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Old 08-17-2019, 07:31 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Auberry, CA
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And the day keeps on going:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 1210 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was going back into the Squadron's offices. He had gone to the Officer's Mess Tent to get lunch for himself and Goalie, and, so far, he was pleased with how the morning had gone. No losses, thank goodness, and no birds with battle damage. A few more missions like the one he and his flight had just flown, though, and they would be losing people, and he knew it. It had come up in the debriefing, and both his own Intelligence Officer and the RAF detachment's had agreed on the same thing: “You guys were just plain lucky.”

How right you are, the CO said to himself as he went in. He nodded to the Day-shift SDO, Doucette, then went to his office, and found his secretary having already gone for lunch. They need fuel just as we do, the Major reminded himself as he went into his office. He had just sat behind his desk when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

Goalie came in. “I see you got lunch today. What's on tap?”

Guru opened the paper bags. “Turkey sandwiches with fries and Cole Slaw, and lemonade.”

“Sounds good. No bison burgers?”

“Not on today's menu,” replied Guru. Then there was another knock on the door. “Yeah?”

The Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss, got a couple message forms,” he said, handing the forms to the CO.

“Well?” Goalie asked.

“Birds from Japan are due in two days,” Guru said. “Just before the weather stand-down.”

“Any word on crews?”

“That's the second message,” Ellis said.

Guru scanned the second form. “Well, the ferry crews go back, but a new crew fresh from Kingsley field will be here tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me,” Goalie said. “We can put the newbies to SDO duty until a bird comes for 'em.”

“True,” Ellis nodded. “Boss, that second mission you flew this morning? Heard from Dave Golen before he went to lunch. Said it was a hairy one.”

Guru nodded grimly. “It was. If those fuckers on the ground had been a little more on the ball, I'd probably be drafting letters right now,” he said. “And you might be now Squadron CO.”

“That bad?”

“Be glad the ECM pods work on SA-4 and -8. They were shooting in optical mode.”

Goalie nodded as well. “At least those we know. SA-11's out there, somewhere, and those puppies are still bad news.”

“Not arguing that,” Ellis said. “Oh, Doc Waters wants to make sure we get our workouts in.”

“He checking names again?” Guru asked. He remembered the last time he'd had a workout, and the Flight Surgeon himself had been sitting outside the Fitness Center Tent, checking off aircrew names.

The XO smiled. “He is. C.J told me.”

Guru sighed. Without an air strike or Scud attack, the sawbones wasn't that busy-the occasional sports injury or emergency appendectomy was all he had at the moment. “I'll consider myself warned. Anything else?”

“No change in the weather for the afternoon.”

“Good. That it before we eat?”

“It is, Boss,” the XO smiled.

“All right, then. Have a good lunch yourself,” Guru said.

“As long as everybody stays away from the Suggestion of Pork tri-tip,” Ellis grinned. “Seems the RAF guys haven't gotten the message.”

“That stuff is from the Department of Cruel and Unusual Nourishment,” Goalie quipped. “Anyone ever tell 'em?

“The Marines make those, not those restaurateurs,” Ellis said. “I'll let 'em know.”

“Do that, Mark,” Guru said. “Like Kara's, uh, 'alternate payment plan', having some RAF guys down with food poisoning won't do for Inter-Allied Relations.”

“Will do,” Ellis said. “Enjoy.” he said as he left the office.

“Now can we eat?” Goalie quipped.

“Let's,” said Guru. “Time to dig in.”


The two ate, and while they did, discussed squadron related matters. “New birds from Japan are due in two days,” Guru said, in between bites of sandwich.

“That's good,” Goalie said. “Any word on crews?”

“One's due in from Kingsley Field day after tomorrow. So far, nada on who they are.”

“So we could get a pair of FNGs, guys coming from instructor jobs they don't want, or fresh out of the hospital and whatever requalification they had.”

“Something like that,” said Guru.

“Lovely.”


After they had finished eating, Goalie went back to her office to check her desk, for as Senior WSO, she had more paperwork than the average GIB. The CO also tackled some papers, and his OUT box was soon full. He was thinking of a short nap when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

The door opened, and it was Kara. “Boss, we've got us a mission. Briefing folder's ready, and the birds should be finished with the turnaround.”

“We getting the same RAF crew as this morning?”

Kara nodded. “That we are.”

Guru took a quick look at the office clock. 1245. “Fair enough. All right: round everybody up, and get them to the briefing room in ten.”

“I'm gone,” Kara said as she headed out the door.

After she left, the CO went to the Ops Office, and found the Ops Officer there. “Don,” Guru said. “What's on tap for my crew?”

“Missile support facility, southeast of Lake Proctor and the town of Haase,” Don Van Loan said. “It's for Scuds.”

Guru scanned the intel sheet. “This is in the Soviet rear?”

“Yep. Rear area for 32nd Army,” Van Loan nodded.

“Dave and Flossy coming?” Guru asked.

“Not on this one,” Van Loan said. “They have something that calls for a two-ship.”

“All right, Don. Thanks,” the CO said. “You be careful your own self, hear?”

“After what happened yesterday?” Van Loan asked, referring to the flak trap that his flight had run into. One plane down with the crew MIA and the other down with the crew recovered had been the price for that. “Always.”

Guru nodded at that. “Good, and keep Rabbit alive for the next two missions. General Yeager will have both our asses if he-or Firefly-get themselves killed or MIA.” The CO was referring to two pilots who had been selected for the F-20 Program during a visit by General Chuck Yeager, and were on their last day of combat before a week's R&R in Las Vegas before reporting to Edwards AFB for their conversion training.

“Will do, Boss,” Van Loan said. “You be careful yourself.”

“I know. You don't want to be Exec, and Kara doesn't want to be Ops,” said the CO. “So I'll be careful. You have a good one, Don.”

Van Loan nodded. “You too, Boss.”

Guru then headed to the Briefing Room, and found Buddy, the mascot, sitting in front of the door. The CO opened the door and let the dog in, and to his-and everyone else in the room's-relief, the dog promptly found a place to curl up and fell asleep. “All right, folks, we've had our break, and now it's back to the game.”

“Where are we going?” Kara asked.

Guru opened the briefing folder. “Here, Near Lake Proctor, east of the town of Haase and U.S. 67-377. There's a Scud support facility for the Soviet 32nd Army. We get to make it go away.”

“And this is where?” Sweaty wanted to know.

“About ten miles east of the town, at the F.M. 328-F.M. 1476 intersection. It's in the Northwest corner of the junction. And the only visual cue to the target? A ranch pond with dam about five miles south.

“Not enough,” Goalie noted. “We'll have to do this by INS and the old-fashioned way.”

“Correct,” Guru said. Now, the facility is on a ranch, and you can bet the barn and ranch buildings aren't housing horses and cattle,” the CO said. “And there's another pond south of the buildings, and want to bet Ivan's probably fished that pond empty, hoping to get some fresh fish instead of their rations?” He saw some grins at that. “The barn's probably being used for enlisted billeting, the house as an HQ and Officer's quarters, and here, south of those,” said Guru as he passed around a reconnaissance photo taken from low level, then continued. “Are the missiles. Two groups, one west and one east. I'll take the western group, Kara? You take the eastern.”

“Got it,” Kara said.

“Sweaty? You get the vehicle park, and kill any missiles already on trailers,” Guru told his second element leader.

Sweaty grinned. “Gladly.”

“Hoser?” Guru said to her wingmate. “Take the buildings themselves.”

“Will do, Boss,” Hoser replied. “And the defenses there, Chief?”

“Getting to that,” Guru said. “At the site? There's 23-mm and the usual small-arms and MANPADS. To the west, though, there's Lake Proctor, and the 37-mm and 57-mm flak at the dam. Just don't get too close on the way out. The division in the area has SA-6, so be careful, and we're still in the Army rear, and that means SA-4.”

“At least it's not like the last one,” KT said. “That was SAM City, Boss.”

Guru nodded. “That it was, and before you ask, Dave and Flossy have their own strike, and no Weasel or IRON HAND on this one-again.”

Heads nodded, then Kara asked, “How are we getting there?”

“Here's the deal,” Guru said. “We tank up as usual, but on the way in? We go in about a mile east of the Brazos, and stay over the Nicaraguan sector the whole way. They're being very quiet, and unless somebody's paid them a visit, are likely to stay that way. We stay on their side of the Brazos until we get to U.S. 67, then break for the river.”

“Why's that?” Preacher asked.

“Because the Libyan sector starts up just south of 67,” Kara said, and she saw the CO nod. “And those chumps will shoot at us, no matter what.”

“And those guys shoot like there's no tomorrow,” Guru reminded everyone. “So, we follow the river to Lake Whitney, and turn west just prior to the dam,”

“And after that, Boss?” KT asked.

“We go via INS to a point three miles west of Gustine on State Route 36, at the F.M. then turn north.
That's also our pop-up point, by the way, with thirty seconds to target. Climb to two thousand, ID the target by the configuration of the intersection, and make your runs. Once you're finished jinking after bomb release? Make sure your last jink is to the left. Head to the Leon River, and we follow the river back to the I-20 and the fence.”

“Sounds good,” Sweaty replied. “Ordnance loads?”

Guru nodded. “No CBUs on this one, sorry to say, but we get six Mark-82s and six M-117s. The Mark-82s have the Daisy Cutter fuze extensions, and we get the usual air-to-air load. Four AIM-9Ps, Two AIM-7Fs, full gun, usual ECM pods, and two wing tanks.” He turned to Dave Gledhill and his element. “Dave?”

Squadron Leader Gledhill nodded. “Right, then. For the TARCAP, we have four Sidewinder-Ls, four Sky Flash, two wing tanks, and a SUU-23 gun pod.”

Guru nodded. “Fine with me. The MiG threat is the same as the last one, and that means Brownwood Regional is the closest-the Fishbeds and Floggers are two minutes' flight time away. Less if they're on burner.” He paused, then continued. “MiG-29s are at Goodfellow and San Angelo Municipal, and also at both Gray AAF and Bergstrom. The -21s and -23s are at James Connolly AFB by Waco, Temple Regional, and at Bergstrom as well. Which is where the Flankers hang out, so be careful.”

“Got it,” Hoser said. “And everything else is unchanged from this morning? Bailout areas, weather, etc.?”

“They are,” said Guru. He glanced around, and saw Buddy still asleep. “And Buddy's sound asleep. Good. That's it,” he said as an Ops NCO came to collect the briefing material. “Gear up, and I'll see you at 512.”


The crews went to the locker rooms to gear up, and when Guru came out of the Men's, he found Goalie geared up and waiting, as usual. “You ready for this?”

“As long as this one's not as hairy as Comanche,” she replied. “Haven't seen that many SAMs since some of our Dallas-Fort Worth escapades.”

The CO nodded. “Not arguing with you on that,” he said. “Let's go.”

Both left the squadron's offices, and found Dave Golen, Terry McAuliffe, Flossy, and Jang sitting outside, discussing their own mission. “Guru, Goalie,” Dave Golen said. “Too bad we're not going with you.”

“Where you headed?” Guru asked.

“Recon escort,” Golen replied. “Athena again.”

“Guaranteed excitement, no matter what,” Goalie nodded. “We rode shotgun on her once, and shot a MiG-25 off her ass. Be warned: you might get MiGs on this one.”

“They told us in the brief. You're going where?”

“East of Lake Proctor,” said Guru. “You?”

“Dublin area,” the IDF Major replied. “We're back to Camaro Flight.”

“We're still Rambler. You hit MiG trouble? Holler. We'll bring the Brits.”

“Good to know,” Golen said, shaking hands with Guru. “Be careful, though.”

“You too, and good luck,” Guru replied.

“Likewise.”


Guru and Goalie then walked to the squadron's dispersal area, and found the rest of the flight waiting at 512's revetment. “You all ready?” Guru asked.

“To earn our flight pay?” Kara asked. “Yeah, but we do have to give half back to Uncle Sam come April 15,” she laughed, and so did the others.

“That we do,” Guru laughed back. “Okay, usual procedures on the radio, and in case you're wondering about opportunity targets? There's several in the area, and I'll take you to one.”

Sweaty then asked, “Any word on ZSU-30s?”

“Good question. Just because they're not reported doesn't mean they're not around,” said Guru. “If you see those basketball-sized tracers at the target? Abort. We'll reform, and go for an opportunity target.”

“Good to know,” KT said. “Boss, any word on when our EW gear gets tweaked?”

“Nothing new,” Guru admitted. “But I'll find out. General Olds, before he left, said it might be two weeks, and he'd try to get that cut down some.”

“Maybe we'll find out during the stand-down that's a-coming,” Kara nodded.

Guru nodded. “That would be good to know. Once airborne,” he went on, “meet up at ten grand overhead. Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Then it's time to hit it. Let's go get 'em.” He clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed to their aircraft, and both Guru and Goalie headed into the revetment and their mount, 512. There, Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting for them. He snapped a salute, then said, “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve's all locked and cocked, ready to go.”

Guru and Goalie returned the salute, then Guru said, “Thanks, Sarge.” He and Goalie did the preflight walk-around, then mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, they went through the preflight checklist. “That last one was a nine out of ten,” Guru said as they went through the checklist.

“No kidding!” Goalie shot back. “A ten would've been radar-guided SAMs. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, check yours,” Guru said. “Let's hope for a four or a five,” he added. “Arnie?”
He meant the ARN-101 DMAS.

“Arnie's all set, and so's the INS,” Goalie called back. “And I'll agree on the four or five,” she said. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who then gave the “Start Engines” signal. “Starting up.” First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running. Once the warm-up was complete, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A tower controller came back at once. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. “Rambler Flight is rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away, then Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, then taxied out of the revetment. Once clear, Sergeant Crowley snapped a salute, and both the pilot and GIB returned it. As he taxied to the runway, the rest of the flight fell in line behind him, then the flight arrived at the holding area. There, a Marine F-4 flight and a 335th two-ship-and Guru recognized the aircraft as those of Van Loan and Rabbit-were ahead of him. First, an inbound flight of Marine Hornets came in to land, then the Marine Phantoms went, followed by Van Loan's two-ship. Then it was their turn. Guru taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. After that, it was time. “Tower, Rambler Flight requesting taxi for takeoff.”

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

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A quick check showed Kara's bird in position, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, and they went through a final check. That done, Guru called the Tower again. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his canopy. Goalie did the same, and a quick look at 520 showed that Kara and Brainiac had as well. All was ready. “You set back there?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready,” Goalie replied. “Time to fly.”

“It is that,” Guru said. He applied full power, then released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara's 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty's and Hoser's turn, followed by the two RAF F-4Js with Jackson and Napier in the front seats. All aircraft climbed to FL 100, then they formed up and headed south for the tankers.


Over Central Texas: 1330 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, into hostile territory. They had made their tanker rendezvous, and for the RAF, it was a joy again to tank from their own Tristar, while the 335th birds hooked up to a KC-135. Once the refueling was completed, the flight headed south for the Fence and I-20, then got down low, just east of the Brazos River. The flight was just inside the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, but close enough to the river to use it as a nav aid.

“How we doing?” Major Wiser asked Goalie as they headed south.

“Lake Granbury's coming up. Thirty seconds to U.S. 377,” his GIB replied.

“Copy that,” Guru said. He had his head on a swivel, checking his instruments, then his EW display, then outside, for there could be any manner of threats coming at them. Though the Nicaraguans' enthusiasm for the war had cooled significantly, they still reacted-and often seriously-if their targets were being attacked. “And visual on the lake.”

Lake Granbury appeared, off to the right. They were going in at 550 Feet AGL and 500 KIAS, and as they thundered past, the Nicaraguans below didn't react. “U.S. 377 coming,” Goalie said as the highway appeared. “And the bridge to the right.”

“Got it,” Guru said as the highway and bridge appeared, and flashed by. This time, there was no flak from the Nicaraguan gunners on the eastern side of the Brazos, and none from the East Germans on the opposite bank. “East Germans are quiet.”

“They are,” Goalie said. She then glanced at her EW display. “And the Mainstay's up.”

Frowning beneath his oxygen mask, Guru checked his own display. Sure enough, there was a bright strobe, and the SEARCH warning light was on. “Damn Mainstay,” he muttered. Someone ought to do something about those guys, he felt, and he also knew that everyone flying in this AO had the same feeling. “How long to the dam?”

“Fifteen seconds,” replied Goalie. That meant the Lake Granbury Dam.

Guru checked his own map. “Copy.” Then the dam appeared, and again, the Nicaraguan gunners stayed quiet, but the East Germans, even though they were at the limit of their range, opened up with 37-mm flak. The strike flight easily avoided the fire, then a bend in the river forced them to head due south instead of just following the river. Guru then called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

A controller came back to him at once. “Rambler, Warlock. First threat bearing One-four-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-six-five for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-nine-five for seventy-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-zero-five for eighty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Say bogey dope?”

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

“Rambler Lead copies,” Guru called back.

“U.S. 67 coming up,” Goalie advised.

Rambler Flight overflew the road, and it was empty of traffic, military or otherwise. “That's the road,” Guru noted. A quick glance to the right showed no flak from the gunners on either side of the Brazos. “Brazospoint Bridge when?”

“Fifteen seconds.”
Guru heard that, then turned slightly right, taking the flight back to the river, and right down the middle. They had left the Nicaraguan sector and were now in the Libyan, with East Germans still on the western bank. Unlike the Nicaraguan gunners, their Libyan counterparts had a habit of shooting at anything flying, even if the aircraft were not a threat. Their habit of shooting as if someone would outlaw ammunition in five minutes was another factor, for their fire, though heavy, was wildly inaccurate. “Right down the river,” he said.

“Got it,” Goalie said. “Bridge coming up.”

“Have visual,” said Guru as the bridge-and the flak from both sides of the river, came into view, then flew by, along with what had been Brazospoint. “That's those chumps who had the flak trap.”

“They learned their lesson.” Goalie checked her map and the INS. “Forty seconds to the Route 174 Bridge.”

“Copy that,” replied Guru. He checked his EW display and saw the Mainstay's strobe a little brighter. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

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

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru said as the Bridge appeared. “There's the bridge.”

“And the flak,” Goalie said as the AAA appeared. “There's a convoy on the bridge!”

Guru shook his head. If this was an armed recon..... “Not their time to die,” he said as the bridge-and the convoy, flew past.


In the convoy, a Soviet Army Major was frowning. He was delivering replacement vehicles to the 144th GMRD, and he was not in a very good mood. First, due to some sabotage of culverts and a small bridge on State Route 22, his convoy had to be detoured through the Libyan sector instead of going straight past the Lake Whitney Dam and on to Meridian, which was his destination. Second, the Libyans themselves were nothing but a pain in the ass, for all their bluster, Libyan officers had begged him to move his convoy immediately, if not sooner, and please, for fear of attracting air attack. These people are our allies? Shaking his head at the black-asses from Tripoli, the Major had pressed on, only to be hit by an air strike just as his convoy reached Route 174, and the American A-7s had dropped cluster bombs, wrecking several vehicles, including two tank transporters with T-72Bs aboard. That led to the second reason for his fury: where was the Air Force? A pair of MiG-21s had appeared, but instead of pursuing the attackers, had merely orbited, then turned back east. His own defense against air or bandit (guerilla) attack,other than the NSV machine guns mounted on the T-72s still intact, was just a couple of ZU-23 AA guns mounted on Ural-375 trucks, and a few Strela shoulder-fired missles (SA-7s). And that, he knew, would be quite useless.

Now, as his convoy of mixed trucks, a few tank transporters, and BTR-60P APCs crossed the bridge and this Route 174 would take them to Meridian, a shout interrupted the Major's thoughts. He turned to the right, and what he saw put a chill in his whole body. Four American F-4s were thundering down the river, and headed right for him. Before he could say or do anything, the Phantoms flew over the bridge, followed by two more, and they didn't attack. Thanking the God that his Political Officer denied existed, the Major got on his radio and ordered the convoy to continue forward, and to increase vigilance against air attack.


“Lake's opening up,” Guru said in 512. “How far to the turn point?”

“Sixteen miles. One minute,” Goalie replied.

“Roger that.” Guru noticed the strobe that signaled the Mainstay's radar had grown brighter, so he dropped lower, to 450 Feet AGL.

Rambler Flight cruised down the lake, and as they did, both locals and occupiers took notice. For the former, it was a sign that the long-promised liberation was coming, hopefully soon, and then they'd be able to pick up their lives. And the guerillas among the locals, and some did use boat-in only campgrounds as hiding places, saw the aircraft, and knew that there was a bright light at the end of the tunnel. As for the occupiers? The Soviet, East German, and Libyan soldiers who were fishing, hopefully to catch some fish to add to their rations, noticed the aircraft and wondered where their own aircraft and air-defense people were.

“How far?” Guru asked.

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

“Copy,” Guru said. The strobe was still there, but not as bright. Maybe the intel was right about the Mainstay losing you in the ground clutter. “Give me the count,”

“On it,” replied Goalie. “In ten....now five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned right, onto a heading of two-four-five, and the rest of the flight followed. “Steady on two-four-five.”

“Copy that.” Goalie checked her map and the INS. “Three minutes to turn.”

“Roger.”

Rambler Flight headed southwest, skirting Meridian, and using the terrain to confuse any Mainstay or ground-based radar trying to pick them up. They passed over a small town called Cranfills Gap, named for a gap in a ridgeline, and noticed some traffic in the town. Unable to see the locals waving, despite some Cubans stationed in the town, the flight flew on.

When they got just north of Hamilton, the crews, both 335th and RAF, winced. That was where they had run into flak two days earlier, and the RAF had lost a bird with the crew bailing out into hostile territory. Pilots and GIBs kept up their visual scanning as the town passed to their left, but no flak or missiles came.

Once clear, Guru asked Goalie. “How far to the turn and IP?”

“One minute thirty,” she replied. “Twenty-four miles.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler, Warlock,” the controller replied. “First threat bearing Two-four-zero for forty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing Two-four-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Copy, Warlock. Say bogey dope?”

“Rambler, first threats are Floggers. Second threats are Fulcrums.”

“Roger, Warlock.”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie called.

“Roger that. Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by.” That call was to arm their weapons and turn on their ECM pods. Guru switched on his ALQ-119 pod as he made the call.

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

“Set 'em up,” Guru told Goalie.

She worked the armament controls in the back seat. “All set here. Everything in one pass.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Turn in when?”

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

Guru turned, and pulled up, crossing State Route 6, and as he pulled, he spotted the intersection that had the target. “There it is. Ready?”

“Ready back here,” Goalie said.

“Then let's go,” Guru said, rolling 512 in onto the bomb run.


At the missile support facility, the missile technical battalion for the 44th Missile Brigade had been operating for several days. The missile brigade had been running low on R-17 missiles (SS-1 SCUD-B) and had just been resupplied, to the relief of the brigade commander. The missile technical battalion commander, a Major, had selected this vacant ranch for the support facility, and his missile techs were now readying some three dozen missiles for use, with more expected over the coming weeks. Though he'd heard that the Navy was having trouble getting much of what the Army in America needed across the Atlantic, though the Political Officer, as usual, said that such setbacks were only temporary, and that come Spring, a new offensive would bring about the final victory. The men may believe that horseshit, but I sure don't, the Major thought to himself. If we're supposed to be winning, why are we back in Texas? Then he held his thoughts. Such things, if voiced, were dangerous, and a visit from the KGB for “Suspected Non-belief in Our Victory”, would result.

With that in mind, the Major left the ranch house that his men had taken over for a headquarters. He looked south, and saw two rows of missiles, all awaiting attention from his missile techs. In the technical tents, missile techs were working on several missiles, while the trucks with missile fuel were waiting for dusk before moving to the firing batteries. Pleased with what he saw, the Major went towards the barn, where the cooks had moved in-along with the NCOs, when the ZU-23s organic to the battalion began firing. A glance to the south revealed an American plane coming in. “AIR RAID!” The Major shouted, then he ran for a ditch and jumped in.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled 512 in on the bomb run. He saw the flak coming up, and the 23-mm tracers were easily avoided. Not like last time, he thought, with all those SAMs. Ignoring the flak, and even an SA-7 type missile fired head-on, Guru lined up the missile storage area. Picking out the western side, he lined up the missiles in his pipper. You're going up, but my way, he said to himself. “Steady...Steady...And..And...HACK!” Guru hit his pickle button, and six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the MER racks. He then pulled up and away, jinking as he did so. Once clear, Guru made his call. “Lead's off safe.”


“What the..” the Major muttered as Guru's F-4 came over and released its bombs. Then he ducked as the bombs went off, and in the ditch, he-and the others who'd taken shelter there, felt the concussion, not just from the bombs, but from secondary explosions as missile warheads detonated. The bastards hit the ready missiles, he thought. The Major stood up and looked around, but someone-who he didn't know at first, pulled him back into the ditch. More American aircraft inbound.


“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “And we've got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru asked as he jinked right, and an SA-7 flew past on the left. He jinked to the left, then right again. “Those chumps are pissed off.”

“To hell with that! Secondaries? Several, and they're good and big!” She replied.

“Good enough,” said Guru as he jinked left, then right, then left again, before heading north.


Kara took her bird, 520, in on its bomb run. “Two's in!” She called as she came down onto the target. She saw the flak coming up, and a couple of SA-7s, and ignored them. As she came down, Kara saw the CO's bird pulling away, and the explosions going off in the missile storage area. She concentrated on the bomb run, picking out the undamaged portion of the missile storage area, and lining up the Scuds in the pipper. As she did, another SA-7 flew past, this time on her right, but she ignored it. “And...And...And....NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, and her six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the racks. Like the CO, she pulled up, applied power and pulled away, jinking as she did so. When clear, Kara called, “Two's off target.”


“Sookin sin,” the Major muttered to himself, but aloud, as Kara's F-4 came on its run. Son of a bitch. He watched as the bombs came off the aircraft, then he turned himself into a ball, and huddled in the ditch as the bombs went off, followed by a number of sympathetic detonations. Shapnel came down, and the Major knew his stored missiles were no more. Cursing, he got up, intending to check the damage, when another officer pulled him back into the ditch. More Americans were coming in, the man said.

Brainiac was shouting in 520's back seat. “BULLSEYE!”

“We got the rest of the missiles? Kara asked as she jinked left, then right again.

“We did!” Brainiac replied.

Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Someone's not going to worry about Scuds tonight,” she said as she jinked left again, then she picked up the CO's bird via the smoke trail, then formed up with him in Combat Spread.


“Three's in!” Sweaty called as she came down on her bomb run. She watched Kara pull up, and smiled beneath her own oxygen mask as the missiles went up-in pieces, as well as noticing the flak coming up. Sweaty ignored the 23-mm tracers, and the SA-7 that came up with it, as she picked out the vehicle park and lined up several trucks in her pipper. Not today, Ivan, she said as another SA-7 flew by. “And....Steady...And...And...NOW!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and sent her bombs down onto the Russians below. Like the others, she, too, pulled up and away, applying power and jinking. When Sweaty was clear of the target, she made her call. “Three's off target.”


The Major cursed again as Sweaty's plane pulled out of its run, and he saw the bombs coming off the aircraft. He then huddled in the trench, and felt the bombs going off, and at least two larger sympathetic detonations. Scowling, he looked up and out of the ditch, and saw several fires burning in the vehicle park, then there was another explosion as a fuel truck blew up. Shaking his head, he heard the shouting, then dropped back into the trench, knowing another American F-4 was coming in.


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

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as she jinked right, dodging yet another SA-7.

“Many, big, and righteously good!” The former seminary student turned WSO replied.

“Glad to hear that,” said Sweaty as she jinked again, then turned north, intending to pick up the CO and Kara.


“Four in hot!” Hoser replied as he came in on his run. He watched as his element lead made her run, and, with satisfaction, noted the secondaries she left in her wake. Hoser, too, had flak come up, as well as a pair of SA-7s, but he ignored the tracers and the missiles as he came in on the run. Spotting his target, the ranch buildings, he lined up a spot between the ranch house and barn, hoping to walk his bombs across both. Though another SA-7 flashed by, he ignored it, concentrating on the bomb run. “Steady....Steady...And...HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, releasing his dozen bombs. He then pulled up and away, applying power as he did, and began jinking to avoid flak. Hoser cleared the target area, then he called, “Four off target.”


“What the hell?” The Major said as Hoser's F-4 came almost directly overhead, releasing its bombs. The bombs rained down on the headquarters and the barn, and the occupants of the ditch huddled in it as the bombs exploded all around them. One five-hundred pound bomb exploded close to the trench, showering the occupants with shrapnel. The Major never knew it, though,for he was hit by a large piece of that shrapnel in the head, killing him instantly.....


“BULLSEYE!” KT shouted from the back seat. “Good hits all around.”

Hoser jinked to avoid flak, and he, too, had an SA-7 fly by. One went by on the left, then another down the right side of his aircraft. “Secondaries?”

“Negative,” KT replied. “But those buildings got covered in bomb blasts.”

“Have to take that,” Hoser said as another SA-7 flew past. He jinked again, this time to the right, then headed north, picking up Sweaty as he did.


“Hoser's clear,” Goalie said in 512. “Four in and out.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Rambler One-five, One-six, get your asses down and away.”

“Roger, Lead,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson replied from One-five. “One-five and One-six coming out.” Both RAF F-4Js came off their TARCAP, then dropped back down to 500 Feet AGL and headed north, overflying the target. The RAF crews noted the fires and a couple of secondary explosions going off as they did, and like the USAF birds, drew some flak and a pair of SA-7s, but they came off the target without damage.

Guru took a glance to his right, and found Kara tucked right with him in Combat Spread. “Two, good to see you there.”

“Likewise, Boss,” She replied.

“Sweaty?”

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

“Roger that. Watch for SA-6, people!” Guru called. They were still well in the Soviet rear... Then he checked in with the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say bandits?”

“Rambler, Warlock,” the AWACS controller came back. “Bandits bearing Two-five-zero for forty. Medium, closing. More bandits bearing Two-four-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru replied. “Any bogey dope?”

“Rambler, first bandits are Fishbeds. Second bandits are Fulcrums.”

MiG-21s and -29s? Guru pondered that thought as he responded to the controller. “Roger, Warlock.”
This low, he knew, the MiG-21 radars couldn't pick them up, and by the time the MiG-29s arrived, the strike flight would be across the fence, and they wouldn't be a factor.

“Fishbeds and Fulcrums,” Goalie said. “Our lucky day.”

“IF they show,” Guru reminded her. “How long to the Fence?” That meant the I-20.

“Thirty miles,” was the reply. “Two minutes.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He took a look at his EW display. Other than the Mainstay's radar, it was clear. “Hope these chumps don't listen to the Mainstay controllers.”

“Not arguing with you there,” Goalie said.

Rambler Flight maintained their course north, and the MiGs never became a factor as the strike flight approached the Fence. Then the AWACS called. “Rambler, Warlock. Bandits now bearing Two-one-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away.” Those would be the MiG-21s.

“Roger, Warlock. Say Fulcrums?”

“Rambler,” the controller replied. “Fulcrums now Two-five-zero for forty-five. Medium, going away.”

“Roger that,” Guru said.

“Fence in thirty,” Goalie said. “Lake Comfort coming up.”

The strike flight flew over the lake, and unknown to them, they had been following the boundary between the Soviet 32nd Army and the East Germans, which explained why they had drawn no additional ground fire or SAMs.

“Got the Interstate coming,” Guru said. As the freeway passed beneath the flight, he called, “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.” He turned off his ECM pod and turned on his IFF, for the Army air-defense pukes in the area had a habit of firing on anything not squwaking the right IFF code-and even then, some preferred to use the saying “Shoot them down and sort them out later.”

“Copy that,” Goalie said. “And the Mainstay's off,” she added.

A quick glance at the EW display showed the Mainstay signal off, and the SEARCH warning light off as well. “So it is,” replied Guru.

The flight climbed to altitude, and made for the tankers. After completing their post-strike refueling, Rambler headed for Sheppard. When they arrived, this time, the flight was first in the arrival pattern, but had to wait, for a departing C-141 and two strike flights of Marines had priority. Once those were clear, the flight was cleared in, and they landed.

As they taxied in, the crews popped their canopies, and noticed the news crew watching. No one held up fingers to show MiG kills, and that left the newsies disappointed.

“No kills,” Jana Wendt turned to Kodak Griffith. The Marine was in his last day as PAO with the 335th before going back to MAG-11, and though he was a Marine, he had made quite a few friends in the Chiefs.

“Not every day, and they know it,” Kodak replied. The 335th's new PAO, Lieutenant Patti Brown, was off on a strike, and he was running things for her.

Ms. Wendt frowned. “Too bad,” she muttered.

After taxiing in, the flight headed for their respective dispersals. Guru taxied 512 into the 335th's dispersal, and found his revetment. After taxiing in, he got the “Stop” signal from his crew chief, while the ground crew put the chocks around the wheels, and deployed the crew ladder.

“That's done,” Goalie said as they went through the post-flight checklist. “Three and done.”

Guru nodded, then replied. “Still got one more,” he reminded her. “Before that? We have to make Doc happy.”

“Workouts?” She replied.

“You got it.”

After finishing the checklist, and taking off their helmets, Guru and Goalie got unstrapped, then climbed down from the aircraft. A quick post-flight walk-around followed, then they found Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, who had a bottle of water for both crewers. “Major, Lieutenant? How'd things go, and how's my bird?”

Guru downed half the bottle, then said, “Tore up a Scud resupply base. Somebody's not going to have Scud trouble tonight.”

“Outstanding, sir!” Crowley was beaming. “And Five-twelve?”

“No problems or issues, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Get her prepped for the next one.”

“Yes, sir!” Crowley said. “Okay people! You heard the Major! Get this bird ready for another strike.”

As the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie headed to the revetment's entrance, where they found Kara and Brainiac already waiting. “Well, Kara?” Guru asked his wingmate.

“You made some missiles go away, and we got the rest.”

“Always good to know,” Guru said as Sweaty and Hoser, with Preacher and KT following, came up. “Sweaty?” How'd it go with you?”

“No more fuel trucks,” Sweaty replied. “And Hoser got the ranch buildings.”

Hoser added, “Didn't get any secondaries, but those buildings should just be splinters.”

“Recon'll tell us,” Brainiac said.

“It should,” Guru reminded him as the RAF crews arrived. “Dave? Sorry about no MiGs.”

Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill replied, “Not our fault Ivan didn't show in the air.”

“There's always next time,” Guru said sympathetically. “Okay people, let's make the intel folks happy.” He meant the debriefing. “Then check your desks, and find a half-hour or so to get a workout in.”

“Do we have to?” KT asked.

“Doc's checking off names at the fitness tent,” Guru nodded. “So let's make him happy, and get it out of the way.”

Kara shook her head. “Not that busy for him. Don't blame him for that.”

“No,” Guru nodded understanding. “Would you rather have an air strike or Scud attack?”

“Now that you mention it?” Kara replied. “No.”

“Good. Let's get things over and done with the intel folks. We've got an hour, hour and a half, before time to go back out,” Guru said as a pair of Dodge Crew-cab pickups pulled up to drive the crews back to the squadron's office.

“Major?” Chief Ross said as he got out of the lead truck. “Captain Licon sent me to get you all. He and the RAF Intel want you for the debrief.”

Guru nodded. “All right, Chief. Okay, people! Let's get this over and done with. Jump in and let's go.”

With that, the crews piled into the two trucks, and were driven back to the Squadron's office.
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Treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect, but always have a plan to kill them.

Old USMC Adage
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