[Matt Wiser]

The next day's flying gets going:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 20 November 1987; 0530 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser left Officer Country and walked to the Squadron Office. A quick glance to the east, with the first faint hint of twilight appearing, revealed a cloudless sky. That meant good flying weather, and VFR all the way. Satisfied, he went into the office, and found the temporary Night-Shift SDO. “Digger,” the CO said.

“Boss,” Digger said. “Ankle's coming along, Doc says.”

“How long until he clears you?” Guru asked.

“Two or three days,” Digger said.

“Listen to Doc,” the CO reminded Flossy's regular GIB. “He may only be a Captain, but he does outrank me-and all of us, mind, in anything medical.”

Digger nodded. “He told me that first thing.”

“Good,” said Guru. “The XO in?”

“Not yet.”

Guru nodded. “All right. The new guy, Doucette, is taking over as SDO at 0600.”

“First Lieutenants are good for that,” Digger grinned. “Uh, Boss.”

“Only for a day, because Rabbit wants another day of flying, then he and Firefly go off to Vegas for their R&R.”

“And then the F-20,” Digger nodded.

“Six months to learn the airplane, and all of that away from the war zone,” Guru nodded back. “Well, they've earned it. Bring Doucette up to speed, get something to eat, then find your bunk.”

“Will do, Boss,” Digger said.

Guru then had a few words with the night-shift admin people, then went to his office. His IN box was still empty, though there was always the chance of something coming in overnight. The CO went to his office window, and looked outside. A C-130 that had done an RON was leaving, while the sky was slowly, but surely, growing ever brighter. Another busy day ahead, Guru knew. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, came in, with a cup of cocoa for the CO in one hand and a clipboard in another. “Morning, Boss. Another fine day ahead.”

“It is that,” the CO agreed. “Good for killing Russians and their lackeys,” he added as the XO handed him the cup. “And what have you got for me this morning?”

“Morning Report for both Tenth Air Force and MAG-11,” Ellis said, handing his CO the clipboard.

Guru nodded, scanned the papers, then signed where he had to. “Next?”

“Aircraft status report. We've got twenty for today.”

Nodding, Guru signed the report. “Any word on new birds from Japan?” He asked.

“In the pipeline,” Ellis replied. “And that's all they told me.”

Guru sighed. “And I know, we're not the only ones screaming for new birds, and if you did ask, someone told you to 'Shut up and wait your turn.' Or words to that effect.”

“Somebody did,” the XO spat.

Guru drank from his cup. “All right, that's that. What else?”

“Weather update,” Ellis said.

Guru scanned the weather forecast. Good flying weather, with VFR flight rules predominating. A storm was due into the area in three days, and that meant a stand-down for maintenance and crew rest. “One good thing about a storm, Mark,” the CO said. “We get to take a break. The bad thing? So do they.”

“Comes with the territory, Boss. Mama Nature doesn't pick sides.”

“She doesn't,” Guru agreed. A knock on the door came next. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn came in, with two cups of hot liquid. She was not only his GIB, but also his girlfriend. “Morning,” she said. “And this is for our CO,” Goalie added, handing Guru a cup of hot cocoa.

“Thanks,” Guru said. He drained the first cup, and went to work on the second. “So, what's up this morning?”

“Not much, unless Kara starting a pool counts,” Goalie replied.

“About what?”

“When Frank's going to pop,” said Goalie. “She told me in the shower.”

“That's something we don't need,” the XO said.

“No,” Guru agreed. “I'll talk with Kara in the chow line. Nip this in the bud. The last thing we need is something that might set him off.”

“Even though I wouldn't mind at all if he got his ass kicked to Goose Bay, after all the shit he's pulled or tried to pull.”

“You are preaching to the choir, Mark,” Guru said, and he saw Goalie nod. Both had very good reasons-several of them-to want Carson out of the squadron.

Goalie nodded as well. “And that choir's pretty big,” she said.

“It is,” Guru agreed. “Anything else, Mark?”

The XO shook his head. “That's it for now,” he said.

“Good,” the CO said. “Now, before we go eat, a reminder,” he nodded at both the XO and his GIB. “Our RAF friends, if they make it past the first two missions of the day without losing anyone, cross that ten-mission threshold.”

Ellis nodded. “And their chances of making it to San Diego and the end of their tour go up.”

“Considerably,” Goalie added.

“Though there's one other thing,” said Guru. “With all the abuse those F-4s have taken, the Navy may take one look at them, what's in their logbooks, and just strip 'em for parts.”

“That's the Navy's problem, Boss,” Ellis pointed out.

“It is, but I'd hate to see good warbirds meet that kind of end,” Guru replied. He looked at the wall clock. 0550. “Come on, let's go eat.”

The three officers left the Squadron's office and headed over to the Officer's Mess Tent. As usual, a line was starting to form, and Guru was looking for a particular someone. He found that person chatting with Sweaty, KT, and Flossy. The CO went over to her. “Kara, a word?”

Kara nodded. “What is it, Boss?”

“Heard you might be starting a pool regarding Frank,” Guru said firmly.

Kara nodded, and she recognized at once the firm voice of command the CO had. “Haven't taken any bets, if that's what you're asking. Wait. You want me to cool it.” It wasn't a question.

“That I do,” the CO said. “I don't want anything going on that could be considered razzing Frank, as much as he deserves it-”

“He does, Boss,” replied Kara. “After all the shit he's pulled? He deserves it.”

“He does, and I'm not arguing with you. But, the last thing this unit needs is him popping. Well, on the ground, at least. There's a ton of pressure inside him, and sooner or later, it's going to pop. Don't want anything done on the ground to cause that. Got me?”

Kara regarded her CO. This was a time where being CO and looking out for the squadron as a whole came first. “I got you, Major.”

Guru nodded. When she-or anyone else in the squadron-addressed him by his rank instead of call sign, that indicated they took what he said very seriously indeed. “Glad you do. Look, if and when he pops, I'd rather that he do it in the air, and he's the only friendly killed. Comprende?”

Kara nodded back to the CO. “I got you, Major.”

“Good. Now, just be glad you don't have to give anyone's money back.”

“Not what I had in mind,” Kara said.

“Don't blame you. If I was still XO, I'd happily buy in,” Guru told her. “Just lay off.”

“Will do, Major.”

“All right,” Guru said. He then went and found Colonel Brady and Squadron Leader Gledhill. “Colonel, Dave,” Guru nodded. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Major,” Brady said. “I see you just had a talk with Captain Thrace.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Word's gone around about her...latest stunt,” Brady added. “Did you...?”

“Nipped it in the bud, sir,” Guru replied. “Setting off a certain officer who has a ton of pressure on him already is not a good idea. Tempting though as it is to many, myself included.”

Both Brady and Gledhill nodded. “Don't blame you a bit for that, Major,” Brady said.

“No, sir. And Dave?” Guru said. “You guys get through today without losing anyone, and you cross that ten mission threshold.”

“Which means our chances of getting to San Diego, then back to blighty, go up considerably,” Gledhill noted, recalling his pre-deployment briefing.

Brady nodded again. “You're right on that, Squadron Leader. Two-thirds of our losses, across all services, are those who don't make it to that magic number.”

Gledhill smiled grimly. “As we've found out, sad to say.”

Guru was sympathetic. “Found that out the hard way, Dave,” he said. “Day One, we lost two birds, one crew, and the Exec, with two others having battle damage.”

“And that was just Day One,” Brady said. He'd flown strikes against the Mexicans in Southern California, as well as their Soviet or Cuban support.

“It was,” Guru nodded. Just then the Mess Officer came out and flipped the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN.

“Chow's ready, people.”


After breakfast, Guru and the other flight leaders went to the Squadron's Operations Office to get their missions. He found Capt. Don Van Loan, the Ops Officer, waiting. “Don,” the CO said. “What's on the table for me this morning?”

“Going back to Stephenville,” Van Loan said. “Helo base,” he added, handing the CO a briefing packet.”

“You're full of good news today,” Guru said. “That's still a hairy place.”

“It is,” Van Loan admitted. “But no Weasel or IRON HAND support. Just you four, and a TARCAP.”

The CO winced, but nodded. “Nothing we've heard before,” he said. “Okay, Don. You have a good one, and be careful. Don't want to break Kara in as Ops.”

“And I sure don't want to be XO,” the Ops Officer replied. “You be careful yourself, and tell Mark the same thing,”

Guru shook hands with Van Loan. “Will do, Don.” Then he headed to his flight's briefing room, and found the Squadron's mascot, Buddy, waiting. “You'd best sleep through this one,” he told the dog as he opened the door.

When he came into the room, he found his flight, along with Dave Gledhill's element, waiting. “What's up?” Sweaty asked as the dog found a place to curl up and go to sleep.

“Back to Stephenville,” Guru said as he opened the briefing packet. “There's a helo support area five miles south of town, and we get to make that go away.”

“What's the ordnance loadout?” Kara asked.

“This is still too close to the town, so no CBUs. We get six Mark-82 Snakeyes and six M-117Rs, plus the usual air-to-air load.” That meant four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, a full load of 20-mm, an ALQ-119 or -101 ECM pod, and two wing tanks.”

“For us,” Dave Gledhill said, “That's four AIM-9Ls, four Sky Flash, a SUU-23 gun pod, and two wing tanks.”

“Any suspicion about this being a flak trap?” Kara asked.

“Good question,” Guru said as he passed some reconnaissance photos around. “Have a look at the imagery. See where the choppers are parked, with these ranch ponds and a dam nearby?” He pointed to several parking areas where bulldozers-or forced laborers-had created revetted parking areas. “Those revetments have camo netting over them. If this was a trap...”

“They'd be out in the open, and the choppers would be fake,” Brainiac said.

“That's a valid assumption,” Guru said. “And the defenses are in plain sight,” he added. “Two batteries of 57-mm, two of 37-mm, and one of 23-mm. Not to mention the guys with MANPADS, and this is the East German Army's HQ, so that means Army-level air defense.”

“SA-4s,” Hoser said as heads nodded. “Any Weasels coming along?”

“Negative,” Guru replied. “And no IRON HAND either. Just us, and our ECM pods.”

“Ingress route?” asked Sweaty.

“We pick up the tankers at the usual track over Mineral Wells,” Guru said. “Then we get our asses down low, and cross the fence.” That meant I-20. “Low level, following the Brazos, as usual,” the CO went on. “Just before the Lake Whitney Dam, we turn west on a heading of Two-six-five, and we stay clear of Meridian. Keep on that heading until we reach U.S. 281, then we turn northwest to the town of Alexander, on State Route 6. That's our pop-up point, as the only visual landmarks are the ranch ponds at the target. ID the target, make your runs, and get your asses north to the I-20 quick as you can. If that means overflying Stephenville, so be it.”

“Aim points?” Kara wanted to know.

“I'm taking the northern dispersal area,” Guru said. “You get the south.” Kara nodded, then Guru continued. “Sweaty?” He saw his second element lead nod. “Right here, along the road, there's some revetments there, and they look like munitions storage. Make those go away.”

“A pleasure,” Sweaty replied.

“Hoser?” Guru nodded at Sweaty's wingmate. “The fuel dump's near this pond with a dam. It's yours.”

“Got it, Boss,” Hoser said.

Gledhill asked, “And the usual for us?”

The CO nodded. “Kill anyone in the air, assume a TARCAP, and break up any party-crashers. Stephenville Municipal is north of here, so you might catch a transport, helos based there, or even Su-25s.”

“Just like Karen yesterday.”

Heads nodded again, then Flight Lt. Susan Napier, Gledhill's wingmate, asked, “What's the MiG threat?”

The CO checked the intel sheet. “Same as yesterday, pretty much. MiG-21s and -23s at Waco Regional, Brownwood Regional, the old James Connolly AFB by Waco, and more -23s at Bergstrom AFB and Gray AAF at Fort Hood. MiG-29s are at Goodfellow AFB, Gray AAF again, and Bergstrom. Which, by the way, has Flankers.”

“Boss, any word on those Mainstays?” KT asked.

Guru scanned the sheet. “Intel says there's still four to five in theater.”

“So that kill might have been a probable or a damage?” Preacher asked, referring to a Navy Phoenix shoot against a Mainstay-whose radar signal had dropped off after the shoot.

“That's a reasonable assumption,” Guru said. He went on. “Okay, weather: unchanged, and will be for three more days.”

“Bailout areas still unchanged,” Kara asked, though the tone of her voice indicated it wasn't a question.

“Right on that,” Guru said. “We're RAMBLER Flight today. Anything else?” He asked as an Ops NCO came to get the briefing material.

“Yeah,” Goalie said. “Buddy's asleep.”

“Good for him and for us,” Guru said. “If that's it, gear up and we'll meet at 512's revetment. We're back in the game.”


After going to their respective locker rooms to gear up, the crews headed out. When he finished, Guru left the Men's Locker Room and found Goalie there, waiting. “Ready to get the day going and earn your flight pay?”

“And teach some East Germans a lesson about staying home,” replied Goalie. “But we still give forty-five cents of each dollar back to Uncle Sam.”

“Yeah, but that's not due until April 15,” Guru laughed. “Let's go.”

The two left the Squadron office, and found the Exec and his flight getting ready. “Mark,” Guru said. “Don told me to tell you to be careful.”

“Let me guess,” the Exec laughed. “He doesn't want to be Ops just yet.”

“And nobody wants Kara to be Ops-least of all her,” the CO grinned. “Just be careful out there.”

“You be careful your own self,” Ellis said, shaking the CO's hand. “Don't want to be CO, you hear?”

“I hear you, Mark, You have a good one.”

“You too, Boss,” the XO said. “Firefly's got the morning runs, then Snag takes over.”

Guru nodded. “Okay, just take care when you're out there,” he said. “Last thing I want is to call General Yeager and tell him one of his new F-20 guys got himself killed or worse,”

“Gotcha, Major,” Firefly grinned.

“Loud and clear, Boss,” Ellis added.

Nodding, Guru went back to Goalie, then they found Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs. “Dave,” Guru said. “Where you headed?”

“Some town called Hico,” Golen said. “There's a truck park and fuel dump for us.”

“Stephenville for us,” said Guru. “We're Rambler Flight. You?”

“Camaro.”

“Okay, if you hit MiG trouble, holler. I'll be there.”

“Likewise, and you'll be bringing the Brits,” Golen said.

Guru grinned. “That we will. You be careful now. Never know what's a legit target and what's a flak trap.”

“Same for you,” Golen said.

“Thanks for the advice,” the CO nodded as both shook hands.


Guru and Goalie then went to 512's revetment, and found the rest of the flight waiting. “Okay, folks. Just the usual on the radio,” he said as he gave his final instructions. That meant Mission Code to AWACS and other parties, while call signs went between them. Most of the time, anyway.

“Got it,” Kara said, and the others nodded.

“One last thing,” Guru said. “I should've said this in the brief, but watch for those damn basketball-sized tracers. There's a Soviet division in the Meridian-Clifton area, and chances are, they're the folks who had those damn ZSU-30s. If you see those tracers, take evasive action and mark the location.”

“And if they're at the target?” Sweaty asked.

“We abort, and go for opportunity targets. Either along U.S. 67 east towards Glen Rose, or northeast along U.S. 377 and Granbury. We should find something. Nobody's bringing bombs home. Got it?”

“Roger that, Boss,” Hoser said.

“So we are Rambler Flight, just as on BOLO?” Dave Gledhill asked.

“We are, and might be a good omen. They splashed three MiG-21s on that day.”

“Sounds jolly good.”

“Not arguing that. We meet at ten grand overhead. Anything else?” Guru asked. Heads shook no. “All right. Time to kick the tires and light the fires. Let's hit it.” The CO clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews split up, and headed for their aircraft. Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, and found Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, waiting, while the ground crew finished their final checks. “Major, Lieutenant,” Crowley saluted them. “Five-twelve's ready to go out and kick some more Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said as he and Goalie returned the salute. Then they did their pre-flight walk-around. Satisfied everything was in order, Guru signed for the aircraft, then he and Goalie climbed the crew ladder and mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, they went through their cockpit preflight checklist.

“Be glad when this storm comes in,” Goalie said. “Need to catch up on sleep. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, and check yours,” Guru replied. “And yeah, along with maintenance and paperwork, in no particular order. Arnie?”

“Arnie's set, and so is the INS,” Goalie called back. She meant the ARN-101 DMAS system and the INS. “And there's one other thing.”

“What's that?”

“No generals on base, so we can get caught up with bedroom gymnastics,” said Goalie. “Preflight checklist complete and ready for engine start.”

“That we are, and we can,” Guru grinned. He gave his Crew Chief a thumbs-up.

Crowley nodded, and gave the “Start Engines” signal in response. First one, then two, J-79 engines were soon up and running.

Once the warm-up was finished, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A tower controller came back right away. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number four in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead is rolling.” Guru then gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who waved to the ground crew, and they pulled the chocks away from the wheels. That done, Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, then taxied out. Once clear of the revetment, Crowley snapped a salute, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. Guru taxied towards the runway, with the rest of the flight following. When they got to the holding area, they were behind three Marine flights-the first one being F-4s, the other two F/A-18s. Once the third Hornet flight had taxied onto the runway, it was their turn to taxi into the holding area. There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then it was time. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

The tower controller came back at once. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-three at five.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru replied, then he taxied onto the runway. Kara followed in 520, and she taxied into his Five O'clock. He glanced over, and Kara and Brainiac each gave a thumbs-up. Guru and Goalie returned them, then did a final check. All was set. “Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” Goalie said.

“Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the tower didn't reply by radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his canopy.

“Got it,” Goalie said as she did the same.

Guru took a look at 520, and found Kara and Brainiac's bird ready to go. “Then let's go.” He applied full power, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him.

Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, and they were followed by the two RAF F-4Js. Then the flight met up at FL 100 and headed south for the tankers.


Over Central Texas: 0730 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight had just crossed the fence-which was the I-20, and was now in enemy territory. After takeoff, they had formed up, and then headed for their tanker rendezvous. After topping up from the KC-135s, and this time, the RAF F-4Js had to use a KC-10 instead of the RAF Tristar, the flight dropped down low and was now in bad-guy country.

Now, they were flying over Lake Granbury at 450 Feet AGL and doing some five hundred knots, and so far, so good. “How far to the Granbury Bridge?” Major Wiser asked his GIB.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied. “EW still clear,” she added, checking her EW display.

“For now,” Guru reminded her. Soon, one of Ivan's Mainstay AWACS radars would come up on the display. “And there he is.” A strobe had come up on the display, with the SEARCH warning light on.

“Mainstay again.” Goalie shook her head in the cockpit.

“You win a cookie,” Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask.

“Lovely,” Goalie replied. “Bridge coming up.” It was the U.S. 377 Bridge over the Brazos River, and there were actually two bridges. One for the old highway, and a newer bridge built in the 1970s to allow the highway to bypass the town. “And flak from the west side.”

“Got it,” Guru said as the 37-mm and 57-mm batteries opened up. These were still East German-manned, and they always opened fire on passing aircraft. The Nicaraguan gunners on the east side, unless the bridges-or other targets on the east side of the river-were actually being attacked, stayed quiet. “And now...” he added as Rambler Flight overflew the bridge.

On the west side of the bridge, a Soviet convoy was waiting to cross. They were still in the city of Granbury proper, and American aircraft were not likely to strike a convoy still in the midst of their own people. Though the convoy commander had his sleep interrupted the night before, as someone had bombed the local airport.

This convoy had delivered replacement armor to the East German 20th MRD, which had been shot up in the past few weeks, and now, the convoy was returning via Cleburne and Hillsboro to the Front's replacement vehicle store, to await another mission, and the Soviet Major who commanded the convoy was in his command vehicle, a BTR-70, when he saw six F-4s fly past at low level, chased by anti-aircraft fire. None of the aircraft were hit, and the Russian was visibly relieved. If the Americans had been delayed, his convoy would've been right smack on the bridge, and an easy target. He was shaken out of his thoughts by a Traffic Regulator bringing him his clearance to proceed. The Major waved to his convoy, and they began to cross the bridge. Just as long as no more American aircraft appeared.....


“Granbury Dam coming,” Guru noted. They'd flown this route into Central Texas so many times that crews were getting to know the area like the backs of their hands.

“Fifteen seconds,” replied Goalie. Sure enough, the dam appeared, and so did more flak from the East German side. The flight easily outran the flak, and kept on going.

Guru had his eyes on a swivel, checking his instruments, then having an eye out for threats, and Goalie was doing the same, though she, and the other GIBs, was watching the navigation. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?” Guru said as he called the AWACS.

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

“Roger, Warlock. Do you have Bogey dope?” Guru asked.

“Rambler, first threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers. Fourth threats are Fulcrums.”

“Copy,” Guru said. “As long as those MiG-21s stay away. How far to Glen Rose?” He asked Goalie. That meant the U.S. 67 Bridge.

“Twenty seconds.” Then Goalie added a few seconds later, “Flak at one.” Sure enough, the East Germans were on the ball again.

“Got it,” Guru replied The strike flight blew past the bridge, and kept on going south.

Goalie checked her map and the INS. “Brazospoint coming up. Fifteen seconds.”

“And the Libyan sector starts.” The Libyans had a habit of shooting at any aircraft overhead, and expending large quantities of ammo. They did it with the abandon of someone who has been told that the practice would be outlawed in five minutes, and so....the shooting was wild, and there was very little aim.

“Bridge in sight, and flak at Eleven.” The Brazospoint Bridge came into view, along with the puffs and tracers of Libyan Triple-A. This time, the East Germans on the west side stayed quiet. “Not like the East Germans to stay quiet.”

“First time for everything,” Guru said as they flew by, and not only was there the wild shooting, but even the smoke trail of an SA-7 missile. “And the Libyans are their usual self.”

Goalie shook her head. “Surprised?”

“No. Forty seconds to Route 174 and the north end of Lake Whitney.”

“Copy.” Guru checked his EW display. That strobe from the Mainstay radar was getting a little brighter. Too brighter for his taste. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he called as he turned on his ECM pod. That call was for the others to do the same.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and the others followed suit.

Goalie had her eyes on the map, and double-checked the INS. “Route 174 Bridge coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru replied as flak erupted from both sides this time. The strike flight was too fast for the gunners to get good visual tracks, and they easily avoided the flak, as the F-4s flew right down the middle of the Brazos, and Lake Whitney opened up wide. Guru took a look at his EW display, and saw another strobe to the east. That would be a fighter radar, he guessed, so he took 512 down lower, to 400 feet AGL. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats.”

The AWACS controller came back right away. “Rambler Lead, Warlock. First Threat bearing Zero-eight-five for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-four-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-eight-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-three-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy Warlock. Bogey dope same as before?”

“Rambler Lead, that's affirmative,” the controller replied.

“Roger that,” Guru said as the strike flight thundered down the lake. Then he got back on the IC. “Turn point in when?”

Goalie came back. “Sixteen miles. One minute.”

“Copy.”

Rambler Flight went down the lake, and as they did, there were eyes watching from both sides of the lake. Some were locals, trying to catch some fish to supplement the occupiers' rations allotted them, while others were either Soviet or East German soldiers, eager to have some fresh fish to add to their own rations. A few were even Resistance members, using part of the Lake Whitney Recreational Area as a hideout, and to them, as well as the locals, the sight of F-4s going past, clearly on their way to attack a target, was another sign that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

“Coming up on the turn,” Guru said. The Lake Whitney Dam would soon appear. As would the flak if they kept on their course.

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Thirty seconds.”

“Give me the count.”

“On it. New course Two-six-five. Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned, and the rest of the flight followed, as Rambler Flight turned onto the new heading of Two-six-five. “How long until 281?” He meant their next turn point, which was U.S. Highway 281.

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

“Copy.” Guru said.

The hills of Central Texas flew by below, and twice, Rambler Flight used those hills to try and mask themselves from the Mainstay's radar. The radar strobe never went away, but it diminished in intensity as they used the hills, but when Rambler Flight went into more open country, the strobe returned.

“Warlock, Rambler Lead,” Guru called the AWACS. “Say threats?”

The response came at once from the AWACS controller. “Rambler, Warlock. Threat bearing One-eight-five for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-six-five for sixty. Medium, Closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Any bogey dope?”

“Rambler. Closest threats are Floggers. Threats at your Twelve are Fulcrums.”

MiG-29s again? Our lucky day, Guru thought. “Copy.”

“More Fulcrums? That'll make the RAF happy,” Goalie said.

“It ought to,” Guru replied. “Time to turn?”

“One minute thirty.”

The strike flight flew over State Route 22 southeast of Meridian, then State Route 6 south of the town, then Route 22 again, but there were no convoys or other military traffic. Then the small town of Fairy came up-at the intersection of several Farm-to-Market roads. Though the crews couldn't see, several of the ranchers and other townspeople waved at the F-4s as they flew by. Then came U.S. 281.

Guru took a quick glance at his own map. “Got 281 coming up.”

“Roger that,” Goalie said. “Turn to Three-four-zero. On my mark. Five, four, three, two, one...MARK!” She called as the highway appeared.

“Turning,” Guru called as he turned onto the new heading.

“One minute to Alexander,” Goalie said. “That's our pop-up point.”

“Roger that. Set 'em up.” Guru meant the armament controls.

“On it,” replied Goalie as she worked the weapons-control panel in the back seat. “All set. Everything in one pass.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as the small town of Alexander came into view. This ruined town on State Route 6 was their pop-up point. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by to pull.”

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

“Stand by....” Goalie called as 512 flew over the town. “And...PULL!”

Guru pulled up, and as he did, the target appeared at his One-o'clock. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like the helos were still there... “Flight, Lead. Target's in sight. Chiefs, follow me, and Tigers, go to work!”

“All set back here,” Goalie said as she tightened the straps that kept her in the ejection seat, and took a quick look around. “And it's clear.”

“Then let's go,” said Guru as he rolled in on the bomb run.


At the helicopter dispersal site, an East German Captain was not in a good mood. His unit, the Third Squadron, KHG-5, was equipped with a mix of Mi-24V (NATO Hind-E) and Mi-24D (Hind-D) gunships, along with a flight of Mi-8T (Hip-C) transport helicopters and a pair of Mi-8TZ fuel tankers used to support the squadron's Mi-24s. KHG-5 had been supporting the Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg since the initial invasion, and had seen a lot of combat, and had also taken its share of casualties, hence the assignment of Mi-24Ds to the Regiment as attrition replacements. As for replacement aircrews, their training back home in the GDR had been excellent, as usual, but he'd seen his share of crews not make it past their first mission. The Captain had been in training when the war began, and had been sent over in 1986 as a replacement for a pilot who had been killed, and he'd done something that about half of his helicopter training class had not done: namely, survived.

The Captain, who was also a flight leader, flew a Mi-24V, though he wished the Mi-24P had made it into the Regiment, for he longed for a 30-mm cannon that could not only take on American armor, but also have more punch in dealing with American helicopters like the AH-64 or the AH-1. But, as he had seen with the Regiment's Political Officer-a Party man who, though a rated pilot, seemed to think that Party Dogma trumped all else, and who had no problems in labeling any such thoughts as “Defeatist.” As if Party slogans meant anything in the field, the Captain thought.

Now, the Captain was waiting on the helicopters in his flight to complete their refueling and rearming. They had already flown a patrol north of Stephenville, and were now expected to head to the front line on a free hunt, looking for American armor or other targets to attack. After the excitement of a few days earlier, the front line had settled down, as both sides were licking their wounds, and preparing for winter, when the campaign season would wind down, and not pick up again until the following spring.
His thoughts were interrupted by shouts and the anti-aircraft gunners racing to their guns, and some of them actually shooting to the south. The Captain turned, and saw specks growing, with smoke trails behind them. F-4 Phantoms, he knew from experience. He heard someone shout “AIR ALARM!” as he ran to a slit trench and jumped in-landing on his gunner in the process.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 down on the bomb run. As he did, Guru noticed the tracers already coming up, as well as at least one SA-4 radar and a AAA radar to the north. “”Bud One-one, MAGNUM!” He called on the radio, hoping the East Germans would hear that call and assume a Weasel was around, and they would shut down their radars to avoid eating a HARM or Shrike. The SA-4 radar went off, but the AAA stayed up. Hope the jamming pod works today, he thought as he lined up a set of camouflaged revetments, intending to walk his bombs across them. Not your day, Franz....Ignoring the flak, and even a SA-7-type missile someone fired head-on, he concentrated on the bomb run. “Steady, Steady....And.. And....HACK!” Guru hit the pickle button, releasing his six Mark-82s and six M-117s down on the helo field. He then applied power as he pulled up and away, jinking as he did to avoid flak. “Lead's off target.”


“Was im Himmel?” The Captain muttered as Guru's F-4 flew by, then the bombs went off, and he felt the concussion in the trench, as well as some flying dirt landing on top of the trench's occupants. He stuck his head up, and saw where two Mi-8s had been parked, and they were now blazing wrecks. At least the gunships are all right, he thought, then someone-who he had no time to ask, pulled him down back into the trench. More Imperialist aircraft coming in, and he knew from experience that F-4s, or other American attack aircraft, didn't strike alone.


“GOOD HITS!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “Two big secondaries!”

“That's two choppers gone up,” Guru replied as he overflew Stephenville itself, drawing fire from machine guns on several rooftops, and even MANPADS, but the jinking and speed meant that the F-4 easily outdistanced the fire. He even waggled his wings to the civilians below. “Hope everyone down there likes the air show.”

“Our people will, but not the East Germans,” Goalie pointed out.

“That's their problem,” Guru replied as he headed north.


“Two's in!” Kara shouted over the radio as she brought 520 in on its bomb run. She saw the CO's run, and noted the two fireballs that signaled grounded helos going up. Smiling beneath her oxygen mask, she picked out a line of revetments just south of those. Kara saw the flak coming up, and ignored it, despite the 23-mm tracers and the puffs that signaled 37-mm and 57-mm fire. Even the smoke trail of an SA-7 or SA-14 didn't bother her as Kara concentrated on the bomb run, and lined the center revetment in her pipper. “And...And...NOW!” She hit her pickle button, and sent her dozen bombs down onto the East Germans below. Kara then pulled up and wings level, applied power, began jinking, and headed north, intending to get well clear of the target-and Stephenville. “Two off target,” she called.


The East German Captain heard Kara's F-4 come in, and after that, the bombs going off. Then he heard at least three secondary explosions, and that meant the Mi-24s had been hit. Shaking himself away from at least two other pilots, he stood up in the trench, and looked around. Sure enough, the revetments where the Mi-24s had been parked had been hit, and three of them were blazing furiously, while the fourth seemed all right, but it was likely damaged. He turned to his left, and saw another F-4 coming, and he promptly got back into the trench.


“SHACK!” Brainiac's call came from 520's back seat. “We got some helos!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she took 520 on a buzz of the Stephenville Airport, hoping to catch a stray Su-25. Not seeing any in the air, she banked left and picked up the CO's bird. She was jinking, and watched as an SA-4 was launched, but without radar. The big missile flew over her F-4, and just kept right on going.

“Three, maybe four,” replied Brainiac.

“I'll take those,” she said as she closed in on 512 and formed up in Combat Spread.


Sweaty came in on her run. “Three's in hot!” She saw the results of Kara's run, not to mention the flak, and ignored the latter as she came in on the bomb run. The tracers were coming up, and so were the puffs from the heavier guns, but Sweaty ignored those as she picked out the revetments where the ordnance storage was suspected, and lined them up in her pipper. “And.. Steady...Steady......HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and sent her dozen bombs down onto the East German ammo dump. Then she pulled up, applying power as she did so, and began jinking as she headed north, right over Stephenville. “Three's off safe,” she called.


In his trench, the Captain heard Sweaty's F-4 come over, and heard the explosions that followed in the Phantom's wake. First, they were ordinary explosions from the bombs going off, then there were a number of secondary explosions that followed almost immediately. Shrapnel fell all over, and some was in the trench, and right away, the occupants knew that the munitions storage had been hit. What else can go bad this morning, the Captain wondered. Then he heard the AA guns firing again. That meant another Fascist aircraft was coming in....


“BULLSEYE!” Preacher called from Sweaty's back seat. “We got the ammo dump!”

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as she took the F-4 right over Stephenville, jinking to avoid flak and the occasional MANPADS. Like the CO, she was waggling her wings to the civilians below.

“Lots!” Preacher said as the big fighter jinked, and a SAM, probably a MANPADS, flew down the right side of the aircraft.

“Good enough,” Sweaty said as she headed north.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came in for his bomb run. He saw what Sweaty and the others had done, and he was able to pick out the ranch ponds and dam, which the fuel dump was close to. Sure enough, there were several camouflage nets near the ponds, right where the imagery said they were. Like the others, Hoser saw the flak and the SA-7s coming up, and he ignored both, concentrating on his bomb run. He lined up the fuel dump in his pipper, and waited for the right moment so he could walk his bombs right across the dump. “And...And...And.... Steady...HACK!” Hoser his his pickle button, then his Mark-82s and M-117Rs came off the racks and fell onto the East Germans down below. Hoser then pulled up and away, applied power, and started jinking to throw off the aim of the flak gunners and any missile operators. “Four's off target,” he called.


“Schisse!” The Captain yelled as Hoser's F-4 made its run, and he heard the CRUMP of the bombs going off, and felt the concussion, then came the secondaries. He stuck his head up and looked around, seeing the destruction left behind by the first three attackers, then he saw the fuel dump well ablaze. He shook his head, and wondered what else was going to happen this morning, when two more F-4s, these being grey, came down and flew overhead, but didn't attack. Reconnaissance run, he thought. Gradually, the shooting died away as he climbed out of the trench and began to issue orders. This was a bitch of a day, and it was barely morning.....


“SHACK!” KT yelled from the back seat. “Multiple secondaries back there!”

“Fuel dump go up?” Hoser asked as he flew right over Stephenville, jinking, and yet, waggling his wings to the civilians below.

“Way up!” KT said.

“Shit hot!” Hoser said as he picked up Sweaty's bird.


“That's it,” Guru said. “Time to fly for ourselves.” Then he called the TARCAP. “Rambler One-five and One-six, get your asses out of there.”

“Roger, leader,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson, who was Dave Gledhill's pilot, called, and both F-4Js dropped back low, and they, too, overflew Stephenville on their way out. Both RAF crews had seen the 335th birds waggle their wings as they went over the town, and they did the same. The F-4Js also dodged the flak and SAMs, but they got clear of the target area without taking damage.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Two, you with me?”

“Right with you, Boss,” Kara replied.

Guru took a quick look and found his wingmate right with him in Combat Spread. “Got eyeballs on you. Sweaty?”

“On your six, and before you ask, I brought Hoser with me,” Sweaty called back.

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

“Rambler Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS controller replied. “First threat bearing One-four-zero for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing Two-three-zero for forty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-four-zero for fifty. Medium, Closing.”

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

“Rambler, first threats are Floggers. Second threats are Fishbeds, and third threats are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that. Can you arrange a welcoming committee if they get too close?”

“That's affirmative, Rambler.”

“Rambler Lead copies,” Guru said. “How long to the Fence?” That meant the FLOT, and that was the I-20 for navigation purposes, though the actual front line was south of the Interstate.

“Twenty-five miles,” Goalie replied. “One and a half minutes.”

“MiGs won't be here in time,” Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask.

The strike flight headed north, right between the divisional boundary between the East German 9th Panzer Division and the 20th MRD, quite by chance, and they drew no fire. It wasn't long until the crews saw I-20 appear.

“Crossing the fence...now!” Goalie said as the twin ribbons of concrete passed by beneath.

“Roger that,” said Guru. He took a quick look at the EW display and the strobe that signaled the Mainstay radar went off, along with the SEARCH warning light. “Flight, Lead. Verify IFF is on, and music off, out.” He reached down and turned on his IFF and turned off his ECM pod.

Rambler Flight then climbed to altitude, and headed for the tankers. The post-strike refueling went off from the KC-10s this time, then they headed back to Sheppard.

When the flight got back to Sheppard, they had to orbit and wait. A battle-damaged Marine F-4 had come in hot and belly-landed on one of the runways, and not just Rambler, but several other flights, Marine, Navy, and Air Force, had to orbit and wait until the affected runway was cleared. Then, in order of how much fuel they had, the flights came in and landed. Due to their having had a post-strike refueling, Rambler had to wait while others who hadn't came in. Then it was their turn.

After landing, they taxied away from the runway, and as they did, the crews noticed the news crew at work. “They ever stop?” Guru asked as he popped his canopy and raised it up, even while taxiing back in.

“Keeps them from getting bored,” Goalie quipped.

The birds found their respective dispersal areas, then they taxied in. Guru taxied into 512's revetment, and got the “Shut down” signal from his Crew Chief, followed by the ground crew running in with the chocks for the wheels. One of the ground crew also deployed the crew ladder, while both the pilot and GIB went through the post-flight checklist. Then they unstrapped and stood up in the cockpit.

“First one's out of the way,” Guru said as he stretched, then climbed down.

“One more for the RAF, then they get those ten missions out of the way,” Goalie reminded her pilot and CO, as she got down.

“First things first,” he reminded her as Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, came up with a bottle of water for each. “Sarge.”

“Major,” Crowley said. “How'd my bird do?” Crew Chiefs always reminded the crew that the Crew Chief “Owned” the aircraft, and that the crew merely borrowed it for a mission. He then handed Guru and Goalie a bottle of water.

“Made some Helos go away,” Guru replied, draining half of the bottle afterward. “And she's still truckin' like a champ. Whatever it is you guys are doing? Don't change a thing,” he told the crew chief.
“Shit hot, sir!” Crowley replied.

“No battle damage, and no issues. Get her ready for the next one,” the CO said.

“You got it, Major!” Crowley was beaming. “All right, people! Let's get this bird ready for the next strike.”

Guru and Goalie headed out of the revetment as the ground crew got to work. “Remind me to tell him when his R&R starts,” Guru said.

“Christmas at home, enjoy the time with your family, and that's an order?” Goalie asked. “First time for everything, I guess.”

“Yeah,” said the CO as they got to the entrance to the revetment, and both Kara and Brainiac were there, as usual. “How'd it go with you all?”

Kara grinned. “Made some choppers go away, and so did you. You buzzed the town on the way out, so we did the airport.”

“Hoping to pick up a stray chopper or maybe a Frogfoot?” Guru asked, eyebrow raised.

Kara and Brainiac looked at each other. “Guilty,” Kara replied.

“You want that tenth kill and double ace status bad,” Guru told her. “Just don't go out of your way to do it. That can get you killed or worse.”

Kara could tell the seriousness in his tone of voice. “Understood, Major.”

“Good,” Guru replied as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT arrived. “Well?”

Sweaty and her people were beaming. “No more ammo or fuel dump back there,” she said. “Too bad none of those helos tried to launch.”

Guru could tell the disappointment in her voice. “There's always next time,” he nodded. And yet, he was disappointed himself. Killing a Hind with an F-4.....a lot easier than that guerilla with an SA-7 back in Colorado, he knew.

Dave Gledhill and his people showed up next. “That was an interesting one,” he said. “First time we've gone over a decent-sized town.”

“And people were either waving or shooting,” Flight Lt. Susan Napier said. “How many guns on those rooftops?”

“Enough,” Guru replied. “We're too fast, but yeah, the Golden BB can get you if you're not too careful.”

“It sure can,” Sweaty added. She had come back from a strike into New Mexico the previous December with a .51 caliber slug only a couple of inches from one of her internal fuel tanks. If it had been a tracer....

“Everybody's come back with damage from small-arms fire at one time or another,” Kara said. “Some more than once.”

“That we have,” Guru nodded. “Come on: let's get the debrief done, check your desks, and get something to eat, because in an hour and a half, it'll be time to do this again.”

“No rest for the weary or the wicked, I see,” Napier noted.

“The late Colonel Rivers had an answer for that,” Sweaty replied. “Either we'll rest when the war's over-”

“True.”

“Or we're dead.”

“Also true,” Guru said. “Come on. Let's go and get this done.”