depot bombed was not the way he wanted the afternoon to end. Sisov decided to have a few words with the commander of the 272nd SAM Brigade, his Army's main air-defense unit, to see what could be done to improve matters. He turned to his Air Force Liaison Officer when the AA guns turned to the southeast. The next American aircraft was going for the airport....


“GOOD HITS!” That was KT's shout from the back seat.

“How good?” Hoser wanted to know as he jinked right to dodge a missile, then left to avoid tracers, then right again so he could pick up his element lead.

“Big and good!”

“Can't argue with that,” Hoser grinned beneath his oxygen mask. He scanned ahead, and picked up Sweaty's bird directly ahead.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called as he came in on his run. The IDF Major saw what the first four had done to their target, and now, it was the airport's turn. As he rolled in, a glance at his EW display showed a AAA radar up, then he saw an antiradar missile-either a HARM or Standard-ARM, fly into a 57-mm site and explode, taking out the radar van, and, he hoped, one or two of the guns with it. The radar signal went off, though the flak kept coming-though the 57-mm battery was out, tracers from 23-mm and puffs from 37-mm showed the gunners were still there. Ignoring the flak, he picked out the ramp area, then he called his wingmate. “Flossy, take the Runway. I'll take the ramp.” Not waiting for her to acknowledge, he concentrated on his bomb run, lining up the ramp area and two field hangars in his pipper, intending to walk his bombs across the field. As he got down, Golen noticed two Su-25s and what looked like a Hind gunship on the ramp. Your lucky day, Ivan, he thought as he got ready. “Steady...And...And....NOW!” He hit the pickle button, sending his six Mark-82s and six M-117s down onto the Russians. Golen then pulled up and away, jinking as he did so, and applying power. Only when he was clear of the target did he make his call. “Five off target.”


General Sisov watched as Dave's F-4 went in on its run, and this time, the bomb release was much closer. He winced as the bombs came off, and the big Phantom pulled away, and the General knew what the target was this time. The airport, he thought to himself. As he watched, the F-4 pulled clear, and the bombs went off, sending up clouds of smoke and dirt, and then four fireballs. What did he hit?” Sisov turned to watch, as two soldiers fired Strela-3 missiles, but neither one appeared to guide. He spat in disgust, then saw the AA guns turning back south. Another one coming in...


“SHACK!” Terry McAuliffe called from Golen's back seat. “Got a few secondaries!”

“What kind?” Golen asked as he jinked left to avoid a missile, then right to avoid some tracers.

“Two big ones and a couple smaller ones,” the GIB replied.

“Their lucky day,” Golen said as he turned north, picking up Sweaty and Hoser as he did.


“Six in hot!” Flossy called as she took 1569 down on the bomb run. She saw Dave Golen's run, and the fireballs that came in its wake, and heard his call. “Roger, Five,” she called back, and lined up the runway in her pipper. Flossy saw the flak, and the shoulder-fired missiles coming up, and ignored both as she concentrated on her bomb run. “And...And...And.....HACK!” Flossy hit her pickle button, sending her six Mark-82s and six M-117s down on the runway. She pulled up and away, applying power and jinking all the way. No sense in giving the flak gunners and missile operators an easy mark, she knew....Once clear of the target, Flossy made her call. “Six off target.”


General Sisov watched as Flossy's F-4 made its run. Shaking his head, he watched as the Phantom released its bombs, and though the airport was the target, he wasn't sure of the target as this time, there weren't any fireballs that came up after the bombs exploded. What was the target? Then he remembered the last time the Americans had paid a visit. Runway, he realized. He then saw two more F-4s fly past, but they didn't attack-were they reconnaissance? Then two more flew by, and the General watched as they headed north. He then turned to his Chief of Staff. “Get a report on the damage on the supply depot. And I mean right now!”

“Immediately, Comrade General,” the Chief replied.


“Six in and out,” Goalie said in 512.

“Still got a game going,” Guru replied. “One-seven and One-eight, get your asses clear of the target.”

“Roger, Lead,” Paul Jackson replied. “On the way out.”

“Coors, Rambler Lead. We're clear,” Guru said to the Weasels.

“Roger, Rambler, we're comin' out,” the Weasel lead called back.

Then the AWACS came on line. “Rambler, Coors. Warlock. Bandits, Bandits. Four Blue Bandits inbound bearing Zero-eight-five for twenty. Medium, closing. Repeat: Closing.” Blue bandits meant MiG-21s.

“Two, on me,” Guru called.

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied.

Guru took a quick glance to the right, and found Kara's 520 right with him in Combat Spread.

“Lead, One-seven,” Paul Jackson called. “BREAK!”

Without hesitating, Guru broke left and high, while Kara broke left and low. Both armed their Sidewinders as they turned. Hearing that call, Sweaty and Hoser also broke-she right and high, he left and low. As Guru turned, he saw four MiG-21s coming in. “Tally four Blue Bandits,” he called, using the old Vietnam code for MiG-21s.

“On them, Lead,” Jackson said. “Going radar. Lock one up,” he told Dave Gledhill in the back seat.

“Working...I've got one! Take the shot,” said Gledhill.

“FOX ONE!” Jackson called as he shot his first Sky Flash. Then he squeezed the trigger again. “FOX ONE AGAIN!”


In the lead MiG, an East German Captain saw four F-4s, though the A-50 controller only said two. Given the distance from the radar, he was surprised that the A-50 could pick out that many against the ground clutter. The Captain signaled his wingman, and dove in to the attack. He saw the four F-4s break, and he picked out one of them. Suddenly, his Sirena-3 RWR screamed in his helmet, and he frantically turned his head, looking for threats. Then he saw two missile trails coming, and he turned into the threat. The first missile missed, but the second hit-for he felt the impact and the explosion. He grabbed the handle of his ejection seat, but before he could pull it, a second explosion came, and he was surrounded by fire. The last thing he felt was the heat....

Both Jackson and Gledhill watched as their missiles traced their way to the MiG leader. He turned at the last minute, with one Sky Flash going past him, but the second smashed into his tail. The MiG-21 fireballed, and the other three broke and scattered. “SPLASH ONE!” Jackson called.

“Heard that,” Guru said, looking around. “Tally on one,” he said, picking up a MiG-21 as it turned back towards the east.

Goalie had her head out of the cockpit, looking around. “Six is clear.”

“Two, on me,” Guru called. He wanted this MiG for himself.

“Right with you,” Kara replied. Come on, Guru, let me have this one, she thought.

“Lead, Sweaty. BREAK!” Sweaty called.

Guru broke right and high this time, while Kara went low and to the left. As they did, Guru saw a MiG coming up from below. “Where'd he come from?”

“He wasn't there a second ago!” Goalie shot back as the MiG flew past.

“Not blaming you,” Guru said as he did a 180. “Hard to see back there.”

“Lead, Sweaty. I've got him,” Sweaty said. She rolled in behind the MiG-21, and saw the East German insignia on the tail. “Okay, Franz....” Sweaty muttered. She uncaged a Sidewinder, and got tone, then the growl in her headset growled very loud. Missile lock. “FOX TWO!” She squeezed off a Sidewinder, and the missile took the shape of a rattlesnake as it tracked to the MiG. The Sidewinder flew up the MiG's tailpipe and the MiG-21 fireballed. “SPLASH!”

“Sweaty's got one,” Goalie said.

“I heard,” said Guru as he looked around, for there were two more MiGs out there. “Two, have tally?”

Kara looked around the sky, and saw only F-4s. “No joy, Lead.”

“Roger that, Two,” Guru said. “On me.”

“Where's the other two?” Goalie asked. She had the radar on and was scanning outside as Guru jinked. “Six clear again.”

“Two, check my six.” Guru was still jinking.

Kara turned her head and saw nothing. “Lead, six is clear.”

Dave Golen and Flossy, though, found the other two. “Lead, One-five. Tally two Fishbeds.”

Guru turned in that direction, and saw two MiG-21s heading north, with two SEA-painted F-4s following. “Have eyeballs on you,” Guru replied. “Sweaty, you and Hoser clear us.”

“Roger that!” Sweaty replied as Hoser formed up with her.

In his F-4, Golen centered his pipper on the lead MiG, then both broke-lead to the left, wingman to the right. “Flossy, take the wingman.”

“On him,” Flossy said as she turned to follow the MiG.

Dave Golen heard that as he centered the pipper again on the MiG. Somebody hasn't told this guy a MiG-21 can't turn with an F-4 down low, he thought. No matter.....He centered the pipper on the MiG and armed his 20-mm cannon. He then squeezed the trigger for a two-second burst, just as the Israeli Air Force taught, and that was enough. A hundred and twenty rounds of 20-mm API and HEI rounds tore into the MiG, which caught fire. Then Golen and McAuliffe watched as the MiG-21, trailing fire, smashed into a hill just north of the town. There was no chute. “SPLASH!”


“Dave Golen's got another one,” Goalie said.

“Save it for later,” Guru said. “Still one out there and who knows what else,” he reminded her.


Flossy in 1569 picked up the wingman as he frantically turned left, then right, then left again. She uncaged a Sidewinder and closed in. The MiG driver's turning enabled her to close in, as he bled off airspeed, and she caught up. Then Flossy lined him up in her pipper, and the Sidewinder seeker growled in her headset. It then growled very loud,signaling missile lock. “FOX TWO!” She fired one, then a second, Sidewinder. The MiG turned again, for he might have seen the first missile come off, knowing that Sidewinders couldn't track a target pulling more than 6 Gs, and the first missile did miss. But he reversed his turn, and that solved the problem for the second missile. That AIM-9 flew up his tailpipe and exploded. The tail blew off the MiG, and the Fishbed plunged towards the ground. Just before impact, the pilot ejected, but his chute streamed, and barely had time to open before getting into the trees. “SPLASH!”

“Flossy's got another,” Guru commented. “Warlock, Rambler. Splash four Fishbeds. We are outbound at this time.”

“Roger, Rambler. Threats bearing Two-four-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Bandits are Fulcrums.”

“Copy that,” said Guru. “Flight, Lead. On me and let's get the hell out of here.” Guru set course north, and saw Kara join up with him in Combat Spread.

“With you, Lead.” his wingmate replied.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Sweaty?”

Sweaty replied, “On your six, and I've got Hoser.”

“Five and six behind Sweaty,” Dave Golen added.

“Seven and eight with you.” Paul Jackson called.

“Coors One-one and One-two coming out,” the Weasel leader said. “Nice work with the Fishbeds.”

“Copy that and thank you,” Guru replied. “How far to the fence?” He asked Goalie.

Goalie checked her map. “Twenty miles,” she said. “One minute fifteen.”

“Roger that!” Guru said as he continued north. We'll get to the fence before the Fulcrums get here, Guru thought. And if they do follow? There's going to be an Eagle welcoming committee.

“Rambler, Warlock,” the AWACS controller called. “Bandits now Two-three-zero for fifty. Medium, closing.”

Still coming? Guru thought. Well, if that's the way you want to play..... “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Can you get some Eagles if they get too close?”

“That's affirmative, Rambler,” the controller replied. “Outlaw Three-one, Warlock. Bandits bearing One-niner-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. KILL. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm, clear to fire.”

“Outlaw Three-one copies,” the F-15 lead said. Using hand signals, she motioned for her flight to follow, and the Eagles headed south, fangs out.

In 512, Guru asked Goalie, “Time to the Fence?”

“Forty-five seconds,” Goalie replied. “Twelve miles.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He had an eye on the EW display, and though it still showed just the Mainstay's radar, those MiGs could light off their own radars at any moment. “EW still has the Mainstay.”

Goalie shook her head. “Still need to teach those guys a lesson,” she grumbled.

“Girl, you are preaching to the choir,” said Guru. “Thirty seconds?” He wanted to know what was taking so long to knock out the Mainstays himself. When they got to Nellis, maybe he could ask General Tanner. Maybe.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie said.

“Outlaw Three-one has four bandits,” the F-15 leader called out. “Let's go get 'em.”

Just as the F-15s charged south, the F-4s crossed the I-20, and the crews saw the F-15s shoot by overhead. “Get some,” Guru muttered.

Almost as if she had heard Guru, the F-15 Lead took the first AIM-7 shot, and the other three Eagles shot as well. Two MiG-29s went down, and the other two turned back, hoping to draw the F-15s into range of any one of several divisional or Army-level SAM batteries. The Eagles didn't take the bait, and turned back to their CAP station.

“And we're across the fence,” Guru said as the twin concrete ribbons of I-20 passed beneath them. He glanced at the EW display one more time, and saw that the Mainstay radar signal was gone. Finally, he thought.

Goalie let out an audible sigh of relief that the IC picked up. “About time,” she said.

“Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on and Music off, out,” Guru called to the flight, as he climbed to altitude. He turned off the ECM pod and made sure his IFF was on.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara said, and the others followed.

Rambler Flight joined up with the tankers, and they noticed the first strikes by the A-6s and F-111s were coming in to top off before going in. The flight joined up with KC-135s this time, and after topping up, got ready to head back to Sheppard or to Reese-which was where the Weasels were based.

“Coors, Rambler. Nice work, fella,” Guru said to the Weasel element lead. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Coors One-one replied. “Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

“Glad to have you guys around,” said Guru. Then both flights headed to their home bases.

When Rambler got to Sheppard, it was still light, but they were the last ones to come in. As they came into the pattern, those four pilots who had scored did victory rolls, then the flight came in and landed. As they taxied in, the victors popped their canopies, and held up fingers to signal MiG kills, much to the delight of other air and ground crew who were watching, along with the news crew.

“About time,” Jana Wendt said as the MiG-killers taxied past, to the cheers of the various spectators.

“But not the CO,” Lieutenant Patti Brown, the PAO, said with a tinge of disappointment. From what she'd heard, the CO was due for another kill. All good things come to those who wait, she reminded herself. And she wanted a MiG or two for herself.

After coming off the taxiway, the flight headed to the squadron's dispersal area, then they headed for their revetments. Guru taxied to 512's, and followed Sergeant Crowley's signals to taxi into the revetment. Once in, he stopped, and the ground crew came out with the wheel chocks, and then Guru shut down. Guru and Goalie had already popped and raised their canopies, and after going through the post-flight checklist, they stood up in their cockpits as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. “Four and done,” Guru said as he took off his helmet.

“And a day off tomorrow, thanks to Mama Nature,” Goalie quipped. “Do need to catch up.”

“On sleep,” Guru agreed. “And certain other things,” he grinned.

Goalie let out a grin of her own. “Good to see you want to get caught up with bedroom gymnastics.”

“That's one way to kill time on a stand-down,” Guru said as he climbed down from the aircraft. Goalie did the same, and they did a quick post-flight walk-around, then they came to the Crew Chief. “Sarge,” Guru said as Crowley handed both of them a bottle of water-and Guru proceeded to drain half of his right away. “Five-twelve's still going strong. She's due for a hundred-hour, right?”

“That she is, Major,” Crowley said. “We'll get started on that, and finish up in the morning. Word's gone around you're taking that prissy reporter up.”

Guru shook his head. “Not her, but the cameraman,” he said. “Captain Thrace is taking the reporter.”

“Still trying to scare her off this base?” Goalie asked.

“No, she's made of sterner stuff,” Guru admitted. “But if we can get her airsick, and maybe appreciate what we do day in and day out.”

“To be wished for,” Goalie spat. She didn't mind the reporter, but still had a lingering suspicion of the press. Some of her Academy instructors were Vietnam vets, and they had passed down their dislike of the press to many a cadet.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Didn't get any MiGs, but there's always next time. Sooner or later, Sarge, you'll get that ninth-and maybe tenth-red star on the bird.”

The Crew Chief grinned. “We'll be waiting, Major. And don't worry about that hundred-hour check. We'll have her ready by afternoon. You can take that to the bank.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” said Guru. Then he and Goalie left the ground crew to their work, and headed to the revetment's entrance, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. “Well, no joy on the MiGs this time.”

Kara shook her head. “At least we tore up that supply dump,” She replied. “We both had a lot of secondaries.”

“And maybe next time, the MiGs cooperate,” Brainiac added. He wanted to be a double ace himself.

“Maybe,” Guru said. He was looking for his ninth-and tenth kills himself. “And where'd that one MiG come from?” He was referring to the MiG that had gotten into his and Goalie's blind spot.

“Not there one second, then there the next,” Goalie said, shaking her head. “How'd I miss him?”

“He was in your blind spot,” Sweaty said as she and Preacher, with Hoser and KT came up. “Hard for me to see, and harder for Preacher.”

Preacher nodded. “Or any other GIB.”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Not blaming you,” he said to Goalie. “But thanks for killing him,” the CO said to Sweaty. “Who were they?”

“East Germans,” Dave Golen said as he and Flossy, with Terry McAuliffe and Jang, came up. “Anyone else see the insignia?”

Sweaty nodded. “I did,” she said. “They were good, I'll say this.”

“They had guts, tangling with us at low level,” Guru admitted. “Sweaty got the guy who tried to line us up.”

“And Dave Golen got a gun kill,” Flossy said. “Isn't this your first here?”

“It is,” the IDF Major said with pride. The Israelis prided themselves on gun kills over any with missiles. Even though most of those scored in the Bekaa Valley Turkey Shoot had been missile kills.

“That's what, seven here for you?” Goalie asked.

“Yes, and for Flossy, too.”

“How'd you do on the airport?” Guru wanted to know.

“Tore up the ramp area,” Golen said. “Got a couple of Su-25s, and maybe a Hind, too.”

The CO nodded. “And Flossy got the runway.” It wasn't a question.

Flossy grinned. “It's a bunch of craters, and I'll bet it'll be back operational tomorrow.”

Guru nodded, then he spat. “No bet. This stalemate reminds me of everything I've read or heard about Southeast Asia.”

“No arguing that,” Goalie said. She was the only Academy grad in the flight. “Some of my instructors would say the same thing. “Had a few Vietnam vets as instructors back at the Springs.”

Then the RAF crews came over. “Well, that was interesting,” Dave Gledhill said. “MiG-21s, and those were East Germans.”

“You noticed,” said Sweaty. “And you guys got one.”

“My seventh, but Paul's fourth,” the RAF Squadron Leader said. “Next time...”

“Always, that,” Susan Napier replied.

Guru nodded, then whispered something to Kara. She went to her Crew Chief, and came out of her revetment. She nodded to the CO. Guru and several others went to 520's revetment while Flossy and Jang were talking. Then Flossy stepped aside. “Jang?”

Jang turned when she heard the CO's voice. “Major?” Then she saw the CO, Goalie, Kara, Brainiac, Dave Golen, Flossy, and Hoser all with buckets of water. “Oh, fuck.”

Guru yelled, “NOW!” And those with the buckets splashed Jang with cold water! “Congratulations, Jang! You're now a backseat ace, and no one can take that from you.”

Jang nodded, then shook her head. “Damn, Major, that's cold!”

“Better that than any of the lakes around here,” said Guru. “Okay, people!” he added, putting his CO's hat on. “We need to debrief and make the intel folks happy. Then check your desks before heading to the Club.”

“Do we have to make those chairborne warriors happy?” Kara spat. She, like almost everyone else in the squadron, had little use for bureaucracy and those who inhabited it.

“Unfortunately,” Guru said. He checked his watch. “It's 1645. Let's get it done, then we can blow off some steam.”

Sweaty grinned. “And no twelve-hour for everybody-except those stiffs pulling Zulu Alert.”

The CO nodded. “You've got that right. Come on and let's go. Get this over and done with.”