[Matt Wiser]

The next day begins....



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 22 November, 1987. 0525 Hours Central War Time:



Major Matt Wiser left his tent in Officer Country and headed on to the 335th's Office. The squadron CO took a look at the Eastern Horizon and noted the first hint of the predawn twilight beginning to show. Good flying weather today, he noted, but tomorrow.....A storm that was hitting the Pacific Coast right now would affect them the following day, and thus no flying unless it was a maintenance check, or an air defense scramble. There would be one other, for he promised Jana Wendt, the reporter attached to the squadron, a backseat ride in an F-4, and he intended to make good on that promise. The CO did wonder how the reporter and his wingmate get along, for he intended to have Capt. Kara Thrace take her up, while the Major had Trevor Scott, her cameraman, in his back seat.

When he got to the squadron's office, he found the night-shift admin people winding things up, though their shift had a half-hour to go. Hacksaw, the night-shift SDO, was at his desk as the Major came in.

“Boss,” Hacksaw said. He didn't rise from the desk, as that was considered rear-area habit. They were in a combat zone, and as Major General Robert Tanner, the Commander of the Tenth Air Force had said, “The shooting's started, and we can dispense with the jumping up and down nonsense.” That was something the CO agreed with completely, though it gave one officer who had been a thorn in his predecessor's side, and was currently stuck in his, fits.

The CO nodded. “Morning, Hacksaw. Still grounded?”

Hacksaw let out a grin. “When the stand-down's over, I get back in the air, Doc says.”

“Good for you,” Major Wiser nodded. “You may think you've been missing out, but you haven't missed a damned thing. Keep that in mind for today and tomorrow.”

“I know, Boss,” Hacksaw replied. “It's just...”

The CO understood. He knew the feeling, having been grounded back in March for two weeks with a cold himself-and his backseater had been grounded at the same time with a cold as well. Something that irritated them to no end for those two weeks. And yet, Doc Waters, the squadron's flight surgeon, outranked them in anything medical-even the CO, whether it was the late Colonel Rivers back then, or the Major now. “Yeah, but....you'll be back in the air day after tomorrow, where you belong.” He glanced at his office, and saw someone waiting. “XO in?”

“He's waiting for you.”

“All right, Hacksaw. Thanks.”

“You got it, Boss.”

The CO went to his office, and found Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, waiting. “Morning, Mark,” the CO said.

“Morning,” the XO replied. He had a clipboard in one hand and a cup of cocoa in another, which he handed to the CO. “Got a few things for you.”

Major Wiser took the cup and started to drain it. “What have we got?”

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

The CO scanned both, then signed them. “That's that. What's next?'

“Morning weather.” The XO handed the CO the Weather Report.

“VFR flying until 1800 or so, then clouding over, with rain developing overnight. Steady rain after 0200, and scattered showers after 1500 tomorrow with return to VFR conditions. Clouds top out at 18,000.” Major Wiser put down the paper. “Lovely. No flying for most of the day tomorrow, which means our check ride with Ms. Wendt is in the afternoon.”

The XO grinned. “Still trying to scare her out of here?” He wondered.

“She's made of sterner stuff,” the CO admitted. “To be honest, I thought she'd be out of here after her first Scud attack or that Su-24 strike. Which shows that first impressions don't mean much sometimes.”

“That's a fact,” Ellis said as there was a knock on the office door.

“Yeah?” The CO said. “Come on in and show yourself!”

A female lieutenant with wavy blonde hair as long as regs permitted came in, with a cup of hot liquid in each hand. “Morning, Guru,” said First Lieutenant Lisa Eichhorn, call sign Goalie, as she came into the office.Guru was the CO's call sign. She handed the CO one of the cups. “And that's for you.”

Guru took the cup and had a sip. Cocoa again. “And good morning to you,” he said. She was not only his GIB, but also his girlfriend. “Ready to go out and earn your flight pay this morning?”

She grinned. “And come April 15, we give forty-five cents of every dollar back to Uncle Sam.”

“That we do,” Guru nodded. “Wars are expensive.”

“Don't we know it,” Mark Ellis said.

“Well, this time tomorrow, we're busy sleeping in?” Goalie asked with a grin. She was looking forward to some bedroom gymnastics.

“First we have to get through today,” Guru reminded them. “First things first.” Though he didn't mind catching up with such athletics with Goalie, they had a busy day ahead, one they had to live through first.

Both knew full well what the CO was talking about. Get through the coming day, then worry about what the next day would hold. “That detail is always there,” she admitted.

“It is,” the Exec added.

“Anything special before we head to eat?” Guru asked as he sipped his cocoa.

“What's the latest on Frank?” Goalie asked.

“Nothing new from Doc,” Guru said. “But Doc did say he'd keep an eye on Frank.”

A smile appeared on Goalie's face. “Maybe Doc will find a damned good reason to ground him.”

“Maybe,” the XO said.

“I doubt it,” Guru nodded as he finished off his cocoa. “Doc told me Frank aced his flight physical, but he'll be watching for the slightest reason to ground him.” Guru glanced at the clock on his office wall. “0550. Let's get ourselves some breakfast.”

The three went to the Officer's Mess, where people from MAG-11's squadrons were milling about, waiting for the chow line to open. There, they found Marine Colonel Allen Brady, the MAG-11 CO, talking with two of the Marine squadron commanders. “Morning, Colonel,” Guru said.

“Morning, Major,” Brady said. “Ready for a maximum effort today?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru said as RAF Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill came over. He was in charge of the 74 Squadron detachment that had come over to their little corner of the war. “You all set, Dave?”

“Quite,” Gledhill replied. “Though this is new, having a unit stand-down. On Bermuda, we just gave individual crews the day off.”

“That's another sign you've come to a whole new ball game in a different league,” Guru nodded. “Be glad you're getting it. Get caught up on maintenance and aircrew rest, then go back.”

“Indeed,” Gledhill said. He glanced around, and saw his two female ace pilots, Karen McKay and Susan Napier, chatting with Capt. Kara Thrace, who was Guru's wingmate. “I see Kara's chatting up with Susan and Karen.” Just then, two other ace pilots, Lieutenants Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard and Sandi “Flossy” Jenkins joined them, followed by Jana Wendt, the reporter from both CBS and 9 News Australia who was attached to the 335th.

“And the reporter's with them,” Goalie observed. “She'll be doing a piece on them.” By the tone of her voice, it wasn't a question.

“No doubt,” Colonel Brady said. “You're still taking her up, Major?”

“Kara will, yes, sir,” Guru grinned. “I don't think we'll scare her back to Nellis-she's proven to be made of sterner stuff, but she'll definitely be pulling some Gs.”

“That's a given,” Goalie grinned. “I won't be there, sir, but I'll be waiting when she lands.”

“No doubt,” Colonel Brady said. He, too, wanted to see how Ms. Wendt would take a flight in a fighter, for she did want to fly with the Marines as well. “You're taking her cameraman, I gather?”

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded.

The Marine Mess Officer came out of the tent just then, and flipped the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN. “Chow's ready, people!”


After breakfast, the flight leads went to the Ops Office to get their mission folders, while the crews went to their briefing rooms. The CO was first in, and found Capt. Don Van Loan waiting. “Don,” Guru said. “What's on tap for me this morning?”

The Ops Officer handed him a folder. “Dublin, and you've actually got three targets.”

Guru scanned the mission outline. Then he stared at Van Loan. “Whose bright idea was this?”

“Don't look at me, Boss-man. I just put things together from what the ATO calls.”

“I know, Don,” Guru said. “At least we're getting Dave Golen and Flossy again, and Dave Gledhill's element.”

“They're good people, Boss,” Van Loan grinned.

“They are. Thanks, Don,” Guru said. He then went to his squadron's briefing room-a former classroom from the days Sheppard was an ATC base. The CO found the squadron's mascot, Buddy, waiting at the door, wanting in. He opened the door, and the dog went in and promptly found a place to lie down and go to sleep. Guru then came in. “People, we've got our mission,” he said, seeing Dave Golen, Flossy, their GIBs along with Dave Gledhill's element.

“Where to?” Kara asked.

“Dublin,” Guru replied, opening the folder and passing out the briefing materials. “We've actually got three targets.”

“Three?” Sweaty wanted to know. “Whose bright idea was this?”

“Whoever put the ATO together,” Guru replied. “I'm taking Kara and hitting the municipal airport. It's been hit several times, and the East Germans have put it back together somewhat. It's still in use as an FOL for Su-25s and for Hind or Hip gunships.”

Kara looked at an SR-71 photo of the target. “So who gets what?”

“I'm taking the ramp area, and you get the runway,” Guru said. “We each have six Mark-82s and six M-117s, plus the usual air-to-air load.” That was four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, a full 20-mm load, two wing tanks, and an ECM pod-in Guru's case, an ALQ-119, while Kara still made do with an ALQ-101.

“Sounds good,” Kara grinned. “Been a while since I got a runway.”

“We'll tear it up,” Preacher said.

“Good. Sweaty?” The CO turned to his second element lead. “You and Hoser have this target south of the airport between F.M. 322 and F.M. 1702. It's a damaged vehicle collection and repair point.”

“Big mother,” Sweaty noted after seeing the imagery. “I notice it's right across the road from the town cemetery.”

Hearing that, the crews were incredulous. “Why'd they do that?” KT, Hoser's backseater, asked.

“Good question,” Hoser said. “It's a big field, and available, so why not?”

“Probably what they were thinking,” Preacher nodded.

“What's the loadout?” Sweaty asked. “Same as you and Kara?”

“It is, and Dave Golen's element has it as well,” Guru said, checking the ATO.

IDF Maj. Dave Golen, their “Observer”, asked, “What's on for us?” He nodded at Flossy.

“You've got this,” Guru said, tapping a photo of a collection of trucks with trailers, command vehicles, tents, and communications antennae. “It's listed as a suspected CP, but might be a SIGINT site, or a com relay. Whatever it is, you two make it go away.”

“A chance to kill a general?” Golen grinned. “It'll be a pleasure.”

Flossy asked, “What if it's gone when we get there?”

A very good question, Guru knew. “No alternates listed, so your choice: you can add your bombs to what Sweaty and Hoser do, or split the difference. One of you can go for this:” Guru tapped a spot on another photo-this one a low-level from an RF-4C. “It's a small fuel dump. Not big enough for two birds, but one....”

“I'll take the fuel dump if the CP isn't there,” Dave said.

“That leaves the repair yard,” Flossy nodded. “I'll finish what Sweaty starts.”

“Sounds good,” Guru nodded approval. “Okay, the other Dave?” He nodded at Dave Gledhill and his RAF people. “TARCAP as usual.”

“Got it. We'll have four Sidewinder-Ls, four Sky Flash, two wing tanks, and a SUU-23 gun pod,” Gledhill said.

“Good,” Guru said. “Nearest MiGs are at Brownwood Regional, and that's three minutes' flight time away for those MiG-21s and -23s.”

Kara nodded, then asked, “Boss, what's the MiG threat?”

“Now that you ask, it's MiG-21s and -23s at James Connolly AFB, Waco, with more at Waco Regional and Temple. More Floggers and Fulcrums are at Gray AAF at Fort Hood, with additional MiG-29s and the Flankers at Bergstrom AFB near Austin. Throw in the MiG-29s at Goodfellow, and -23s at San Angelo Municipal.”

“And the air-defense threat?” Dave Golen asked.

“They're East Germans. Around the airport? Just 23-mm and 37-mm. Dublin is a Division-level HQ, so there's SA-6 in the area, along with ZSU-23-4.”

Hoser nodded. “Somebody has to ask: any ZSU-30s?”

Guru scanned the intel sheet. “None reported, but that doesn't mean the East Germans don't have any. If you see those damned basketball-sized tracers at the target? Abort. We'll head for an opportunity target instead.”

Kara said, “There's plenty around, with this being an Army-level formation's rear.”

“There's several possibles listed,” said Guru. “All right: Ingress and egress.” He saw that everybody was paying close attention. “We hook up with the tankers at Track CHEVRON near Mineral Wells, then we get our asses down low. Follow the Brazos again, and watch for flak at the bridges and the Lake Granbury Dam. Once we get to Brazospoint, watch out, for we'll be back in the Libyan sector, and we all know how they shoot.”

“As if somebody's banned the practice and it's taking effect five minutes from that,” KT joked.

“A Golden BB can still nail you,” Guru warned them. “Keep that in mind. Anyway, we follow the river to Lake Whitney and down the lake. One mile from the dam, we turn to a heading of Two-four-five, head over the town of Fairy, then hit Lamkin on State Route 36. Then we go west for thirty seconds, then turn north, following F.M. 1702. Thirty seconds from the target, we pull up, as there's no good visual cues for a pullup. ID your target, make your run, then get your asses north. Once clear, make sure your last jink takes you to the left, and pick up State Route 16.”

Flossy asked, “Why the highway, Boss?”

“It's the boundary between the East Germans and the Soviet 32nd Army, if you'll recall, and they don't react much-probably because they think the other guys on either side of the highway will respond. Get to the highway, then north to the I-20. Meet the tankers, then come back.”

“And an hour or two later, we do this all over again,” Kara spat. It reminded her of what she'd been taught about the air war in Southeast Asia.

Guru nodded sympathetically. “That's a given. Anything else?” He asked as an Ops NCO came to collect the briefing materials.

“Buddy's still asleep,” Sweaty said, nodding at the dog.

“Let him sleep,” said Kara.

“Yeah,” Guru agreed. “If that's it, gear up and we'll meet at 512's revetment.”

The crews headed for their locker rooms to get into their flight gear. They were already in their flight suits, so it was the G-suit, survival vest, and picking up their helmets and sidearms.

When Guru came out of the Men's, he found Goalie waiting for him as usual. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.”

“One of the Henrys?” Guru asked as they headed out of the squadron's office.

“Richard III, I think,” Goalie replied. “It's been a while.”

“Same here,” Guru said as they walked over to 512's revetment. The rest of the flight was waiting. “All right, gather 'round,” The CO said, getting ready for his final instructions.

“Usual on the radio?” Kara asked.

Guru nodded, then replied, “Call signs between us, and mission code to other parties.”

“How many today?” Flight Lt. Susan Napier, Dave Gledhill's wingmate, asked.

“Hopefully, just the four scheduled,” said Guru. “But you never know.”

Sweaty nodded. “We could get back, and find out we're getting a hot turnaround, and are doing CAS the rest of the day.”

“Easily,” Kara agreed. “It's happened before.”

“That it has,” Guru nodded. “Okay, a reminder about bailout areas. Anyplace rural and away from the roads. As for mission code, we're Rambler Flight. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Okay, let's fly. Time to hit it.” He clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment. There, Sergeant Crowley, 512's Crew Chief, was waiting. “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve's ready to kick some more Commie ass,” he said, saluting.

Both Guru and Goalie returned the salute, “Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did their usual preflight walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped into their seats, it was time for the preflight cockpit check.

As they went through the checklist, Goalie asked, “Just how busy are we going to be today? Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, and check yours,” Guru replied. “And good question as to how busy we're going to be. That's up to Ivan.”

“Figured,” said Goalie.

“Yeah, they do have a say in that,” said Guru. “Arnie?” He was referring to the ARN-101 DMAS.

“Arnie's set, and so is the INS,” Goalie said. “Preflight checklist complete and ready for engine start.”

“So it is.” Guru gave a thumbs-up to his CC, and he got the “Start Engines” signal from Sergeant Crowley. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the warm-up was finished, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A controller replied at once. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” Guru replied. He gave another thumbs-up to his CC, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the wheels, and Sergeant Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes and taxied 512 out of the revetment. Once clear, Sergeant Crowley snapped a perfect salute, and both Guru and Goalie returned it. Guru taxied to Runway 35L, as the others in the flight fell in behind him, and when he got to the holding area, a flight of Marine Hornets was ahead of his, but he was the first 335th flight out of the gate this morning. After the Marines launched, Guru led the flight into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. Then he called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear to taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” the controller responded. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-five for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru taxied onto the runway, then Kara followed in 520, getting right in at his Five O'clock. A final check to make sure all was ready, then he glanced over at 520. Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups to signal they were ready. Then it was time. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Let's do it,” Goalie replied.

“Yeah, let's,” said Guru. “Canopy coming down. He pulled his canopy down, closing and locking it, and Goalie did the same. He looked to his right at 520, and saw that Kara and Brainiac had done the same. “Time to go.” He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara right with him in 520. Thirty seconds later, it was the turn of Sweaty's element, followed by Dave Golen's, with the two RAF F-4Js bringing up the rear. Rambler Flight formed up at FL 100, then they headed south for the tankers.

Over Central Texas: 0735 Hours Central War Time:



Rambler Flight was headed south, having topped up from the KC-135s and, for the RAF, the Tristar, and had crossed the fence and was now in hostile territory. They were following the Brazos River, just inside the sector held by the Nicaraguans, with the East Germans on the west side, and were just getting to Lake Granbury. So far, there had been no flak from the Nicaraguan side, but some East Germans had shot at them from the other side of the river.

In 512's front seat, Guru was watching not just his instruments, but also keeping up his visual scanning. Which was something the instructors at the RTU drummed into one's head not just in Ground School, but in the air as well. “Granbury Bridge in how long?” He asked Goalie.

His backseater replied, “Thirty seconds.” Or eight miles, she silently added. She, too, watched her instruments, and double-checked the navigation. Not just using the ARN-101, but also the old-fashioned way, with a map and stopwatch. And like a good GIB, Goalie also had eyes out of the cockpit, for having two pairs of eyes in the aircraft had saved their asses more than once.

“Got it,” Guru replied. He checked his EW display. Still clear, but he expected a Mainstay's radar signal to pop up any time.

“Coming up on the bridge,” Goalie advised. There were actually two bridges at Granbury, one of which carried U.S. 377 over the river, and the other was the old U.S. 377 bridge. A third railroad bridge had been dropped earlier in the summer, leaving these two. Sooner or later, Guru felt, somebody's going to drop these-unless the Army says no.

“Bridge coming up at One,” his GIB called. “And there's the flak as well.” Sure enough, the East Germans on the west side of the river began shooting, as 23-mm tracers along with puffs from 57-mm guns came up. As usual, though, the Nicaraguan gunners on the east side stayed silent, and Rambler Flight easily outdistanced the flak.

“And the dam?” Guru asked, referring to the Lake Granbury Dam.

“Coming up,” said Goalie. “Three miles.”

“Got it,” said Guru as the flak from the west side of the dam appeared. “East Germans are right on time.”

In the back seat, Goalie nodded, then she checked her EW display. “And so is Ivan.”

“What?”

“Check your EW.”

Guru checked his EW display, and sure enough, a strobe appeared to the south, along with the SEARCH warning light. “Mainstay again.” It wasn't a question.

“Roger that. Glen Rose Bridge in twenty seconds,” Goalie advised.

“Copy,” Guru said. That bridge was for U.S. 67.

“And tally on the bridge.”

The Glen Rose Bridge appeared at their One O'clock, along with the flak from the East Germans. As did a convoy on the bridge-military trucks and APCs. “Too bad this isn't armed recon,” Guru noted wistfully.

“Not their turn today,” Goalie replied. Too bad, she thought.

On the bridge, an East German Major was wincing. His convoy had had to travel through not just a Cuban rear area, but also the Nicaraguans' and the latter, he felt, were beginning to act just as his father had told him about the Italians in the last war. They were a bunch of slackers, and though they seemed very competent in their defense, or so it seemed, the Nicaraguans seemed to want the Yankees to come to them instead of resuming the offensive. At a stopover, one of the liaison officers with the Nicaraguan II Corps had taken the Major aside and given him a piece of news. Not only did it seem that the Nicaraguans want to lose the war, the other Major had said, but they wanted to do so as quickly as possible.

With that bright piece of news in hand, the Major's convoy, with supplies eventually destined for the 20th MRD, began crossing the bridge. The Traffic Regulators, at least, were Soviet, and had things well in hand. His command BTR-60PB began to cross, with trucks-including a gun truck with a ZU-23 AA gun mounted, following. Then he froze. The AA guns on the west side of the river opened up as eight American F-4s appeared, and a feeling of dread came over him, for his convoy was a sitting target. To his relief, the Ami Phantoms didn't attack, but kept on going south, intent on business elsewhere. The Major then shouted into his radio, and the convoy began moving forward again. They didn't hit us. This time, he thought.


“Brazospoint next,” Guru said as Glen Rose fell behind.

“Copy that,” Goalie said. “Twenty seconds.”

“Got it,” Guru replied as he took 512 down the middle of the river, and the flight followed. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace,” a controller replied. “First threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for eighty. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-four-zero for ninety. Medium, going away.”

“Copy that,” said Guru. “Say Bogey Dope?”

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

“Roger, Crystal Palace.”

“Brazospoint coming up,” said Goalie. “Flak on both sides.” That meant they were out of the Nicaraguan sector to the east, and had Libyans on the east bank. This was also where the Ops Officer had run into a flak trap, and Guru had led a strike later that same day to take out the guilty parties.

“Right on time,” Guru said as the flak appeared. The East German gunners stopped shooting after the strike flight cleared the bridge, but a quick glance to the rear showed the Libyans still firing. As usual.

“They are,” Goalie agreed. “Thirty seconds to the Route 174 bridge. That signaled the north end of Lake Whitney.

“Copy.”

The strike flight kept on course, and the bridge that carried State Route 174 over the Brazos came into view-with the flak from both sides of the river. “Bridge and flak ahead,” Goalie called.

“Roger that,” Guru replied as they overflew the bridge, and unlike the Glen Rose Bridge, there was no traffic on the bridge. “This one's empty.”

“Too bad,” Goalie said as the lake opened up ahead of them.

Seeing the lake, Guru dropped lower, from 500 feet AGL to 450, and the flight followed as he did. A quick glance at the EW display showed the Mainstay radar signal still there. “And the Mainstay's going.”

“Still say someone needs to do something about those guys.”

“So do I.”

As Rambler Flight thundered down the lake, they attracted the attention of not only locals who were fishing to supplement the rationing that the occupation imposed, but also Soviet, East German, and Cuban soldiers who wanted fresh fish as a change from Army rations. Not to mention in a couple of what had been prewar, boat-in campgrounds, some of the local Resistance. The locals and the Resistance people had smiles on their faces. Seeing the Air Force coming in-as it did on a regular basis-was a boost to the morale of both the civilians and the Resistance. While the Soviet-bloc soldiery, though....seeing American aircraft over their territory unmolested by either fighters or anti-aircraft weapons was not a boost to their own morale.

“Coming up on the dam,” Guru said as they flew over a small island in the lake-about three miles from the dam itself.

“On it,” said Goalie. “Turn in ten...now five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn to two-four-five, and cleared the lake. Once steady on the new course, he asked Goalie, “How far to the next checkpoint?”

“Fairy is the next one,” she replied. “Four minutes.”

“Roger that,” said Guru. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead. Say threats.”

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

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Do you have bogey dope?”

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

“Copy that, Crystal Palace,” Guru said. Well, now, he thought. We may have to fight our way past those MiG-29s. “Fulcrums ahead.”

“I heard,” Goalie replied. She took a look at her EW display. “Still clear except for the Mainstay.”

Must have their radars off, Guru thought. “Keep on it,” he said.

“Rambler, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS called back. “Bandits bearing Two-six-seven for sixty. Medium, going away.”

“Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead,” replied Guru. “These the Fulcrums?”

“Affirmative, Rambler.”

“Copy that,” Guru said.

“Two minutes to Fairy,” Goalie said.

“Got it.”

Some hills went by as the strike flight kept on course. Then the AWACS came up. “Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing Two-six-five for fifty. Medium, going away.”

“Fulcrums going home?” Guru thought aloud. Then he responded to the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead copies.”

“Let's hope so,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to Fairy.”

“Copy.” It wasn't long until Guru had visual on the town. “Fairy at Twelve.” The crossroads town, more a name on the map than a town, was also a collection of ruins. However, the town was at the junction of two Farm-to-Market roads, and as such, rated a small garrison. As the F-4s flew past, a quick glance showed some APCs parked among the ruins, but no fire came up. Good. “How long until Lamkin?” That was the next checkpoint.

“Eighteen miles,” Goalie replied. “Thirty-five seconds.”

“Copy that.”


In Fairy, a Soviet patrol was just beginning to stir. They were reservists from a rear-area protection division, all from Minsk, and most of them were well into their forties. Their platoon leader was a former schoolteacher called back to duty, and he was thirty-five. The Senior Lieutenant had taken officer's training at the University in Minsk, and done his time as a platoon leader, before going back to civilian life. With the war, he had been called back to the colors, though not too eagerly, for he was married with two children and a third on the way when he was reactivated in 1985. Not only that, but he missed his students, and still got letters from some, who were asking what it was like to be in America, and was military life all the State TV, Radio, and the magazines called it? Since most of his students were in their early teens, and thus too young to be drafted, the Lieutenant was....delicate in his answers. Yes, he was proud to do his duty, and yes, there was a lot here in America, but things weren't so.....heroic where he was. No, for his platoon was made up of men too old for front-line service, and their equipment? BTR-152 APCs with a platoon of equally old T-54As attached. No, there would be no brave stand like in the Barrikady Factory in Stalingrad....if the Yankees appeared with their dreaded M-1 tanks? His platoon would be brushed aside like so many flies. Not only did he know it, but his men as well.

The Lieutenant got out of his APC to stretch his legs when his Platoon Sergeant pointed to the east. Aircraft coming in. His men took whatever cover they could, away from the tanks and APCs as the F-4s flew overhead. Not a shot was fired, either from his men or the attached tanks, as the aircraft thundered on to the west. Getting up from a roadside ditch, he nodded to the Platoon Sergeant, who began shouting at the men to get them back into some semblance of order. At least they didn't hit us, the Lieutenant thought. But next time? It might be different.


“Lamkin in when?” Guru asked Goalie as Fairy disappeared behind them.

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie replied.

“Give the count,” Guru said, his eyes out the cockpit, keeping his visual scanning.

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

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, settling on a course of 350 Degrees, heading towards the target. With no visual cues for pullup, it would be the old-fashioned way, by time and distance. “Flight, Lead, Music on, switches on, and stand by,” he called the flight, as he turned on his ECM pod.

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

“Set 'em up,” Guru told Goalie.

“On it, she replied, working the armament control panel in the back seat. “All set here. Everything in one pass.”

“Good,” he called. “How long to pull?”

“Forty seconds.”

Guru took a quick glance at his EW display. No fighter radars, he was glad to see, but that damned Mainstay was still there. “Roger that,” he said. Still clear visually, he saw.

“Twenty seconds,” Goalie advised.

“Start the count at ten.”

“Stand by.....Ten....now five, four, three, ready, ready, PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and as 512 pulled up, he could see his target. Dublin Airport was there, as was the vehicle repair yard. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight.”

“All set back here,” Goalie said, tightening her shoulder straps.

“Then let's do it,” said Guru, rolling in in his attack run.


At the Dublin airport, an East German Air Force Major was now in command. The Soviet Navy Yak-38s had been pulled out to reequip, and that left exactly two Su-25s, four Mi-8s, and a single An-2 on the ramp area, of which only the Su-25s were Soviet, and they were busy rearming for another sortie. The Major had been there since the front had stabilized, and he had been there for every air strike that had come in. Either F-4s, or A-7s during the day, and A-6s (or so he thought) at night. And yet, the need to support the Army meant that the airport was still being kept open, despite all the attention the Fascists paid to it. To make matters worse, the 4th MRD still had its divisional headquarters in the town, and the division's rear-area services were set up in and around the town, with a vehicle repair facility just south of the airport. Though he did wonder whose command vehicles had set up south of the runway a couple days before, but they had left without anyone paying much attention.

The Major's main concern at the moment was air defense. Or more correctly, the lack of it. All the raids had put a serious crimp in the defenses, and at the moment, all the Major had was a single battery of ZU-23s, all spread out around the field, and a battery of 37-mm guns from the 1950s, manned by gunners who dated from the 1960s. Cursing whoever had sent these overage reservists, the Major knew that with no radar-and the radar-guided 57-mm battery that had been there had been wrecked, the field would only have visual warning of an attack, and visual aiming. Then the 4th MRD's SAM Regiment had been most uncooperative, flatly refusing to locate a battery at the airport, much to his disgust. At least the missile gunners were ready, for the air force personnel had a number of shoulder-fired Strela-3 (SA-14) missiles, though they would need some warning, like the AA gunners.

Satisfied as best he could, the Major went to talk with one of the Mi-25 pilots, who was waiting on a maintenance crew to arrive to repair a broken rotor head due to battle damage. He had only taken a few steps from the tent that served as his office when a shout came, followed by AA gunners turning their weapons to the south, and he saw smoke trails in that direction, and they were climbing. F-4s, he knew from experience, and they were getting ready to attack. “AIR ALARM!” The Major shouted, then he jumped into a foxhole.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 in on his bomb run. He spotted two Su-25s and several helos-were some Hinds, he wondered, and decided to take them. The defenders down below must have been on the ball, the CO thought, for flak began to come up, both 23-mm and 37-mm. Even an SA-7 type missile was launched, but head-on, it had no chance to guide. Ignoring the flak, Guru lined up the two Su-25s in his pipper. You'll do, he thought. Not today, Ivan or Franz. “Steady....Steady....” he muttered as the aircraft grew larger in his pipper. “And....And.....HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, sending his six Mark-82s and six M-117Rs down onto the target below. He pulled up and away, applying power and jinking as he did so, hoping to avoid not only the airport's defenses, but the SA-6s and Shilkas in the area. Only when clear of both the airport and the town did he make his call. “Lead off target.”


“Schisse!” The Major muttered in the foxhole. Shit... The damned Amis are back. He heard Guru's F-4 make its run, then the bombs followed. The concussion, the dust, and then at least three sympathetic detonations shook the Major, even in the foxhole. He lifted his head to have a look, and saw both Su-25s blasted apart, along with the damaged Mi-25, while another Mi-25 had been peppered by shrapnel from a bomb blast, but wasn't on fire. Maybe we can save that, he thought. Then the AA guns turned back south, and the Major ducked. For he knew that meant another Ami coming in.


“BULLSEYE!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “And we've got three or four secondaries!”

“How big?” Guru asked as he dodged an SA-7 type missile that flew by on the left side of the aircraft.

“Big enough,” was the reply.

“I'll take that,” Guru said as he jinked again, then settled on his egress course.


“Two's in hot!” Kara made her call as she took 520 down on her attack run. She saw the CO make his, and the fireballs that erupted on the ramp area as his bombs found targets. With her target being the runway, she centered the midpoint of the runway in her pipper as she came in. Kara, too, ignored the flak, and concentrated on the bomb run, while an SA-7 flew past on the right side, and another went by below. No matter. “Steady....And...And.....Steady.....And.....NOW!” She hit her pickle button, and her bombs came off the racks and onto the East Germans below. Kara then pulled up and away, and like the CO, applied power as she did so, and began jinking. No sense in making it easy for the gunners below....Only when she was clear of both the target area and the town did Kara make her call, “Two's off safe.”


“DAMNT!” The Major shouted to no one in particular. Damn....these Amis are very persistent. He heard Kara's F-4 come in, and he glaced up as the big Phantom released its bombs. This time, the bombs fell further away than the first ones had, and he knew right away what the target was. The runway. The Major saw the bombs going off, as clouds of dirt, smoke, and debris came up. Fortunately for him, the bombs were too far to worry about, and after the F-4 got away, he got up from the foxhole, intending to get things in order. Seeing the AA guns turn back south, and one of his ground officers come over and literally shove him back into the foxhole told him something else. More Ami Phantoms coming in.

“SHACK!” Brainiac's shout came over 520's IC. “Good hits back there!”

Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “We got the runway?”

“We did, and it's cut,” her GIB replied.

“That's good,” she replied as an SA-7 flew past on the right. She jinked right, and another flew by just a hundred feet or so above. Some flak from rooftops in the town did come, but she was too fast for the gunners to really track. Once she was clear, Kara picked up the CO's smoke trail, then Guru's bird came into view.

“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. As she came in on the bomb run, she saw Kara's bird pull up, and leave bomb blasts on the runway in its wake. Good, she said to herself as she lined up her target, the vehicle repair yard. As Sweaty came in, she saw that it wasn't full to the brim, but wasn't empty, either. Must be a slow day, she thought as she lined up several tanks in her pipper. You'll go, Sweaty said to herself. She, too, ignored the flak, and the SA-7s-two of them-that came her way. “And..And....And.....HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, and her dozen Mark-82s and M-117s came off the racks. She then pulled up and away, jinking and applying power as she did so, and even waggling her wings to the civilians in Dublin as she flew out. When clear of the town, Sweaty made her call, “Three's off.”


The Major muttered some curses again as Sweaty's F-4 made its run, but to his relief, the airport wasn't hit. For a moment, he wondered what had been the target, then the bomb blasts-and a couple of fireballs-signaled a strike on the repair yard. That facility was none of his concern, only the Army's, and the Major knew it. He glanced around, seeing a soldier fire a Strela-3 missile at the departing F-4, then the man ran into cover. The AA guns turned back south, and that meant more Amis, the Major knew.


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

“What kind?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid a SA-7 on the right, then another on the left.

“Several, and they're righteous!” The ex-seminary student turned GIB was pleased with that.

“I'll go with that,” Sweaty replied as she finished jinking, then picked up the CO's element.


“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came down on his run. He saw what his element lead had done, and aimed his run for the southern end of the yard. Double-whammy for you, Franz, he thought as he lined up some vehicles that to him, looked like APCs. No matter, he said to himself as the flak came up, and so did a missile, probably an SA-7 that flew by harmlessly on the left, all of which he ignored. Hoser concentrated on his bomb run, as the APCs grew larger in his pipper. You're gone.... “Steady....Steady... And...And....NOW!” Hoser hit the pickle button, sending his dozen bombs down on the target. He then pulled up, jinking and applying power as he did, clearing both the target and the town. Only when he cleared the latter did he make his call. “Four off target.”


“Ugh...” the Major said to no one in particular. The fourth Ami Phantom came in, and as he watched from his foxhole, Hoser's F-4 released its bombs onto the repair yard. A couple of fireballs mixed in with the bomb blasts told him that the aircraft had hit what it was aiming at, and the Major shook his head. At least the repair yard was the Army's to deal with, and not his problem. What would those Party bosses back in Berlin think of this, he wondered to himself. Then he stopped. The Stasi were always on the lookout for any sign of “Defeatism” and “Non-belief in Our Victory”, he knew. Shaking his head, he started to get up when the AA guns once again turned south. More? The Major huddled in the foxhole one more time.

“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called as he came in on his run. Seeing that the target for his element was gone, he didn't have time to wonder where it went or to look around. He decided to take the small fuel dump just east of the airport, and the IDF Major easily picked it out. Just like on the photos, he thought. Not a big dump, but still worth torching. Ignoring the flak and at least two SA-7s that came his way, he lined up the depot in his pipper. “Steady now....Steady....And...Steady.....NOW!” Golen hit his pickle, sending a dozen more Mark-82s and M-117s down onto the East Germans. Like the others, he, too, applied power and pulled up, jinking all the while to avoid flak or SAMs. When he cleared both the airport and Dublin proper, Golen made his call. “Five off target.”


“Schisse!” The Major yelled as Dave Golen's F-4 came in and released its bombs. This time, he had no doubt as to what the target was. His fuel dump. Oh, it wasn't large, but enough to support operations as they currently stood-and it had been relocated several times after being hit in air strikes. The size clearly made no difference to the attacker, for a dozen bombs came off the aircraft, and as it thundered overhead, the bombs landed in and around the fuel dump. A number of oily fireballs erupted at once, then several others as secondary explosions set off more fuel tanks or drums. This is not good, the Major thought, knowing full well that was an understatement. He got up out of the foxhole once again, then noticed the AA guns turning once again. Back to the foxhole, he thought as another Ami Phantom came in.


“GOOD HITS!” Terry McAuliffe, Golen's GIB, shouted. “Multiple secondaries!”

“How big?” Golen asked as he jinked, dodging another SA-7 on the left, and some AA fire from a building in town.

“Big enough!”

“Good to know,” Golen said as he jinked again, then picked up Sweaty's element.


“Six in hot!” Flossy called as she brought 1569 in on her bomb run. She saw the fuel dump go up, and the craters on the runway, and decided to strike the repair yard. Flossy spotted a number of vehicles that hadn't been struck, and selected those for her strike. She, too, ignored the flak coming up, and a couple of non-guiding SA-7s, as she concentrated on her bomb run. Going to really ruin Franz's morning, she thought as the vehicles-these looked to be a mix of APCs and tanks-grew larger. “And....And....Steady...” She said aloud. “And....HACK!” Flossy hit her pickle button, and sent her dozen Mark-82s and M-117s onto the yard. She immediately pulled up and away, jinking as she did so, and applying power. Flossy cleared the target and the town, and when clear, she made the call. “Six off safe.”

“Of all the...” The Major said as Flossy's F-4 came in on its run. At first, he wondered what the aircraft's target was, then when he saw bomb release, he knew what it was. The repair yard again. A dozen bomb blasts followed, then a couple of fireballs right after, then a couple more. That's the Army's problem, he thought. He got up out of the foxhole, and saw the AA gunners swinging their guns around, but no longer firing. This one's over, he said to himself. Now to get some order out of this mess. The Major then began shouting orders.

“SHACK!” Jang called from 1569's back seat.

“Good hits?” Flossy asked as she jinked left to avoid a missile, then right to avoid another, along with some tracer fire from the town.

“Good and a few secondaries to go along with 'em.”

“That'll liven up their morning,” Flossy said as she picked up her element lead, and formed up with him.


When Flossy gave her “Off safe” call, Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask, while Goalie called on the IC. “Six in and out.”

“Still got a game on,” Guru reminded her. “Rambler One-seven and One-eight, get your asses down and clear.”

“Roger Lead,” both Paul Jackson and Susan Napier called, and both RAF F-4Js hustled to catch up with the strike birds.

“Approaching Route 16,” Guru said as the state highway appeared to the left. “How far to the fence?” That meant the I-20.

“One minute,” Goalie replied. “Sixteen miles.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Two, where are you?”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied. A quick glance to the right had 520 right with them in Combat Spread.

“Sweaty?”

“On your six, and Hoser's with me,” Sweaty called.

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

“Roger all,” said Guru. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Rambler Lead. Any threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “Threat bearing Two-two-zero for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing Two-one-five for fifty. Medium, closing. First threats are Fishbeds, second threats are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that. Can you arrange a reception committee?”

“Can do, Rambler,” said the controller. “Break, Rustler Lead, Crystal Palace. Bandits bearing One-eight-five for forty-five. Medium, closing. Multiple bandits inbound. Kill. Repeat: KILL. Clear to arm and fire.”

“Rustler Lead copies,” an F-15 flight lead replied. “Confirm clear to arm and fire.”

“Rustler, Crystal Palace. Clear to arm and fire.”

“Roger.” The F-15 lead turned, and the four-ship flight turned south, fangs out.

In 512, Goalie was checking her navigation. “Thirty seconds to the fence,” she called.

“Lead, Two,” Kara called out. “What if the bandits get past the Eagles?”

“Then we turn on them, Two,” Guru replied firmly. “Not before.”

“Roger that,” Kara said, her reply tinged with disappointment, though she knew the CO was right. Why hassle with MiGs if the F-15s were coming in? But if they jumped a recon bird....

“Rustlers, clear to engage,” Rustler Lead called, as four F-15Cs engaged four East German MiG-21s out of Brownwood Regional. The first volley of AIM-7Ms splashed two, and the other two were killed by a second volley. Two MiG-29s then continued to close in, and one of them was splashed, with the other turning for home after seeing his flight leader killed.

“Crossing the Fence....now!” Goalie called as the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared.

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.” He turned on his IFF transponder and turned off his ECM pod.

“Mainstay's gone off,” Goalie said, checking her EW display.

Guru checked his own display, and saw the Mainstay signal was no longer displayed, and the SEARCH warning light was off. “We'll see him again, unless somebody takes another Phoenix shot.”

“To be wished for,” said Goalie.

“Yeah.”

The flight climbed to altitude, and met up with the tankers for their post-strike refueling. That done, they headed back to Sheppard. When they got there, the flight was third in line to land, after a Marine Hornet flight and a westbound C-130. When it was their turn, they came in and landed, and to those watching on the ground, it was disappointing, as no one did victory rolls.

As they taxied in, the crews saw a C-5B coming in to land. “What's he got?” Guru asked. “First time in a while I've seen a Galaxy.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Goalie said. “Haven't seen a C-5 since one night in Denver. They brought in a ton of supplies, and stuffed five hundred or so people in for the trip out.”

Guru heard that, and shook his head. How that bird had gotten airborne with that many people.... “Did they make it?”

“They did,” Goalie said as 512 taxied towards the dispersal area. “They went to Salt Lake. Don't know how, but they made it.”

Shuddering at what he'd heard about Denver, he was actually glad to have been either in the air, or doing his Resistance time. “One of these days, you need to share some of those stories,” Guru said.

“I will,” Goalie said.

Guru taxied into the squadron's dispersal area, then the aircraft went for their individual revetments. Finding 512's, he taxied in, and Sergeant Crowley gave the “Stop” signal, and the ground crew laid down the wheel chocks. Then the Crew Chief gave the “Shut Down” signal, and Guru shut down the engines.

After the post-flight cockpit check, and the ground crew deploying the crew ladder, pilot and GIB got out. They did a post-flight walk-around, and when finished, Sergeant Crowley was waiting with bottles of water for both. “Major, how'd she do?”

“Five-twelve's working like a champ, Sarge. Tore up an airfield again, and got a couple of ground kills, but no MiGs in the air.”

“This time,” Goalie said wistfully. She, too, wanted more air-to-air action, with KT having five backseat kills to equal her own.

“Better luck next time,” Guru said, then he downed half his water bottle. “Sarge, get her turned around for the next one. We'll be back at it before too long.”

Crowley nodded. “You got it, Major! All right, people! You heard the CO. Let's get this bird ready for the next one!”

While the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, where Kara and Brainiac were already waiting. “Well?” Guru asked his wing crew.

“Tore up the runway,” Kara grinned. “And you guys did the same to a couple of Su-25s and a couple of helos.”

“Strike camera should tell us,” Goalie said. “Hinds or Hips, I think, from the prestrike photos.”

“I'll take either one,” Guru said as Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT arrived. “How'd it go with you guys?”

Sweaty had a grin from ear to ear. “Turned that repair yard into a junkyard.”

“That we did,” Hoser nodded. “But what'd they have there? There were more than a couple secondaries.”

“Fuel or ammo taken from vehicles?” KT asked.

“Maybe,” Preacher said. “The explosions were righteously good, though.”

“They were,” Dave Golen said as he and his people came up. “Got the fuel dump.”

“No C3 site?” Guru asked.

“Nobody home,” Terry McAuliffe replied. “So we took the dump.”

“Flossy?”

“We finished the repair yard,” Flossy grinned, and Jang nodded. “No MiGs, though.”

Dave Gledhill's people came next. “I'll second that,” Gledhill said. “Where did those MiGs that were coming for us go? The ones closing before turning for the target?”

Guru nodded. He'd been wondering about that himself. “Maybe they got vectored after somebody else?”

“Or they were low on fuel,” Dave Golen ventured. “The MiG-29's something of a gas hog, isn't it?”

“It is,” Sin Licon said as he came up. “At least these ones are. Major, we need to get the debrief done.”

Guru nodded, as he knew it. “That we do. Come on, people. Let's make the intel folks happy. Then we can get something to snack on, check your IN boxes and make sure they're empty, because in a couple hours at most, the next game is on.”

“As long as 'tis not CAS,” Sweaty nodded.

“Don't say that word,” Kara reminded her. “Last thing anyone here wants. Let the SLUF and Hog drivers handle that.”

Guru nodded back. “No argument from me on that, Starbuck. Come on: let's get the debrief done. One and done. Three more to go.”

“Hopefully,” Goalie said.

“Yeah,” the CO nodded. “Let's go.”