View Single Post
  #530  
Old 03-15-2020, 12:13 AM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
Registered User
 
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Auberry, CA
Posts: 1,002
Default

The strike, and some air-to-air action:




Over Central Texas: 1330 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, having cleared the I-20 and was now in enemy territory. They had joined up with the tankers over Pleasant Kingdom Lake, west of Mineral Wells, and while the 335th birds topped up from KC-135s, the two RAF F-4Js had joined up with their own Tristar to top up. Now, they were back down in the weeds, going for their target by the back door.

In 512, Guru was watching his instruments, then taking a look around. Keeping his head on a swivel had been drummed into his head at the RTU before the war, and having eyes out of the cockpit was very conducive to a long lifespan. He then took a look at his EW display, and for once, the round screen was blank. “No Mainstay radar.”

Goalie grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Yet.” That was the operative word, and both of them knew it.

“So far, so good,” Guru said as he picked up the Leon River, and turned to follow it. The rest of the flight followed him as he followed the river south. “How far to the lake?” He meant Lake Proctor and their first navigation checkpoint.

“Twenty seconds to Route 16,” Goalie replied. That meant State Route 16, which formed the boundary between the East Germans to the east, and the Soviet 32nd Army to the west. “One minute to the lake.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. Just then he saw a strobe come up on the EW display, and it was to the south. Not very bright, he noticed, then the SEARCH warning light came on. He had a good idea what it was. “Spoke too soon, because guess who's up and active?”

“Mainstay again,” spat Goalie. It wasn't a question from her tone of voice. “Love to get somebody to do something about those.”

“Maybe somebody's thinking of it, just like we're cooking up something,” Guru reminded her as Highway 16 appeared. “There's the road.”

“Got it,” Goalie said, back to business. “Forty seconds to the lake.”

“Copy.”

The flight followed Highway 16, skirting the town of De Leon as they did. As they did, the locals in the town took note, and cheered, much to the disgust of the garrison-the 511th MRR from the 155th MRD, 32nd Army. The regimental commander, who had been the commander of the Regiment's second battalion before the regiment had assumed its current positions, shook his head. The sooner he and his men were back in action, the better. At least I have a political officer who's not concerned about that, he thought. For the last thing he wanted was any kind of underground or Resistance activity. Not that such things were out of the question: his own intelligence officer, not to mention division's, as well as the GRU Field Security Unit, were convinced the Resistance was just laying low, and biding its time. Just as long as I'm not around when they come out, the Lieutenant Colonel thought.


“There's the lake,” Guru said as Proctor Lake came into view. “Time to turn?”

“Fifteen seconds to the dam,” Goalie replied. “Steady....Now ten, and five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned left, to a heading of 110, just as the flak gunners at the dam spotted them and opened fire. The 23-mm, 37-mm, and 57-mm fire missed, as the strike flight turned to the southeast. “On track. How long to Fairy?” The spot on the map-and not much else-was their next checkpoint.

“One minute thirty,” said Goalie. “Twenty-four miles.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. Then he called the AWACs. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

A controller got back to him right away. “Rambler, Warlock. First threat bearing Two-three-five for thirty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-three-zero for forty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-two-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing One-six-zero for seventy. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Warlock,” said Guru. “Say bogey dope.”

“Rambler, first threats are Fishbeds, and second threats are Floggers. Third and fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Copy all,” Guru replied. MiG-29s? That'll make Kara, Dave Golen, and the RAF happy.

“One minute to Fairy,” Goalie advised.

“Roger that,” Guru replied, checking his EW display. So far, just the Mainstay's radar, but the bad guys could be taking cues from the Mainstay controllers, and stalking them with their radars off. He had then had his eyes out of the cockpit, keeping up his visual scanning, but coming in at 450 Feet AGL and 500 KIAS would hopefully keep the Mainstay's radar from picking them up.

The Texas hills flew by as Rambler Flight continued on course. The pilots concentrated on flying, checking their instruments-with a particular attention to the EW display, and maintaining their visual scanning, while the GIBs watched the navigation, and had a second pair of eyes out.

“Thirty seconds to Fairy,” Goalie advised. “Eight miles.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. His head was on a swivel, watching the instruments, then scanning visually.

“Coming up on the turn,” said Goalie. “Ready to count.”

“Give it to me.”

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

Guru turned left, turning onto a course of Zero-five-zero. “Steady on new course,” he called. A quick check of the EW display still showed only the Mainstay signal. “And the Mainstay's still there.”

“What else is new?” Goalie quipped. She checked her own display, and saw the same thing. “One minute thirty to target. One minute to IP.”

“Copy all,” Guru said. Then it was time for another call to the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

A controller on the E-3B got back to him. “Rambler Lead, Warlock. Threat bearing Two-seven-zero for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-eight-five for forty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Zero-nine-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Zero-six-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Warlock. Do you have Bogey Dope?”

“Rambler, Warlock. First and second are Fulcrums. Third and fourth are Floggers.”

Guru replied, “Rambler Lead copies.” MiG-23s on the way out? That would be better than Fulcrums.

“Rambler, Warlock. Additional threat bearing One-six-zero for eighty. Medium, closing. Bandits are Flankers.”

“Copy.”

“Flankers?” Goalie asked. “Thirty seconds to pull.”

“Our lucky day,” Guru replied. “Set 'em up.” He meant the armament controls.

“On it,” said Goalie as she worked the armament control panel, setting up the ordnance. “All set. Everything in one.”

“Roger that.” It was almost time. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by to pull,” Guru called to the flight. He then turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and the others did the same.

“Fifteen seconds,” said Goalie.

“Start the count,” Guru said.

“Pull in ten, now five, four, three, two, one, PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick as State Route 6 and the Meridian State Park appeared. The flight climbed, and as they did, radars started coming on. “One-five, one-six, do your thing.”

“Roger, Lead,” Dave Golen called back. He and Flossy shot ahead, then he called out, “Miller One-five, MAGNUM!” But instead of a Shrike or HARM, it was a Maverick that he sent on its way.

Flossy was next. “Miller One-six. MAGNUM!” Another Maverick left the rails.

Just as the second “Magnum” call was made, the radars in the area, either ZSU-23-4 or SA-6 from Meridian proper-all shut down. None of the Russians down below wanted to eat an antiradar missile if they could avoid it....

“Dave and Flossy at work,” Goalie said.

“They are,” Guru said. He picked out the town of Morgan, which was the target. “Morgan dead ahead. Flight, Lead. Time to go in.” As he made the call, Flossy made another call, and a Maverick shot after a target.

“Roger that, Boss!” Kara called back.

“All set?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready when you are,” she replied.

“Time to do it.” Guru then rolled 512 in on the bomb run.


In Morgan, the 254th Guards “Matrosova” MRR, 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division, had its headquarters. The regiment-along with the rest of the division, had been roughly handled in its first combat experience a couple of weeks prior, and was now resting and refitting. However, the regiment's motor-rifle battalions, which had been equipped with BTR-70s when they deployed, was now being equipped with BTR-60PBs, though the tank battalion had, instead of the T-72As originally issued, T-72M1s from the production line in Czechoslovakia. His artillery battalion was better off, receiving new D-30 122-mm howitzers, but his air defense battalion was not in very good shape. Instead of the 2S6 Tunguskas they had deployed with-and given a good account of themselves before taking heavy losses to Yankee attack aircraft and armor-had been taken away by 4th Guards Tank Army and ZSU-23-4s and Strela-10 (SA-13 Gopher) launchers issued instead.

The Regimental Commander had survived, though many of his subunit commanders hadn't. The man had been a Lieutenant Colonel when the division had deployed, but was now a Colonel. Then he had to make a whole raft of personnel changes, promoting some officers into slots that had to be filled, though at least one was by necessity-promoting the only surviving company commander in Second Battalion to fill the battalion commander's position-while new officers had arrived to fill the junior officer slots-while a few stood out as competent, others were not. The Colonel had been appalled when he found out that two new platoon commanders had been transferred into the Army from the RSVN-the Strategic Rocket Forces, and had originally been commanding guard units around missile sites. He had asked his fellow regimental commanders at a conference at Division HQ in Meridian, and found out that his wasn't the only regiment, for not only had junior officers been assigned, but whole platoons had been culled from reservists who had served in the RSVN guard force, and sent over. To the Colonel, that was a whole raft of “Sad Duty to Inform You” telegrams just waiting to be sent, and his fellow regimental commanders-to say nothing of the Divisional Commander agreed with him-in private, of course.

Now, in Morgan, things were calm. No air strikes, he had been glad to see, though his outposts near the Brazos River reported American aircraft using the river as ingress or egress routes into the Soviet rear, but there wasn't much anyone could do about it. His relations with the local garrison-made up of Rear-Area Protection troops from Minsk, were good for now, though they were not that enthused about any kind of activities that would stir up the local population. The Regimental Political Officer had told the Colonel about the local PSD man, and for once, the Colonel and the Zampolit were in agreement. For the PSD man was a swine of the worst sort, and though the underground was laying low, the Major who commanded the garrison had told him, they were just biding their time. And if someone did kill the PSD man-for there were the occasional roadside bombs or snipers-or if someone casually stuck a knife into his ribs-no one would complain, and the chances of any kind of reprisal measures being taken were remote, at best.

The Colonel left his headquarters, which prewar had been a small office building-a lawyer had used his office before, his Chief of Staff had told him-and decided to go inspect his battalions. First Battalion was laagered to the northwest, with Second to the Northeast. Third Battalion was to the southeast, and the tank battalion to the southwest. His artillery battalion, engineers, and other elements were in the town proper, though each battalion had a battery from the air defenders. He had plans for a regimental-sized training exercise to shake the men down, and was looking forward to that. The Colonel had just reached his UAZ-469 jeep when shouting came from several nearby buildings, and AA guns that had been put on rooftops began to turn and open fire. Air attack! The Colonel got down next to his jeep along with his aide, and got ready to ride out the attack.


“Lead's in hot! Dealer's choice as to targets,” Guru called as he took 512 down on the bomb run. He saw the flak starting to come up, and that looked like guns on rooftops, while some ZU-23s were firing from a field where some command tracks were parked. Ignoring the tracers, he spotted the tank battalion's laager southwest of the town, and lined up some tanks in his pipper. Just then, he saw a GUN warning light come on, and a bright square with a “23” appear on the EW display. ZSU-23-4....a Shilka. Then it suddenly went off as a male voice gave a “MAGNUM!” call came over the radio, and a fireball appeared down below. Good shooting, Dave, Guru thought as he concentrated on the bomb run. “Steady....Steady......HACK!” He hit the pickle button, releasing his Rockeye CBUs onto the T-72s below. Guru then pulled up and away, applying power and jinking as he did. When he approached the Brazos River, with the Route 174 Bridge to his One O'clock, he made the call. “Lead's off safe.”

“What the...” the Lieutenant Colonel muttered. He saw Guru's F-4 make its run, and the bomb release. He knew right then that the town wasn't the target, but his regiment was. The Colonel at first wondered what the target was, then he realized what was under attack. His tank battalion and striking arm. Not the tanks! Then several fireballs signaled the death of tanks, and who knew how many others were damaged? The Colonel gestured to his aide, and yelled at his driver. “Get me to the tank battalion, NOW!”

His aide tapped him on the shoulder. “Comrade Colonel,” the Captain said politely.

“WHAT?”

“More aircraft coming in.”

The Colonel looked to the south, and sure enough, another F-4 was inbound. “TAKE COVER!” He shouted, and all three leapt out of the jeep and flattened themselves on the ground.


“SHACK!” Goalie yelled from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

Guru jiked to avoid a SAM-probably an SA-13, then he jinked again to avoid some tracers. “How many? He wanted to know.

“Several,” Goalie replied, turning her head around to scan for threats.

“I'll take 'em,” said Guru as he picked up the Brazos River.


“Two's in!” Kara called as 520 went down on its bomb run. She saw where the CO had put down his CBUs, and the secondaries that followed, and decided that had been serviced enough. As Kara went in, she picked out some APCs northwest of the town, and selected those. Your turn, Ivan, she thought as she lined up several APCs in their laager. She, too, took notice of the flak, and even a couple of SAMs that were too big for SA-7s, but failed to guide. Ignoring the ground fire, Kara kept a steady hand as she got ready for bomb release. “And...Steady....And.....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, releasing her dozen Rockeyes onto the motor-rifle battalion's position. Kara then pulled up and away, jinking and applying power to clear the target. Once clear, she made the call, “Two's off target.”


“Sookin sin!” Son of a bitch, the Colonel muttered as Kara's F-4 overflew the town, and he watched again as the bombs came off. This time, he knew right away what the target was, and that was First Battalion's positions. As he watched the big Phantom pull up, he heard many small explosions, then saw several fireballs erupt in the fighter's wake. Not again....Then he noticed the AA guns on the rooftops turning back to the south. More Americans? Not now, not today, he thought.


“BULLSEYE!” Brainiac shouted from 520's back seat. “Multiple secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she jinked left to avoid tracers, and then right to avoid a couple of missiles-both of them SA-7 sized by the size of their smoke trails. Say what you want about Ivan, she thought, but those gunners down there had guts.

“Two-handed multiple,” her GIB replied.

“Good enough,” Kara said as she approached the Brazos, and picked up the CO's bird.


“Three's in!” That was Sweaty's call as she came in on her bomb run. She saw Kara's target area, and spotted another laager northeast of the town. Selecting that as her target area, Sweaty picked out some APCs and what looked like supply trucks in the field. Time to make you go away, she thought as she lined up the trucks and a couple of APCs. Sweaty, too, saw the flak coming up, and ignored it, and the SAMs as well-and these were both SA-7s and larger ones-maybe SA-9 or -13? No matter, Sweaty thought as the trucks and APCs grew larger in her pipper. “And...And...And....HACK!” She hit her pickle button, and sent her dozen Mark-82s down onto the Russians below. Sweaty then pulled up, applying power and jinking to avoid flak, and after clearing the target area, she made the call, “Three off target.”

The Colonel watched as Sweaty's F-4 flew over the town, then released its bombs. “Mother of god.....” the Colonel muttered, not caring if anyone heard that. Again, he knew what the target was, and this time, it was Second Battalion's laager. A few choice curses left his lips as the bombs landed, and the Colonel both heard and felt the explosions. The Colonel turned to his aide, and found another officer there as well-his new Zampolit. To the Colonel, the latter looked properly terrified. Good. Let that hack find out that the latest Party blather didn't fit where they were now. He looked up, and saw the guns on the rooftops swinging back to the south, and that told him another aircraft was coming in. This raid wasn't over just yet....


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

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid a SAM-probably an SA-7, then again to avoid another, which was bigger-either an SA-9 or -13.

“Rightously big!”

Sweaty grinned beneath her oxygen mask. The ex-Seminary student turned WSO never forgot where he came from, and yet, she wondered what the priests back at the Seminary would say about his new choice of profession. Save that for later, she said to herself. “That'll have to do,” she replied as she headed for the Brazos, picking up the CO's element in the distance.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came down for his run. He saw the results of Sweaty's run, and picked out another laager to the southeast of the town. You'll do, Ivan, he thought as both 23-mm and 37-mm flak came up, along with two or three SAMs-MANPADS by the size of them. No matter, Hoser thought as he lined up some APCs and trucks in the middle of the laager. Battalion command group, maybe? Hoser thought. Your time's up, Ivan....He lined them up in his pipper. “And...And...And....NOW!” Hoser hit the pickle button, and his dozen Mark-82s came off the racks. After bomb release, Hoser pulled up, applying power and jinking as he did, and when he cleared the town, he made his call, “Four off target.”

“Nyet!” The Colonel said, more to himself than to anyone around him. He saw Hoser's F-4 make its run, and the bomb release. The big Phantom overflew part of the town, and the Colonel saw the AA guns trying to track the aircraft, but their fire fell behind, as the F-4 was just too fast. He looked to the south, and saw four more aircraft orbiting, then they dropped down and followed the others out. As they did, he heard the townspeople cheering. If it was reversed, we'd do the same, he knew. Standing up, he started to issue orders. Time to see what the Yankees had done to his regiment, and to count the losses. The Colonel looked at his Political Officer, who was still visibly shaken. “Well, Comrade, this was your first air raid, wasn't it?”

“Is it always like this, Comrade Colonel?” The Party man replied.

“Be glad you weren't here two weeks ago,” the Colonel smiled. “We had a ground battle and plenty of air strikes. When you hear the veterans giving advice to newcomers such as you?”

“Yes?”

“Take it,” said the Colonel. He then got into his jeep with his aide and a radioman, and headed off to check on his battalions.

“Four in and out,” Guru said as 512 got to the Brazos. “One-five, One-seven, get your elements down and out of Dodge.”

“Roger, Lead,” Dave Golen called back. “MAGNUM!” He added as he shot his last Maverick.

“On the way,” Paul Jackson replied as the two RAF F-4Js followed.

“Copy that,” Guru said. “Two, where are you?”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied.

Guru turned his head, and saw 520 right with him in Combat Spread. “Got you,” he called. “Sweaty?”

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

“Roger that,” Guru said. He was keeping up his visual scanning. Now that the target had been hit, he and the rest of the flight weren't flying for God and Country, but for themselves. Then he heard a call that no one wanted to hear, this time from Dave Golen.

“Lead, Five. BREAK! Bandits above, coming down!”

Without hesitating, Guru pulled up and right, while Kara went hard left and low-down to 400 Feet AGL, and as both broke, the crews spotted two MiG-23s coming down. “Where the hell did they come from?” Guru asked as he called up his Sidewinders.

“AWACS got sloppy,” Goalie said as she kept visual on the bandits.

“Lead, One-seven,” Paul Jackson called. “We're on them.” He called up his own AIM-9s as he rolled in behind the MiGs and applied power.

Guru pulled up, and watched as the MiGs overshot. He caught a brief glimpse of their insignia on the wings and tail, and saw a green circle on the wings, and a green flag on the tail. “Libyans again.”

“Lead, Two, Got visual, and coming around,” Kara said. She, too, armed her Sidewinders, and was hoping for that tenth kill.

“Three and four coming in,” Sweaty added. With fangs out, she said to herself as she armed her own weapons.

However, the two RAF crews made such preparations moot. Jackson rolled in behind the Libyan lead, and was amazed at his opponent's maneuvering-or more precisely, the lack thereof. “Bloody hell! Where'd he learn fighter tactics?”

“He must've stayed home that day,” Dave Gledhill replied. He checked their own six. “We're clear. He's yours.”

“Roger that,” Jackson said as he uncaged a Sidewinder and the loud growl of the seeker filled his headset. It got louder to signal missile lock. “FOX TWO!” Jackson called as he squeezed the trigger, sending an AIM-9L after the MiG-23.

In the MiG the acting CO of the Libyan Air Force's 1047th Fighter Squadron grinned beneath his oxygen mask. He and his wingman had been flying over their comrades on the ground when explosions on the ground to the southwest caught his attention. Not even bothering to contact the A-50 AWACS aircraft, he motioned to his wingman with hand signals. Follow me. Not even using his radar, the Libyan Lieutenant led his wingman-a decent chap who was seconded from the Syrian Air Force, after the Americans who had slaughtered his squadron a few days earlier-or so he hoped. He spotted two F-4s that were leading the way for several others, and ignoring everything he'd been taught, charged after eight F-4s with only two.

He dropped on the lead element, but when he saw the two F-4s break, the Lieutenant knew he'd been made. Looking around, he saw two more F-4s coming in from above, and called his wingman to break. As he turned, he lost visual with the F-4, before there was a loud BANG, then every warning light on his instrument panel lit up. Before he could grab the handle of his ejection seat, there was another explosion....the last thing he felt was the heat.

In their F-4J, Jackson and Gledhill watched as the AIM-9 tracked the MiG-23 and flew up its tailpipe. The missile detonated, and the MiG began to trail fire. Then there was a larger explosion as the MiG blew apart. “SPLASH!” Jackson called.

“Hear that?” Guru said as he picked up the MiG leader just in time to see the fireball in the sky.

“That's what, seven?” Goalie asked as she worked the radar controls, trying to pick up the other MiG.

“Think so,” Guru replied. He had his head on a swivel, looking for the other Flogger. “Two, you with me?”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied. “Tally Flogger, Eleven O'clock, three miles.” She uncaged a Sidewinder, even though a side shot wasn't advised. But if he turned away....

Susan Napier and Razor Wilkinson, though, had other ideas, They saw the MiG leader go in a fireball, and picked up the wingman as he was trying to find a target for himself. “Easy, Lead,” Napier called. “We're on him,” she added as both of them saw Guru and Kara's F-4s coming in. She uncaged a Sidewinder and got lock almost immediately. She squeezed the trigger, and called, “FOX TWO!”

The MiG wingman was frantically looking around for his leader. He had heard nothing over the radio, and the sight of a fireball in the sky at first, gave him hope. Did the Lieutenant score? Then he saw several Phantoms, and knew that his leader hadn't, and that fireball was him. Suddenly, there was a loud BANG, and his instrument panel's warning lights lit up. He reflexively grabbed his ejection handle, and the seat fired, sending him clear of his MiG as it tumbled out of the sky. The parachute deployed, and the seat fell away, and as he hung in his seat, an F-4 flew by. The Syrian Lieutenant saw the grey paint scheme, and to his surprise, the insignia on the side. Not the Americans-but British! “The English? Here?”

Napier and Wilkinson watched as the Sidewinder went off just below the MiG's tail, and the Flogger began to stream fire. The canopy came off, the seat fired, and the pilot was soon hanging in his chute. Resisting the temptation to blow him a kiss, Napier flew right past him, then joined up on her element lead. “Two has a splash!”

“Another one for Napier,” Goalie said.

“Save it for later,” Guru said as he turned back north. “Flight, Lead. Form up and let's get the hell out of here.”

“On you,” Kara said as she came up in Combat Spread.

“Sweaty and Hoser on your six,” Sweaty called.

“Five and Six with you,” Dave Golen added.

“Seven and Eight here,” Paul Jackson said.

“Roger all,” Guru replied as he took 512 down to 400 Feet AGL and past the Brazospoint Bridge. He turned slightly to the right, getting into the Nicaraguan sector, then turning back left, just to the east of the river, and yet, still able to use it as a navigation aid. “How far to Glen Rose Bridge?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie called.

“Copy,” Guru said as the flight skimmed the east bank.

“And there's the bridge,” said Goalie as the bridge appeared at their Eleven O'clock. “And the flak.” As usual, the East German flak gunners were alert and shooting.

“Right on time,” Guru deadpanned. He then called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say bandits?”

A controller replied right away. “Rambler, Warlock. Bandits bearing One-eight-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second group bearing One-four-zero for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru called. “Do you have Bogey Dope?”

“Affirmative,” the controller replied. “First bandits are Floggers, second are Fulcrums. Wait one,” the controller paused, then continued. “Rambler, third group of Bandits. Bearing Two-four-zero for seventy. Medium, closing. Bandits are Fulcrums.”

MiG-29s, Guru thought. They're calling in the clans on us this time. “Roger that, Warlock.”

“Fifteen seconds to Lake Granbury Dam,” Goalie reported.

“Screw that!” Guru said. He took 512 down to 350 Feet AGL, and the others followed as he cut across two bends in the river, bypassing the dam, but cutting into the East German sector. Still, they were in range of the flak gunners at the dam, and they swung their weapons to the south and began shooting. However, the strike flight was too fast for the gunners to track, and they outdistanced the Triple-A.

“Twenty seconds to Granbury bridges.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He took a look at his EW display and saw only the Mainstay signal. Here's hoping they can't track us in the weeds, he thought. He then took the flight back across the river into the Nicaraguan sector just as the U.S. 377 bridge appeared, and the AAA from the East Germans came at them.

“East Germans on the ball,” Goalie observed. As the bridge went past, she took a quick look. Empty. “No traffic.”

“Not this time,” Guru said as the old U.S. 377 bridge went by, and the damaged Railroad Bridge as well. Then he took the flight right down the middle of Lake Granbury, leaving the town-and the AAA-behind them. “Warlock, Rambler. Say bandits.”

“Rambler Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS controller replied. “Bandits bearing One-eight-five for forty. Medium, going away. Second bandits bearing One-two-five for fifty. Medium, turning...now going away. Third group bearing Two-two-zero for sixty. Medium, going away.”

“They're not keen on an Eagle welcoming committee,” Goalie quipped.

“Would you?” Guru said. “Roger that, Warlock.”

“Not me,” replied Goalie. “Thirty seconds to the fence.” That was the I-20.

Guru checked his map. If they followed the river, the I-20 bridges over the Brazos would be where they crossed the fence, and those bridges had an Army I-HAWK SAM battery in attendance. And those pukes operated on the “Shoot them down and sort them out later” mentality, or so it seemed. “Got it,” he said. A couple of miles short of the freeway, he turned west, and the others followed, then they picked up the interstate west of the bridges. “And there's the fence.”

“We're here,” Goalie said. And no trigger-happy Army pukes on the ground shooting at them.

“Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out,” Guru called, then he climbed to altitude.

Once the flight had climbed away, they headed to the tanker track, and the usual post-strike refueling. This time, they all hooked up from KC-135s or KC-10s. Once that was done, Rambler Flight headed back to Sheppard.

Upon arrival, Rambler Flight was third in the pattern, behind the eastbound C-141 and a flight of Marine F-4s. When it was their turn in the pattern, the two RAF birds each did a victory roll, much to the delight of those watching on the ground, then everyone came in and landed.

As they taxied in, popped their canopies, and raised them, the crews noticed the news crew filming-as if their very jobs depended on it. They zeroed in on the two RAF F-4s, whose crews were each holding up a finger to signal a MiG kill.

“Well, now,” Jana Wendt said to the 335th's PAO, Lieutenant Patti Brown, who had gotten back from a strike herself about fifteen minutes earlier. “Guess who we'll be trying to interview?”

The PAO nodded, but said, “Remember, they'll be a little busy after they shut down, and have to make the intelligence people happy.”

“I know, but we'll get them one way or another.”

The flight taxied into the 335th's dispersal area, then the individual crews taxied to their revetments. Guru found 512's revetment, and followed his Crew Chief's signals to taxi in. Once in, he got the “Stop” signal, then the ground crew came out with the wheel chocks. Only then did Guru get the “Shut down” signal. Then it was time for the post-flight check.

“Three and done,” Guru said as he and Goalie went through the checklist.

“One more?” Goalie asked. She knew already, but still..... “As long as it's not CAS.”

“You are preaching to the choir,” Guru said. When done, both pilot and GIB got up and climbed down from the aircraft and took off their helmets, as the Crew Chief came with a bottle of water for both of them. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“How'd it go out there, sir?” Sergeant Crowley asked.

“Made some armor go away,” Goalie quipped.

“And the RAF got a couple of MiGs,” added Guru.

Hearing that, Crowley was beaming. “Shit hot! Uh, sir.”

Guru laughed. “Sarge, you can use that kind of language on the ramp anytime, for all I care.” He took a drink of water, then went on. “Besides, after a strike? It's damned appropriate.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sure is,” Goalie added.

Guru nodded, then looked at the aircraft, then back at his Crew Chief. “All right, Sarge. Let's get her ready for the next one. We've got time for one more strike.”

Crowley nodded himself. “You got it, Major! All right, you guys, you heard the Boss! Let's get her ready for the next one!” And the ground crew went to work.

Guru and Goalie then headed for the revetment's entrance, and as usual, Kara and Brainiac were already there. “Well?” Guru asked his wingmate. “How'd you guys do?”

“Made some APCs go away,” Kara said. “You got some armor.” It wasn't a question.

“How'd you guess?”

“You rolled in on the tank battalion laager,” Kara grinned. “Recognized that from the photos.”

Goalie grinned. “And some of 'em went up.”

“They did,” Guru said as Sweaty and Hoser came with Preacher and KT. “What about you guys?”

“Tore up some APCs, each,” Sweaty replied. “Now, the RAF's hogging the air-to-air stuff.”

“It's what they're here for,” Guru reminded them. Then Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs-Terry McAuliffe and Jang, arrived. “Thanks for killing the air-defense threat.”

“Not all of them,” Dave nodded. “But we got enough.”

“And killed a few tanks or APCs when the air-defense people shut down,” Flossy added.

Guru nodded as the two RAF crews came over. “Dave,” he said to Dave Gledhill. “Nice job with the Floggers. That's what, seven for you?”

“Thanks,” Gledhill replied. “Eight for me, but six for Paul and Susan. By the way, did anyone notice who those chaps were?”

“Green circle on the fuselage and wings, with a green flag on the tail,” Kara said. “Those were Qaddafi's boys.”

“And they flew like they expected to get splashed,” Susan Napier added. “Who taught those guys?”

“Good question,” a voice said. Sin Licon, the Squadron Intelligence Officer came over. “Libyans again?”

“They were, and they didn't check their six,” Dave Golen commented. “That's poor training.”

“Or target fixation,” Flossy said. “They were focused on the Boss and Kara, and didn't check to see if anybody else was around.”

Kara nodded. “Either way,” she said as she finished a bottle of water. “They paid for it. The guy who bailed out? That's one debrief I'd like to hear.”

“Ditto,” Guru said. “We debriefing out here, Sin?”

“No, sir,” the intel replied. “But we need to go in and get that done, then Doc asked me to remind you all to see if you can get a workout in before the last mission.”

The CO looked at him. “Doc checking off names again?”

“I plead the Fifth on that, Boss.”

Guru cracked a grin at that. “Okay, Sin. Let's get the debrief done.” Then he turned to the crews. “Let's make the intel happy, check your desks and see if the armchair warriors sent you anything, and try and get a workout in before the next one.”

“One more run?” Kara asked.

“One more,” Guru nodded. “Let's go and debrief, then get the rest out of the way."
__________________
Treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect, but always have a plan to kill them.

Old USMC Adage
Reply With Quote