[Matt Wiser]

And the morning goes on, two more missions before lunch:


Over New Mexico: 0950 Hours:


Corvette Flight headed into enemy territory, and as they crossed the Sandias south of Manzano Peak, their RWR receivers were clear. Either the EW effort was working, or so many radars had been knocked out, and gaps torn in the ComBloc air defense net. “How long to Route 55?” Guru called.

“One minute,” Goalie replied. “Stand by to turn.”

“Roger that.” Guru then called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One. Say threat?”

“Corvette Two-One, Negative threat.”

“Copy.”

“Stand by....and turn!” Goalie called.

Guru put the F-4 into a turn, and the rest of the flight followed. “One minute thirty to pop-up?”

“Roger that,” Goalie said.

“Flight, Lead. Pick up your visual scanning. Don't want to be caught like last time,”

“Copy, Lead,” Sweaty called.

“Stand by...” Goalie said. “Now!”

Guru put the F-4 into a climb, and as he did, he could see the Mountainair Municipal Airport off to his right. “Target in sight. Lead is in hot.” He banked right, and began to roll in on the target.

“Switches set,” Goalie said. “We're hot.”


Down below, the Cuban Air Force's 261st Helicopter Squadron was trying to get their Mi-25 Hinds and Mi-8 Hips airborne. Several of each had already been shot down, and despite the skies being full of American aircraft, the ground forces needed their support. So far, the field hadn't been bombed yet, but the base commander knew his time would come. Apart from the armorers and maintenance personnel, the base commander had every available man digging slit trenches and foxholes, or improving already existing facilities, because sooner or later, the Americans would strike his field. He was distracted by a rumble off to the west. This time of day, he knew it wasn't desert thunder-he'd been exposed to enough of that the last year and a half. No, it was artillery fire. And it was coming closer.

“Steady, steady...” Guru called. He could see several helos and a couple An-2 transports on what passed for a parking area on this dirt field. Nice try, Fidel....and....”HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and six five-hundred pound and six seven-hundred and fifty pound bombs came off the aircraft. “Lead off target.”

There had been no warning. The first indication the Cubans had that their field was under attack was Guru's Phantom flying past, and then that Phantom laid a dozen bombs across the runway and the improvised parking area. Two Hips, a Hind, and one of the An-2s fireballed as bombs exploded on and around them.

“Madre Dios...,” the base commander said as one of his officers pulled him into a trench.

“Two's in hot!” Kara called. She rolled in on the western side of the field, and saw an An-2 trying to take off. She didn't have time to arm her 20-mm gun, but instead focused on the bomb run. “HACK!” She called, and walked her bombs across the runway, blasting holes in it, and also landing a bomb on a ZPU gun emplacement, whose gunners died not even knowing they were under attack. “Two off target.”

“Three's in hot,” Sweaty called. She selected the center of the runway, and saw two Hips siting next to it, still intact. She came in and smoothly walked her bombs across the center of the dirt runway, and exploded both Hips, as a five-hundred pound bomb landed between the two helos. “Three's off safe,” she called as Two-Three pulled away from the target, and right over the town of Mountainair.

“Four in hot,” Hoser called. He saw that the field had been smacked by the first three, but saw one area that hadn't been affected: a parking area south of the field for fuel trucks. Since there was no fuel storage here, even before the war, all fuel for the helicopters-and the occasional visiting An-2 or An-26, had to be delivered by fuel trucks. So Hoser made a turn before rolling in, coming in from due east, and walking his bombs along the south side of the runway. Several fuel trucks exploded, and a couple bombs landed in a tent area south of the runway. As he pulled out, he saw an An-2, to his surprise, take off and pull away to the east. You are one lucky SOB, he thought as he called. “Four off target.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Form on me, music on, and let's get the hell out of here.”

All four F-4s joined up and they headed right for the Rio Grande. As they headed west, all of the crews noticed Marine F-4s and A-4s overhead in abundance, providing CAS to the Marines on the ground. They even heard a Marine FAC simply stack aircraft up from 5,000 up to 25,000 feet, and telling newly arriving aircraft, “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.”

“Guru, Sweaty. Glad that ain't us?” Sweaty called her flight leader.

“Roger that!” Guru replied. “Crossing the fence.”

“Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace. We show you across the fence. Do you need a vector to the tankers?”

“Negative, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied. “Not this time.”

“Roger, Corvette. Maintain Two-Seven-Zero until state line.”

“Copy,” Guru replied.

Once they reached the Arizona-New Mexico state line, they were then able to head to Williams. After coming into the pattern, they had to wait as several flights of both AF and Marine aircraft took off, then the flight was able to land. After taxiing to their dispersal area, the crews got out, relieved that this one had gone off almost like a training mission. “Good one, Guru,” Goalie said.

“If they were all like that...” Guru said. “Take 'em while we can.”

“Hey, did anyone see an An-2 on the runway?” Kara asked as they walked back to the Hummer.

“Yeah,” Hoser said. “He took off just as I was pulling away. He's lucky.”

Sweaty nodded. “Those things can land anywhere. He probably found a strip someplace to the east.”

Guru nodded as Sergeant Crowely came up. “Sergeant.”

“Sir. Anything we need to know?” He was asking about maintenance issues.

“No, not yet. Pull the strike camera footage, and..” Guru stopped. He saw the ordnance crews coming with a mixed CBU and dumb bomb load. “Well....I know what we're carrying.”

“Yes, sir. Be ready in thirty minutes,” Crowley said.

“Okay, Sergeant,” Guru said. Then he noticed Colonel Rivers and the SIO waiting. “Sir.”

“How'd things go, XO?” Rivers asked.

“This one was as close to a milk run as we'll probably get. No Triple-A, no SAMs, no nothing.”

“BDA?”The SIO, Licon, asked.

“I'm claiming a couple of helos on the ground,” Guru said. “Put a few holes in the runway and the parking area. Calling that an airport is an overstatement, though.”

“Same here,” Sweaty added. “You'll have to check our strike camera footage, though.”

“Roger that,” said Kara. “Put mine on the runway, and maybe a bomb or two on a flak site.”

“Hoser?” Licon asked.

“Fuel dump,” West replied. “Made that go away.”

“Thanks, all of you,” Licon said. “BDA should be available later today. Recon's been active all morning, and don't be surprised if you see a high flier.”

“U-2s?” Goalie asked.

“Maybe,” Licon said. “Thanks again,” and then the SIO went off to receive another incoming flight.

“Let me guess,” said Sweaty. “SR-71s?”

“Maybe,” Rivers said. “Don't be surprised if they did show.”

Guru nodded. He noticed the maintenance folks and the ordnance people working. Many of the men were either wearing sleeveless T-Shirts or were going bare-chested, while the women in those crews were in the same sleeveless T-Shirts or were in sports bras. “If Carson saw those, he'd go ballistic.”

“No kidding,” Rivers said. “So far, nothing yet.”

“Give him time,” Kara nodded.

Guru nodded, then he saw the object of their discussion coming towards the group. “Uh-oh... Speak of the devil.”

Major Frank Carson came over. He was easily the most despised officer in the squadron, and that opinion was shared by everyone else in the unit, both officers and enlisted. An Academy grad, he was notorious for blindly enforcing every rule and regulation, even when those made no sense. Throw in his distaste for officers who were not Academy grads, or Academy grads who were “one of the boys” after hours, female aircrew, and just about how the 335th was run, and it added up to trouble. “Colonel,” he said, giving a perfect Academy salute. “Are you going to do anything about the airmen who are out of uniform on the ramp?”

“No,” Rivers said. “Other than telling the NCOs to have plenty of sunscreen handy. It's a hot day, in case you haven't noticed.”

“Sir!” Carson wailed.

“In case you haven't noticed, Major,” Rivers said. “We're at war. And right now, I don't give a damn how the ramp crews are dressed. If it keeps them comfortable while they're doing their jobs? I could care less.”

“Sir....You don't understand!”

“No, Major, you don't. Unlike you, I know what parts of the book to keep and what to throw away. Now get ready to go out again in fifteen. You're my number three again.”

“Yes, Sir....,” grumbled the Major.

“And Major? If you write anyone up for a uniform violation who's working on the ramp, I'll put it right where it belongs,” Rivers nodded.

“Very good, Sir!”

“In the office shredder,” Rivers said, seeing Carson's face deflate. “Now get ready to go out.”

“Yes, Sir.,” Carson saluted and headed to his own aircraft in a fit of the sulks.

“Now that's out of the way,” Rivers said. “Here's where you guys are headed.” He pulled out a TPC chart of Central New Mexico. “Right here...” Rivers pointed to a town called White Lakes, north of I-40 on U.S. 285.

“What's the target, Sir?” Guru asked.

“Supply dump and truck park. Right now their whole front in this part of New Mexico is coming apart, and III Corps is going forward a lot faster than they thought,” Rivers said. “Keep up the pressure, and don't give 'em time to regroup.”

“And if we don't find the dump? It could be empty by the time we get there.”

“Look for any military traffic on either 285 or State Highway 41. Stay away from I-40. The Army wants it intact,” Rivers said.

“Understood,” Guru said. “Sir, what's the threat?”

“Threat is mainly MANPADS and light flak-mainly ZU-23s. The SA-3 site at Clines Corners is down-the Weasels got there this morning,” The CO said.

“Good to hear, Boss,” Guru said. “Oh, Dave Golen's probably looking for you. I think he wants some stick time.”

“General Tanner sent something in case he wanted some,” Rivers said. “ID, dog tags, insignia, all of it. If he gets shot down, as far as everyone's concerned, he's one of us.”

'Yes, Sir.” Guru said.

“Okay, get something to eat, hit the latrine, because you're headed out as soon as you're turned around,” Rivers said.”And one other thing: good luck.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Guru said.

Colonel Rivers nodded as he headed off to get ready for his next flight.

Kara nodded as she got a Gatorade from the cooler. “Why hasn't he kicked Carson out?”

“Like it or not, he's qualified,” Guru said. “We still need warm bodies, even if he did barely qualify.”

“In the air, he could get somebody killed-or himself,” Sweaty pointed out. “Who qualified him?”

“Not sure,” Guru admitted. “I'll check his file.” As squadron Exec, he could do that. He went to the cooler and got a bottle of water. “What's the temperature?”

“Air or ramp?” Goalie asked. She had gotten out of the top half of her flight suit, as had Kara, Sweaty, and “KT” Thornton, and everyone else, for that matter. All had their T-Shirts and sports bras on, of course, but the sweat made sure that didn't help hide things. Much.

“Either one,” he said as he downed some water.

“How does 92 degrees sound? Or here on the ramp, it's probably 105.”

“Ugh,” Kara said as she picked at another sandwich. “Stay away from the brown stuff.”

“Why?” Sweaty's WSO, Preacher Simmonds, asked.

“One of those just moved.”

“Don't be surprised if somebody got a BLT from those jarheads and the tomato looked back at you.” Goalie said as she chomped down on a turkey sandwich, and the crews laughed.

Guru had just finished his water and a turkey sandwich when Sergeant Crowley came over. “Sir, all four birds are ready to go.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He turned to his flight. “Take care of any business at the latrine, then we'll brief and launch.”

After everyone had come back from the latrine, and back into their flight suits and G-Suits, Guru gave his brief. “I'll keep this short. We're looking for a supply dump and truck park, north of I-40 on 285. The local SA-3 site is down, so we're good on that score. If the dump and park are empty, we look for military traffic on either 285 or Highway 41. Stay away from I-40, like the Boss said.”

“They want a Cannonball Run to the Texas State Line, and the freeway's the best way to do it,” Kara nodded.

“Right on that,” Guru said. “Any other questions?” There were none. “All right; let's go.” He picked up his helmet and went to his mount, 512, with Goalie right behind him. After a quick walkaround, they mounted their aircraft and ran through the preflight, and ran up their J-79 engines. After receiving permission to taxi, they taxied to the end of the runway, where the armorers pulled off the weapon safety pins. Once that was done, the F-4s taxied onto the runway, where the tower flashed a green light, and all four rumbled down the runway and into the air.


Over East-Central New Mexico; 1130 Hours:


Corvette Flight was once again over familiar territory, having flown numerous strikes into this part of New Mexico. Only this time, they were at 10,000 feet, and not having to worry about SAM activity, for both the EW and SEAD effort had paid off, and the ComBloc's air defense network in this area had been taken apart. Now the aircrews were looking for the truck park and supply dump that they had been tasked to hit. “Anything?” Guru asked Goalie, who was scanning the ground below with binoculars.

“Nothing yet. This might be a wild-goose chase,” she replied.

“Wouldn't surprise me if these guys just pulled up and left,” Guru said.

“Guru, Sweaty,” was the call over his radio. “We've got something.”

“Where?” Guru asked.

“Eleven O’clock low,” came the reply. “Look for the truck tracks.”

“Got it!” Goalie said.

“I see it,” replied Guru. “One pass: CBUs only. See if we can find the supply dump.”

“Copy,” Sweaty replied.

“Two, on me,” Guru called, and he saw Starbuck coming into formation in a right echelon. “One pass, east to west.”

“Roger that,” Kara replied.

“Copy, two,” said Guru. “Set us up: wing stations have the CBUs.”

“Got it,” Goalie replied, stowing the binoculars. She worked the armament switches. “You're set.”

“Time to go,” Guru said. “Lead's in hot!” He turned and rolled down the chute, lining up on the truck tracks below.


Below, the truck drivers and their MVD escorts were deciding what to do. Some of the truck drivers' destinations were now rumored to be in enemy hands, and the last thing the drivers-most of whom had been in the military twenty or twenty-five years earlier-wanted to do was keep going and run into the Americans. Others, including their MVD escorts, wanted to keep going, and at least find someone in authority to get further instructions from. They were still arguing with each other when an MVD lieutenant pointed skyward.

“Steady, steady,” Guru called, “HACK!” He hit the pickle button and six Rockeye CBUs came off the wing stations. He pulled up and leveled off, glad to have no return fire. “Lead off target.”

Six Rockeye CBUs have 1,482 bomblets. Guru's run effectively covered most of the truck park with the bomblets, and some of the trucks had fuel or ammunition as cargo....

“Two in hot!” Kara called. She saw the secondary explosions on the ground, as well as Guru's plane as it pulled up and away, rolling off to the right. “HACK!” She called, placing her CBUs to the right of her lead's, and careful to keep any of the bomblets away from the road. Even though they hadn't been told to avoid hitting 285, the chances were pretty good that friendlies might be coming down this road soon, and so....”Two's off target.”

“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She rolled in and laid her CBUs between Guru's and Kara's, and she noted that Kara's had also caused some secondary explosions. “Three's off target,” she said as she pulled up and away.

“Four in hot!” Hoser said. He wanted to lay his Rockeyes just to the south of where Guru had put his, and as he went in, he noticed some tracers coming up. Someone down there was shooting back. Mentally, he changed his mission from “attack” to “post-strike flak suppression.” Hoser centered his pipper on the tracers and released, calling, “Four off target.”

Down below, some of the MVD troops were firing back at the attacking aircraft. Though most of them had AKMs, they also had a BTR-152 and a DshK machine gun, and two of the MVD were manning the gun. Then Hoser's F-4 flew over them, and they saw the CBUs open, then hell came down on them as the bomblets detonated, killing and wounding many, and exploding the BTR as well (it being an open-topped vehicle, several bomblets landed inside the track....).


“Good work, Four,” Guru called. “You got secondaries.”

“Thanks, Lead,” Hoser replied.

“Guru, Starbuck. You want to go back and use the '82s?” Kara called her flight leader.

“Negative,” Guru replied. “Let's check out Highway 41. Maybe we can find something there.” He didn't want to go back to 285, because all they had found was the truck park, and no sign of the supply dump.

Back at the remains of the truck park, the survivors picked themselves up, and were deciding what to do. The highway known as “Interstate 40” was only a few kilometers away, and there was a traffic-control point there, one that many had passed through. Maybe they could get some help, or maybe a ride back to their units. Some were hesitant, but exploding trucks and delayed-action bomblets going off as well convinced them that staying around wasn't a good idea.


Up above, the four Phantoms regrouped and headed west. The crews knew the next major north-south road was State Route 41, and with this push on, that road was likely to be jammed with enemy traffic, either reinforcements headed to the front, or those trying to get away. Guru decided to call the AWACS and see if there was not only any threat in the area, but if a FAC or two were working nearby. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One.”

“Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace. Go ahead,” the controller replied.

“Crystal Palace, say bogey dope.”

“Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace, negative bogeys.”

“Copy that. Any Nails working the area?” Guru asked. Nail was the usual FAC call sign.

“Stand by,” the controller said. After a few seconds, the controller returned. “Corvette, contact either Nail Three-One or Nail Three-Seven.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Say closest?”

“Corvette, Crystal Palace, Nail Three-Seven is closest your posit.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Nail Three-Seven, Corvette Two-One with four Foxtrot Fours, inbound from the east.”

“Roger, Corvette, say type of ordnance?” The FAC called.

“Nail, Corvette. Six Mark-eight-twos and full guns each airplane.”

“Copy that. Route Four-One is full. Anything moving there is a target. Free strike,” the FAC replied.

Guru looked ahead and saw an A-7 orbiting. “Roger, Nail. Say ground threat?”

“Corvette, triple-A is the only threat, apart from MANPADS. No heavy stuff.”

Hearing that, Goalie called her pilot on the intercom. “Somebody must've took out the SA-2 south of here.”

“Not complaining about that,” Guru said. “Roger, Nail.”

Corvette Flight came in, and they could see the road was full of traffic. What looked like rear-echelon types headed south, and some armor headed north, towards U.S. 285. “Lead, Sweaty. How do you want it?”

“One pass, northeast to southwest,” Guru said. “Follow me in.”

“Copy,” Sweaty replied.

“Starbuck, Lead. On me.”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Flight, Lead, Let's go to work.” Guru called over the radio. Then he told Goalie, “Switches set.”

“Copy,” she said. “Centerline set. You're hot.”

“Roger,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead's in hot!” He then rolled in on the attack run.

Below, on Highway 41, it was a traffic jam. The Soviet traffic regulators were trying to sort out the rear-services vehicles, who had been ordered to head for Interstate 40 and proceed east from the reinforcements headed in both directions. Tanks and APCs from one division were headed north to block the Americans coming from that direction, while an independent Motor-Rifle Regiment was headed south, to try and shore up the Cubans, who were being torn apart by the U.S. Marines. No one seemed to be paying attention to the sky, and that would prove to be a big mistake.

“Steady, steady,” Guru said to himself as he lined the pipper up on a crossroads. It looked like a small county road was intersecting with the state highway. Oh, well...your bad day, Ivan. “HACK!” He pushed the pickle button, and six Mark-82s came off the centerline rack. “Lead off target.”

Guru's bombs landed right on a traffic control point, and the bombs tore apart several trucks and flipped a BTR-70 over, as well as killing and wounding a number of the truck drivers and traffic regulators. No one even heard the F-4 come in. Then a trucker pointed east. A second plane was coming in...

“Two's in!” Was the call from Starbuck. She put her bombs just to the south of Guru's, and as she pulled away and rolled, she and Brainac saw secondary explosions. Somebody had something that went boom....”Two off target.”

Kara's bombs had landed on several supply trucks belonging to the motor-rifle regiment, and in particular, the artillery battalion. Her Mark-82s set off 122-mm artillery ammo, and there were several large secondaries as a result.

Now it was Sweaty's turn. “Three rolling in hot!” She called as she rolled in. Sweaty saw the explosions down below, and she put her bombs to the north of that. Her bombs landed on some armor headed north, and flipped a T-62 and tore apart several BMPs. But this time, as she pulled out, she saw an SA-7 or -14 coming up. “Three off, with a SAM at Seven O'clock.”

Just north of where Sweaty had dropped her bombs, several BMPs had pulled off the highway, and their infantry had deployed. One of them had an Strela-3 (SA-14) launcher, and he locked up the F-4 and fired.

“Preacher, dump some flares,” Sweaty said as she pulled into a tight turn.

“Gotcha,” he replied, pumping out a number of flares, and trying to see the missile.

“Sweaty, Starbuck,” Kara called. “SAM just hit a flare.”

“Copy,” Sweaty said.

“Four's in hot!” Hoser called. He had seen where the SAM had been launched from, and decided that nobody shoots at his element leader and gets away with it. He rolled in, and saw the dissipating smoke trail, and lined it up in his pipper. “HACK!” He called as he dropped his bombs.

Hoser's bombs landed in the middle of the BMPs, tossing several like toys, and killing or wounding most of the infantrymen around the vehicles. Unlike his element leader, he drew no fire as he pulled out.

“Four's off target,” Hoser called.

“Roger that,” Guru called. “Form on me. One pass is all we get.”

“Still got guns,” Kara reminded her flight leader.

“Not with those Grails around,” Guru said. Grails meant MANPADS to any aircrew.

“Copy,” Kara replied.

“Nail, Corvette, we are Winchester and headed out,” Guru called the FAC.

“Copy, Corvette,” the FAC replied. “Good bombs on target.”

Corvette Flight reformed and headed west. As they cleared the Sandia Mountains north of Albuquerque, they saw the sky over the city full of helicopters, and to their north, I-25 was full of American armor. Both sights were deeply satisfying to the aircrews. As they crossed the Rio Grande, Guru called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One crossing the fence.”

“Copy, Corvette,” the controller replied. “Do you need a vector to the tankers?”

“Roger, Crystal Palace.”

The controller gave the flight a vector to the tanker track over the Continental Divide. This time, they hooked up with a KC-135, and the tankers were just as busy as they had been in the early morning. After refueling, they headed back to Williams, and after waiting a few minutes for outbound traffic to leave, they came in and landed. As they taxied in, the crews saw several Marine A-6s preparing to go out, and they were loaded with laser-guided bombs. There was a term going around those who used LGBs, and that was “tank plinking.” “Looks like the Jarheads are going to plink some tanks,” Goalie commented.

“Wish we could do that more often,” Guru said. Their squadron only had two Pave Spike Pods, and two Pave Tack pods, though several crews were qualified to use both types of pods. Both Guru and Goalie could count on one hand the number of times they'd flown a laser bomb mission.

The flight taxied in to their dispersal area, and shut down. Guru popped his canopy, and let out a big sigh. He checked his watch. “Four missions and it's already 1230.”

“How many more?” Goalie asked as she popped her canopy.

“However many they tell us,” Guru said as the ground crew brought the crew ladders. “Thanks, guys.”

“How'd it go, Sir?” Sergeant Crowley asked as both Guru and Goalie climbed down.

“Ripped up a truck park, and ripped up some armor,” Guru replied. “What's up next?”

Crowley nodded at his pilot. “Ordnance guys will be here in fifteen minutes, Sir. They need a break.”

“They, you guys, and everybody else,” Goalie said.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Crowley said.

“Nothing wrong with the bird, Sergeant,” Guru said as they did a postflight walk around. “No holes that we can see.”

“Thanks, Sir,” Crowley said. “They brought some more stuff for the cooler and more coffee.”

“All right, Sergeant,” Guru said. He headed to the Hummer, and found Mark Ellis and Darren Licion waiting. “Guys.”

Ellis put out his hand. “How'd it go, Guru?”

“Not bad,” Guru replied as the rest of the flight came over. “Tore up the truck park, but there was no sign of the supply depot.”

“What?” Licon asked, clearly surprised. “It was on the photos, clear as day.”

“Probably a dummy,” Sweaty chimed in. “Not the first time somebody got fooled that way.”

“I'll go along with that,” Kara added. “But the truck park....lots of secondaries there.”

“I'll check the strike footage,” Licon said. “What else?”

“We hit traffic on Route 41,” Guru added. “Lots of armor and trucks. Tanks, APCs, supply vehicles, that sort of thing.”

“FAC directed?” Licon wanted to know.

“You got it. Nail Three-Seven was his call sign.”

“Okay, I'll find out from him, and look at the strike footage,” Licon said. “Any threats?”

“Sweaty had a SA-7 shot at her,” Hoser said. “I put my stuff down on those guys.”

“Close call?” Mark Ellis asked.

“No, it went after a flare,” Kara said. “I don't think Sweaty even saw it.”

“We didn't,” Sweaty confirmed. “But the flares did their job.”

“Okay, I'll check with the FAC, and go over your strike footage,” Licon said. “Thanks, guys.” He then went off to debrief another returning flight.

“What's next, Mark?” Guru asked.

“On-call CAS again, but not until 1400. You guys deserve a break,” Ellis said. “Rivers said so.”

“He here?” Guru asked, reaching for the cooler and a bottle of water.

“No, he went out ten minutes ago,” Ellis said. “And Dave Golen was flying with him.”

“Carson with the Boss?”

“Yep,” Ellis said. “With Golen as element lead. Carson's number two to Dave.”

“Let's hope Frank learns something from him,” Guru said. “Though I doubt it.”

“Right on that,” Ellis said. “Oh, don't go into the squadron's building. The power's out, and thus the A/C.”

“What happened?” Sweaty asked. “Sabotage?”

Ellis shook his head. “Still checking. Power company says a transformer blew, but the FBI and OSI are out, making sure.”

“With this push on,” Kara said, “some sleeper agent must've decided to go active.”

“Probably,” Ellis admitted. “They still don't know yet.”

“Okay, Mark,” Guru said. “If anyone needs to see me, send 'em over this way.”

“Gotcha,” said Ellis.

While they were waiting for their birds to be turned around, the crews helped themselves to some more cool drinks, and the Marine mess people came around with some hot meals for lunch. “Captain, want something hot?” A Marine Mess Sergeant asked. “Hot steak and cheese sandwiches, burgers and fries, or fried chicken?”

The crews had lunch while sitting under a tarp that someone had strung up from the Hummer to a tie-down position. And to Guru's relief, no one asked about squadron business, only what they'd seen and done. So a lot of swapping stories, and comparing notes went on, and while that was going on, the turnaround process began. So far, the 335th had not lost any aircraft or crews, but since they had half a day to go, that could easily change. About halfway through the break, Colonel Rivers' flight landed. After he debriefed, Rivers and Dave Golen came over. “Guru,” Rivers said.

“Boss,” Guru replied. “How's it going?”

“Well, First Cav is in Santa Fe, and they're headed for Highways 285, and 84 if they can. They want to get to I-40 and pocket what's left of Albuquerque's defenders.”

“Then who's in Albuquerque?” Kara asked.

“That's 23rd ID and the 11th Airborne. Fifth Marine Division to the south, and the rest of Sixth Army. The Rio Grande line just collapsed, and the ComBloc is headed east. And we're right behind 'em,” Rivers said.

“Good to hear, Sir,” Goalie said. “What's going on to the north?”

“Denver's relieved, and the whole ComBloc line in Colorado's starting to come apart. Not as fast as here, but...” Rivers said.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Boss, we still got half a day to go.”

“Right on that,” Rivers nodded. He noticed the ordnance crews bringing ordnance to Guru's flight. “And you guys are going first.”

Guru and his flight noticed the ordnance. Napalm tanks and Mark-82s with fuze extenders. The old Vietnam “Shake and bake” load. “Barbeque time,” he observed.

“Yep,” Rivers said. He turned to Dave Golen. “Look familiar?”

“Like the Yom Kippur War, as I said to the Captain, but with a difference,” Golen remarked.

“What's that?”

“You're winning.”

“Can't argue with that,” Kara quipped.

Master Sergeant Michael Ross, the squadron's senior NCO, came over. “Colonel,” he said to Rivers. “The power's back on. Along with the A/C.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Rivers said. “Now to see if Carson left anything on my desk.”

“If he did, Boss, may I suggest making good on that promise?” Guru asked. He was barely concealing his loathing for the overzealous Major.

“You may, Guru,” Rivers said. “And I'll make good on it.” He shook Guru's hand. “Good luck on the next one.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

Rivers then shook hands with the rest of the flight, and headed back to the squadron offices with Ross. Golen stayed, since he had his one mission for the day, and watched as the ordnance crews finished. “Your people are starting to slow down,” he observed.

“They were working when we got here,” Goalie said. “No wonder.”

Sergeant Crowley came over. “Captain Wiser, the birds are locked and cocked. Ready to go.”

Guru nodded. “Thanks.” He finished a bottle of water, then turned to the flight. “Hit the latrines, then come back here.”

Everyone headed off, did their business at the portable latrines, then came back to the Hummer. “What's next?” Sweaty asked.

“On-call CAS,” Guru replied. “Call AWACS, and they tell us which FAC to go to.”

“Great,” Hoser said. “No way to know where?”

“Nope,” Guru replied. “North or south, wherever the controller sends us.”

“Lovely,” Kara spat.

“I'd rather go and bust up an airfield-like Cannon or Holloman, but not our call,” Guru reminded everyone. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. He picked up his helmet. “Let's hit it.”

The crews headed to their aircraft, and though the walkaround was normal, the preflight in the cockpit was one that their flight instructors would have had fits over. After engine start, the tower cleared them to taxi, then the flight taxied to the runway. There, the armorers removed the safety pins on the weapons. After taxiing onto the runway, the tower flashed a green light, and the F-4s rumbled down the runway and into the air.