[Matt Wiser]

The day goes on, and one of the RAF becomes an ace:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1445 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was in his office, going over some papers. This time, fortunately, there hadn't been much in his IN box, and what there was, it was routine. He attacked the papers, put them in the OUT box, then got up to get some coffee. Then there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

His XO, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss, got a couple things for you before you go off and make Doc happy at the Fitness Center.”

“He checking off names again?” The CO wondered aloud. “I know he's bored, but..”

“He is,” Ellis nodded. “Got these for you.” He handed the CO two papers. “First, updated weather.”

Guru scanned the weather forecast. “Good flying weather for the next four days, then there's a good chance we'll get a stand-down due to weather. Storm coming to the West Coast, and we may feel it.”

“And we get to show our RAF friends that when it storms in Texas, it does.”

“Watch it, boy,” the CO warned. “They've seen hurricanes on Bermuda, and some of 'em have been up in Canada, so they do know storms.”

Ellis nodded again. “Still, they'll be glad to have a day off.”

“They will. What's next?” Guru asked.

The XO handed him another paper. “Formal request for two new birds.”

“Gladly,” Guru took the paper and signed it. “And crew replacements?”

“Here.”

After signing that, the CO asked, “Any word on C.J's crew?” He was referring to the one crew shot down earlier that day who had made it to friendly lines before punching out.

“Good news on that. They should be back by dinnertime. They're at a MASH and are OK. Just waiting on available transportation.”

Guru nodded. “And we welcome our two lost sheep back. Have Ross find two cases of beer to give to the Army pukes who found them.”

“Already on it,” said the XO. “And before you ask, I've already gotten my workout in.”

“All right,” Guru said. “That it?”

“For now,” Ellis replied.

“Okay.” Guru got up and headed for the office door. “I'm headed to the Fitness Center. If anyone needs to find me, I'll be on a treadmill.”

“Will do.”


The CO went to his tent to change into his workout clothes, then went over to the Fitness Tent. Sure enough, the Flight Surgeon, Doc Waters, was there. “Doc,” Guru said. 'Keeping busy?”

“Been too bored lately, though I did get some excitement this morning while you were gone on a strike. Had to do an appendectomy on one of Ryan Blanchard's CSPs. Sergeant Kevin Jennings.”

“He going to be okay?” Guru asked.

Doc smiled. “He'll be up and prowling around in a week. Textbook surgery and no complications.”

“Good,” the CO nodded. I'll go see him in a day or so,” Guru said as he went into the tent. When inside, he got in some time on the weight machines before htting the treadmill for a four-mile run. Some of his flight came in while he was there, but others, like Goalie, Brainiac, Sweaty, and Hoser, were already at it when he arrived. Good, he thought. Because the last thing he wanted was Doc on his case about his flight not keeping up with a workout schedule. Though he did remind Doc on occasion that the Reds sometimes dictated that.

He was almost finished with his run when Don Van Loan came in. “Boss,” the Ops Officer said. “Would've sent Kara after you, but she's still here.” He glanced over at a treadmill, where Kara was finishing up her run.

“She's discovered kickboxing, and from whom, I have no idea,” the CO grinned. “Don't cross her, Don.”

The Ops Officer nodded. “Saw her yesterday, and she looks like she could kick somebody's head off, the way she goes after that bag. Anyway, you've got a mission.”

“When?”

“Birds are being prepped right now. Your flight, plus Dave and Flossy, and two RAF birds.”

Guru nodded, then glanced at the treadmill. Four miles done. He slowed it down, then stopped. “All right, round everybody up. Be there as soon as we shower,” the CO said. “We getting Dave Gledhill's element?”

“Negative,” Van Loan replied. “Karen McKay and her new wingie.”

Guru got off the treadmill. He saw Goalie get off her treadmill and come over. “Just heard from Don. We've got a mission.”

“Get everyone to the briefing room?” Goalie asked, and she saw the CO nod. “Time to shower?”

“Just,” Guru said. “Time to get back in the game.”

“Last quarter,” Goalie said, using a football term. “Break was fun while it lasted.”

“It was,” Guru nodded. “Okay, Don? You and Goalie round up the rest of the flight, tell them to hit the showers, then to the briefing room. I'll swing by the Ops Office and get the mission folder.”

Van Loan and Goalie both nodded. “Gotcha, Chief,” the Ops Officer said.


Guru went to the men's showers and had a quick one, then changed into his flight suit, and went to the Ops Office. Van Loan was already there. Not only did he have the CO's mission folder, but his own. “Don, what's on tap for my flight?”

Van Loan handed the CO a folder. “You're headed back to Dublin. I know, you guys were there a few days ago, but it's back on the list.”

The CO examined the cover sheet. “Both the airport-again-and a supply dump?”

“That's it. This is Divisional HQ for the East German 9th Panzer Division, by the way,”

Guru frowned on hearing that. “Divisional level air-defense threats in addition to the defenses at the airport. Fuck that very much!”

“Don't blame me, Boss,” Van Loan said innocently. “I just pass down what the ATO says.”

“Swell,” Guru said. “Any Weasels?”

The Ops Officer shook his head. “Negative, and before you ask, no Navy or Marines for IRON HAND either.”

Guru wasn't pleased at that, but knew the drill. Too many missions and not enough assets in the SEAD department. “Had to ask. Now, where are you headed?”

“Town called De Leon, west of Dublin,” Van Loan said. “There's a ranch west of there that Ivan's using for helo dispersal. Rabbit and I are paying them a visit.”

Guru checked a map in the folder. “If you want, you and Rabbit can tag along with us,” he said. “Until we reach our IP, Purves, then you two can break off and go on your way.”

“Sounds good to me,” Van Loan replied. “Anything special?”

“Just follow us along the Brazos, then Fairy, then the IP,” said the CO.

“And we break off and go tear up some Hinds,” the Ops Officer finished. “Sounds good.”

“It does. Meet me at the tankers.”

“Will do, and Boss?” Van Loan said. “Be careful out there. Don't want to be XO yet.”

“Always, and you take your own advice,” Guru reminded him. “Kara doesn't want to be Ops yet.”

Van Loan laughed. “And we need to remind Mark, because if anything happens to him, I get promoted and so does Kara.”

“That we do, but he's left already?” Seeing Van Loan nod, Guru added, “He knows the drill. All right: see you up there.”

“Gotcha, Boss.”

Major Wiser went to the briefing room his flight used, and found a familiar face waiting for him. Buddy, the squadron's mascot, was sitting next to the door, wanting in. “You'd better sleep through the brief,” he told the dog. Then the CO opened the door, and the dog went in ahead of him. “Okay, people! Time to get this show on the road.”

“Where we headed?” Sweaty asked.

“Someplace we hit a few days ago: Dublin Municipal Airport.”

Kara's mouth-and several others as well-dropped. “Again?”

“Again,” Guru said. '”They've gotten the runway back operational, and there's those field hangars up again, so this place is back in business,” the CO spat.

“And we get to shut'em back down,” Goalie observed. “Almost like Southeast Asia.”

“I know, but ours is not to reason why, ours is to go out and break things and make people burn, bleed, and blow up,” Guru reminded them. He saw heads nod at that, then went on. “It's still being used by helos, light transports like the An-24 or L-410, and helos. Su-25s have also been reported, and the imagery still shows two Forgers on the ramp.”

“Survivors from last time?” Brainiac asked.

“Probably,” Guru said. “No CBUs this close to the town, so we all get a dozen Mark-82 Snakeyes, and half of 'em have the Daisy Cutter fuze extenders. Except for Hoser, because you're going for the runway.”

Hoser and KT looked at each other. “Thanks, Boss,” Hoser said.

“What's left for us?” Dave Golen asked.

“You and Flossy are going for this,” Guru said, passing around a reconnaissance photo. “It's just to the west of the airport, between F.M. 336 and F.M. 332. It's a fuel dump, and a big one.”

“Who does it belong to, besides the airport?” Flossy asked. “Or do they know that?”

“They do, and it's shared. The airfield operation uses it, and so does the local garrison, which, by the way, is the HQ for the East German 9th Panzer Division,” said the CO.

Goalie looked at her pilot and lover. “Which means divisional-level air defense threats. Lovely.”

Guru nodded. “Right on that. That's SA-6 and ZSU-23-4, and guys with MANPADS. The airport has a 57-mm battery-though the Navy tore it up last time, so they may only have one or two guns operational. There's also a 37-mm battery, some ZU-23s, and the usual guys with above-mentioned MANPADS.”

“MiG threat?” Karen McKay asked.

“Unchanged since this morning, and the closest field is Brownwood Regional,” Guru replied. “East German MiG-21s and Soviet MiG-23s are there. MiG-29s may come from Goodfellow at San Angelo, Gray AAF at Fort Hood, and Bergstrom AFB by Austin, and the latter field is where the Flankers are. Otherwise, it's MiG-21s and -23s.”

Kara then asked, “Usual air-to-air load?”

Guru nodded. “Four AIM-9Ps, two Sparrow-Fs, full 20-mm load, two wing tanks, and usual ECM pods for leaders and wingmen,” he said. “Karen? Your load?”

McKay replied, “Four Sidewider-Ls, Four Sky Flash, two wing tanks, and a SUU-23 gun pod on centerline.”

“Good. Now, we're it on this one. No Weasels or Navy this time, so make some phony 'Magnum' calls when we go in. That'll get the SAM operators to keep their heads down and stop radiating.”

“Sounds good, Boss,” KT said.

“Ingress?” Sweaty asked.

“We meet up with the tankers at Track CHEVRON, near Mineral Wells, then we get down low and follow the Brazos. We'll have company most of the way, because Ops and Rabbit will join us at the tankers, but they'll break off at our pop-up point and head for their own target-which none of you need to know.”

Heads nodded at that. What they didn't know, they couldn't be forced to tell if captured. “Where do we turn, Boss?” Preacher asked. The GIBs handled the navigation on these low-level strikes.

“Follow the river to Lake Whitney, and a mile short of the dam, we turn right. Two-six-zero to the town of Fairy, then we turn northwest, cross U.S. 281, then get to Purves. That's twenty seconds from target, and it's where we pop up, and where Don and Rabbit go their own way. We pop up, ID the target, strike, then get your asses down low and headed north to Lake Comfort. Get north from there to the I-20, climb up and we meet the tankers.”

“Weather?” Kara wanted to know.

“Unchanged, and won't for another four days,” replied Guru. “Bailout areas are also unchanged, namely, for the benefit of our RAF friends,” the CO nodded at the four RAF aircrew. “Anyplace rural and away from roads.”

“Understood,” Karen McKay said.

“Now, Karen? Before we get airborne, who's your two new pals?”

“Right, Major,” she replied. “Flight Leftenants Steven Portal and Patrick 'Kate' O'Mara.” McKay nodded at the two, who stood up. “Steve's the pilot, and Pat, or 'Kate', is the GIB.”

“Any action out of Bermuda?” Kara asked.

“Just a Badger reconnaissance plane,” Portal replied. “Your Navy sent us a thank-you, because killing the Badger prevented a Backfire strike on a convoy.”

Heads nodded at that. “Good to know,” KT said.

“It is that,” Guru added. “Okay, this may be the last one,” he reminded the crews. “But we treat it like it's the first. Complacency kills, and I've written two letters today. Don't want to write any more, if you get my drift.”

“Got you, Major,” Kara said.

“Good,” the CO said as an Ops NCO arrived to collect the briefing materials. “Gear up and meet at 512's revetment.”

As the crews got up, Goalie noticed something. “Hey, Buddy's still asleep.” She nodded at the dog, who was still fast asleep. “Nobody wake him.”

“No,” Guru said firmly. “He was wide awake during Don's brief this morning, and we know what happened next.”

“Ran into a buzz saw,” Preacher said.

“They did,” Guru nodded. “Let's get going.”

The crews went to their locker rooms to gear up, and when Guru came out of the Men's, Goalie was waiting, as usual. “Well?” She asked.

“Ready to earn your flight pay?” Guru quipped.

“And we both give forty-five percent of that back to Uncle Sam come April 15,” she joked.

“Which we do,” he agreed. “Let's go.”

Guru and Goalie left the squadron office, and walked to the squadron's dispersal area. When they got there, the rest of the flight was at 512's revetment, waiting. “Boss,” Sweaty nodded.

“All right, gather 'round,” Guru said. He was ready with his final instructions. “For the benefit of our RAF friends, the usual goes on the radio. That's call signs between us when possible, and mission code to AWACS and other parties.”

“Understood,” Portal said, while McKay nodded. She'd flown with Guru's people the day before, and knew the drill.

“Got you, Major.”

“Good. Now, as I said, this is the last one for today, but we treat it like it's the first. Comprende?” Guru said as he looked the crews over.

“Loud and clear, Major,” Kara said. When she-or any other crew member-used his rank, they treated whatever he was saying very seriously.

“Good. We're still Mustang Flight, and we meet up at ten grand overhead. Any other questions?” There weren't any as heads shook no. “Then it's time to hit it. Mount up and let's go.” He clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed to their aircraft, and as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment, Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief for 512, snapped a perfect salute. “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve's ready to go kick some more Commie ass.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said. He and Goalie did the usual preflight walk-around, then they mounted the aircraft and got strapped into their seats. After putting on their helmets, and plugging into their oxygen systems and radios, both pilot and GIB were busy with their preflight cockpit checks.

“Ejection seats?” Goalie asked. “Just glad this is it for today.”

“Armed top and bottom, check yours. And yeah. So am I. It's been a bitch of a day, no offense intended. Arnie?”

“None taken, and both Arnie and the INS are up and ready.” She meant the ARN-101 DMAS system and the INS. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“And we are,” Guru agreed. He gave a thumbs-up to his CC, who gave the “Start Engines” signal in return. First one, then both, J-79 engines were up and running, and just before the warm-up was finished, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead with eight, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A Tower Controller came back at once. “Mustang Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Charlie. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. “Mustang Lead rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to Crowley, who waved to the ground crew, who pulled the chocks away from the wheels. Then came the “Taxi” signal from Crowley, and Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment. When he cleared the revetment, Crowley snapped a perfect salute, which Guru and Goalie both returned.

Guru then taxied to Runway 35C, with the rest of the flight behind him, and, as the Tower had said, the flight was second in line. A Marine flight of four F/A-18s was first in line, but both had to wait as a C-141 came in and landed. Only after the big Starlifter had taxied away did the Marines taxi for takeoff. Guru taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties. After the Marines had taken off, he called the Tower. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Mustang Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-zero for ten.”

“Roger, Tower,” replied Guru, who then taxied onto the runway. Kara followed in 520, and a quick check found Kara's bird right with his. Both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups, and both Guru and Goalie returned them. A final cockpit check followed, then it was time. “Tower, Mustang Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here,” she replied.

“Canopy coming down,” Guru said, pulling down and locking his canopy. Goalie did the same, and a final check showed Kara and Brainiac having done it as well. It was time. “Time.”

“It is,” Goalie said.

“Here we go,” Guru replied as he applied full power to the throttles, and released the brakes. 512 then rolled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, followed by Dave and Flossy, with the RAF bringing up the rear. The flight met up at FL 100, then headed south for the tanker track.



Over Central Texas: 1610 Hours Central War Time:


Mustang Flight was headed south. After meeting up with the tankers, and the Ops Officer's flight, call sign T-Bird, they dropped down low, then crossed the I-20 and the Fence into hostile territory. They were following the Brazos River, coming in at 450 Feet AGL, and doing 500 KIAS as they did, staying just east of the river, in the Nicaraguan sector, and, as usual, the Nicaraguan gunners were holding their fire. “They're not shooting,” Guru observed. “As usual.” He concentrated on flying the plane, checking his EW display, and keeping a visual eye out for threats.

“Nobody paid them a visit today,” Goalie said. She was handling the navigation, and also checking both her own EW display as well as outside the cockpit. Having two sets of eyes in the aircraft had saved their bacon more than once. That, in her view, made the F-15E program all that more important, but that bird was at least a year away from service, maybe two.

“There's always tonight,” Guru replied. “Granbury coming up.” He was referring to the U.S. 377 bridge over the Brazos.

“Got it,” Goalie said. “And there's flak at one.” Already, the East German gunners on the west side of the bridge were shooting. “EW still clear.”

“For now,” said Guru as they approached the bridge. “And there it goes,” He added as they flew by, with 23-mm and 57-mm flak shooting. “Nobody using the bridge.”

Goalie saw the bridge fly by, and no traffic. “Oh, well. Thirty seconds to the dam,” she said, referring to the Lake Granbury Dam. Then her EW display came up. It showed a bright strobe to the south, and the SEARCH warning light came on. “Mainstay's up.”

Guru glanced at his own display and sighed. “As usual,” he grumbled, then banked to follow the river. “And there's the dam. And the flak.” Puffs of flak came from the 37-mm and 57-mm guns on the west side, along with the 23-mm tracers. The East Germans were at it again as they flew past the dam.

“They're behind us,” Goalie said “Forty seconds to Glen Rose.” That was the U.S. 67 bridge.

“Roger that,” Guru said, then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

A controller came back right away. “Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing One-six-five for fifty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-nine-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-zero-zero for seventy-five. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

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

MiG-29s, Guru thought. Ran into 'em yesterday.... “Copy.”

“Fulcrums?” Goalie said. “Our lucky day.”

“Again,” said Guru as the Glen Rose Bridge came up. “Flak ahead at one.” The black puffs and tracers were coming up as usual. And some even came up from traffic on the bridge.

Goalie saw it as well. “Convoy on the bridge.” Too bad this isn't armed reconnaissance, she thought. This would be a tempting target...

“Not their turn to die today,” Guru replied, as the tank transporters and supply trucks on the bridge went into their wake.

“Too bad,” she said wistfully. “Fifteen seconds to Brazospoint, one minute to the Route 174 Bridge.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. The Brazospoint Bridge appeared, and this time, the flak came from both sides. Libyans on the east side, East Germans to the west. Smoke was still coming up from the ruins of the town-and the flak trap it had contained. “Hope they enjoyed the barbeque.”

“Here's to that.”

In the ruins of Brazospoint, the East German Captain was wondering what else the day would bring. After their initial success in downing at least one Imperialist aircraft, and capturing the crew, they had been hit-and hard-by a major American air strike, and the specialist air-defense battalion had suffered greatly. The Colonel was dead, as were most of the senior officers, and the other senior officers were wounded. He had exactly one ZSU-23-4, two BTR-70s, each with a depleted squad of soldiers armed with Strela-3 (SA-14) shoulder-fired missiles, and a single Strela-10 (SA-13) launch vehicle. Oh, he had a single Romb (SA-8) radar-guided SAM launcher, but the radar had taken a hit from an antiradar missile, and the optical backup was also out, which meant the vehicle was useless until it was taken to the Army's repair workshop.

On top of that was the dogfight that had happened just after the air strike, and nine Libyan MiG-23s had gone down in and near his unit's position, with only one pilot landing on their side of the river. No kills had been claimed, much to the regret of both the Germans and the Libyans, and the one Libyan pilot who'd come down had been sent off for medical attention along with the rest of the battalion's casualties. At least the Amis did one good thing for me, the Captain mused. They killed the political officer, and I don't have to worry about some useless Party blather getting in the way.

His thoughts were interrupted by shouting. Nearly a dozen F-4s thundered past, with the Libyan guns on the east side firing-and firing behind the Americans. Even the F-4s disappearing to the south didn't quiet the Libyan gunners, who kept shooting. These people are our allies? Shaking his head in disbelief, the Captain went to his command vehicle, a BTR-70, and called for his radioman. Did the Kampfgruppe Headquarters in Stephenville have new orders?


Guru noted the flak, and the lack of it from the East German side. “Just the Libyans this time.”

“Forty-five seconds to Route 174 and Lake Whitney,” Goalie said.

“Copy,” Guru said. When they got to a bend in the river that went east, he led the flight across a strip of land that jutted into the river, then headed south for the bridge. It wasn't long until the Route 174 Bridge appeared. “And there's the bridge,” Guru said. “And the flak.” This time, gunners on both sides were shooting. He took 512 down to 400 Feet and increased speed to 550 KIAS. No sense in making it easy, he thought as the flight overflew the bridge and the lake opened up ahead of them. “Time to turn?”

“One minute,” Goalie replied.

“Copy,” said Guru. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats?”

“Mustang Lead, Crystal Palace,” a controller replied. “First threat bearing One-eight-zero for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-nine-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger that,” Guru said as Mustang Flight thundered over the lake. “Call the turn.”

“Copy,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds.”

“Call it.”

“Turn in fifteen...Now ten. And five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned right, onto a heading of two-six-zero. They would skirt the town of Meridian, and head for the small town of Fairy, which was more of a spot on the map than a town. State Route 22 flashed by underneath, then just to the north, was Meridian. A quick glance at the EW display still showed the Mainstay, though over at their Ten O'clock, there was another strobe, and that was likely to be a MiG-29 radar, though the A-A light wasn't on. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” Guru called as he turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and the rest followed.

“One minute ten to Fairy,” Goalie advised. Though concentrating on the navigation, she, too, kept an eye out for threats.

“Copy that,” replied Guru as the rolling hills of Central Texas flew by. One thing about this hill country, he knew, that made the Mainstay's job that much harder, though no one really knew how effective the radar actually was. Then he checked his own radar display, and it was clear.

Goalie checked the INS and her map, then she called, “Forty seconds.”

“Roger,” Guru said.

“And twenty...now fifteen.”

“Call it.”

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

Guru turned right onto a heading of Three-one-zero, right for Olin on U.S. 281. “We're on.”

“Got it,” Goalie replied as they headed for the next turn checkpoint. Once clear of Olin, which was more a spot on the map than a town, it was Purves, where both Mustang and T-Bird would split up and go for their respective targets. “Time to checkpoint?”

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie called back.

“Copy,” Guru said as the hills went by. It wasn't long until the highway appeared, along with several houses and a general store. And a few vehicles parked-and they were certainly military. That was Olin.... “And now,”

“Forty seconds to Purves,” Goalie said.

“Got it,”


In Olin, a patrol from Hamilton was parked outside the General Store. They were a T-80A tank platoon and a BMP-2 equipped motor-rifle platoon from the 327th Guards Independent Tank Regiment, and this patrol was the Regimental Commander's idea to get them used to being in a combat zone, even if they weren't immediately near the front. Not only was the regiment training, but, much to the disgust of the Regimental Commander, his staff, and many other officers, they were doing what those Rear-Area Protection slugs should be doing, namely patrolling the roads on counter-guerilla tasks.

The Lieutenant who commanded the two platoons was a tank officer, with the other platoon commander being a Junior Lieutenant fresh from officer training at the University of Minsk, and the Lieutenant felt the man was in over his head. Given the need for manpower, though, from what his own company commander, a Captain who had been transferred in from 10th Guards Tank Division, had told him, “He'll either learn, or be dead,” and the Captain was a veteran, having been a platoon commander at Wichita, and had led the remnants of his company on the withdrawal south, so the man knew what he was talking about. At least he was a product of the Kharkov Guards Tank Officers Training College, even though it had been the abbreviated wartime course (two years instead of four).

At least nothing's happening here, the Lieutenant said to himself. The patrol had stopped to check the little hamlet out, and found nothing. Just some locals who made no secret of their feelings that the Russians belonged somewhere else. Either back home, or in hell, the Lieutenant heard the store owner mutter to his stockboy, and the Lieutenant understood. Back in the Great Patriotic War, or the First, as was the line from Moscow, how many felt the same way about the Fascisti?

Climbing back onto his T-80A, he called for the men to return to their vehicles and mount up. Some of the motor-rifle boys clearly had some of the local, what did they call it? Moonshine, he saw, when one of his tank commanders called an aircraft warning. He saw ten American F-4s fly over at low level, and head northwest. The Lieutenant shouted to his men, and everyone piled into their vehicles. If the Americans came back....


“Who were those guys back there?” Guru asked.

“Not sure, but there were tanks,” Goalie replied. “Twenty seconds.”

“Flight, Lead, Switches on, and stand by,” Guru called.

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

“Ten seconds,” Goalie said. “Five, four, three, two, one, PULL!”

Mustang Flight pulled up, while T-Bird Flight broke away on their own mission. As Mustang climbed, the town of Dublin appeared, and so did the Municipal Airport. “Target in sight,” said Guru. “Switches set?”

Goalie worked the armament control panel. “Switches set and ready.”

“Then let's do it,” Guru said on the IC. Then he got on the radio. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Let's go to work!” The two RAF F-4Js assumed their TARCAP, as the rest of the flight went in on their bomb runs.


At Dublin Airport, the base commander-an East German Air Force Major, was not a happy man. The Soviets were still there, though they only had two Yak-38M fighters, the rest either shot down or destroyed on the ground-and the wrecks in the base dump were ample proof of that, though Su-25s came through at least several times a day to refuel and rearm before going back north. Then there was the helicopter traffic, as both Soviet and East German helicopters passed through on a regular basis, along with light transports such as the An-24 or -26, and the L-410. That didn't bother him, though the state of the field's air defense did. The last American air attack a few days earlier had not only torn up the base, but had also seriously damaged the air defense assets. Of the two 57-mm batteries, they head had a total of five guns instead of a dozen all together, and the ZU-23 sites had also been hit. There were only five of those, instead of ten. At least the personnel casualties weren't that heavy, for there were more gunners than guns, though his air-defense commander was hoping to have his losses in both guns and men replaced. There was a fifty-fifty chance of that happening, if the rumor mill was accurate, the shipping across the Atlantic was starting to run a gauntlet of both American and British ships and submarines just to get to Cuba and Mexico.

That's not my concern, the Major thought, though he didn't envy the Soviet Navy's job. Just as long as we get what we need, that's the important thing. One thing did worry him, however, and that was the Army. The 9th Panzer Division's HQ was in the town, and the Divisional Commander didn't want to deal with Air Force matters. The Generalmajor not only refused, but flatly refused, to position one or two of the division's 2K12 (SA-6 Gainful) SAM batteries to help cover the base, even though they would also be defending divsional headquarters. The SAMs were deployed north of town, not near the airport, and any warning against a strike similar to what had happened earlier would only be when the bombs started falling.

The Major had just left the prewar Airport Office, which served as his headquarters, and was going to talk to the AV-MF people. Were they staying or leaving, with only two flyable aircraft, when someone shouted and pointed to the south. Smoke trails coming closer. American F-4 Phantoms, he knew. “AIR RAID ALARM!”


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 down on the bomb run. As he came in, black puffs and tracers started coming up, and Guru gave the East German gunners credit: they were on the ball this time. Someone even shot a MANADS, then another, but both failed to guide. Ignoring the flak and missiles, he picked out the northern ramp area, and found not only two Forgers, but also an L-410 transport and an An-26 transport on the ramp. You're mine, Guru said to himself as he came in and the Forgers grew in his pipper. “Steady....Steady.....And...HACK!” He hit his pickle button, releasing his dozen Mark-82s, then he pulled up and away, jinking as he did so to give the gunners a harder time. He thundered over the town of Dublin, jinking and even waggling his wings to the civilians below. Once clear of the town and back down to 450 Feet AGL did he call, “Lead's off target.”

“Schisse!” The Major muttered as Guru's F-4 came on its run. He ducked into a slit trench, and watched as the Phantom came in and released its bombs and pulled up. The Major ducked as the first bombs went off, and he counted a dozen explosions. Then he heard-and felt-three secondary explosions, and the trench shook from the concussion of both the bombs going off and the secondary detonations. The Major stuck his head out of the trench, and saw that both Yak-38s had been blown apart, along with both the L-410 and An-26. He glanced back to the south, for he knew the Fascists' aircraft didn't attack alone-unlike the early days of the invasion, which such things had been common. Sure enough, another smoke trail was coming in, and that meant another F-4...

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

“How many?” Guru wanted to know as a missile-what kind, he didn't know, flew above him by about a hundred feet. Big one-an SA-6, maybe? He got down lower, to 400 Feet.

“Three or four,” she replied.

“I'll take those,” Guru said as he headed north for Lake Comfort.


“Two's in!” That was Kara's call as she took 520 down on its attack run. She watched the CO pull up and away, leaving a dozen explosions in his wake, followed by four secondaries. Kara picked out the south ramp, and found an Mi-6 Hook and two Mi-8 Hips there. Good, she thought as the flak came up, you'll do. She, too, ignored the flak-and the 57-mm and 23-mm was coming up at her, with puffs and tracers flying by. Kara centered the Hook in her pipper and concentrated on the bomb release. “And....Steady.....Steady....NOW!” Kara hit her pickle button, and sent her dozen Mark-82s down onto the field below. She pulled up and away, thundering over Dublin, both jinking and waggling her wings as she did so. Kara cleared the town, saw the CO drop down lower, and matched him, Then she called, “Two off safe.”

“Of all the...” The Major muttered as Kara's F-4 went on its run. He saw the bombs come off the aircraft, forcing him to duck. He turned, and saw his Political Officer there, cowering in the trench just like everyone else. Good, the Major thought. Now the Party man sees for himself that things aren't going the way the Party says they are. Then the Major stopped. Such thoughts were defeatist, and that would attract the attention of the Stasi. His thoughts were interrupted by the bombs going off, followed by at least two secondary explosions as the F-4 flew by overhead. The Major stuck his head out of the trench, and saw three clouds of smoke rising to the south. A glance upwards revealed another F-4 coming in...


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“How good?” Kara asked as she jinked right, then left, then right again. A missile, this one looked like an SA-7 or -14, flew past her left side as she jinked, much to her chagrin.

“Big and good.”

“Then we earned our pay on this one,” replied Kara as she picked up the CO's bird.


Sweaty rolled in on her run. “Three's in!” She called as she came in on the target, and noticed the flak coming up. A quick look at the EW display showed no radar-guided flak, just the optically aimed stuff, but that could hurt you....Sweaty picked out the field hangars, and saw an aircraft parked outside one. Was that an Su-25? Sure could be, she thought as she centered the aircraft in the pipper. Even if that was her aimpoint, the rain of bombs would tear the hangars apart. Ignoring the flak, she lined the plane up in the pipper. “Steady....And....Steady...Steady....HACK!” She hit her pickle button, releasing her bombs, then she pulled up and away. Sweaty jinked left, then right, and waggled her wings as she overflew Dublin. Once clear of the town, she dropped low as a missile, and this was a big one, flew beneath her aircraft as it came up. “Three off target.”

“What the...” the Major muttered as Sweaty's F-4 made its run. Ducking into the trench, he heard the F-4 thunder by, followed by the bombs going off. He heard a dozen explosions, followed by one secondary, then another. Glancing his head up out of the trench, the Major saw the hangars blown apart, and two smoke clouds coming up. Some of the Soviet Air Force Su-25 people were using those hangars, he knew. Then someone pulled him back into the trench, and that told him another American aircraft was inbound.

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher called as Sweaty pulled away. “Got a couple of secondaries!”

“How big?”

“Big enough!”

Sweaty grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Then we'll take 'em,” she said as she headed north, jinking as she did. As she jinked, a missile flew by down the right side of the aircraft. Looked big, maybe an SA-6? No matter, Sweaty dropped down lower, and headed north. A quick glance at the EW display still showed that fucking Mainstay's signal. She frowned beneath her mask, then picked up both the CO and Kara as they headed north.

“Four's in hot!” Hoser called as he came down on his run. The flak came up to meet him, and he noticed the puffs from the 57-mm, as well as the tracers from the 23-mm. He ignored the flak-and what appeared to be a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, as he concentrated on his bomb run. He centered his pipper on the runway, and aimed just north of the centerline. Hoser noticed the patches in the runway where bomb craters had been filled in, and this time, this field's out of action for a while, he promised. The aimpoint grew larger, as he got ready. “And...Steady....Steady...And...NOW!' Hoser hit his pickle button, and sent his dozen bombs onto the runway. He then pulled up and wings level, thundering over Dublin as he did, jinking to avoid flak. When he was clear of the town, he ducked low as a missile came up, though it didn't track. Either the ECM pods were working, or it was launched in optical mode and the operator was green. No matter....”Four's off safe.”

The Major heard Hoser's F-4 come in, and since he was in the trench, he didn't see the run, but heard the bombs going off. This time, there were no secondary explosions, and he wondered what the target must be. Then he recalled the last time the base had been hit. Runway, he remembered. This field will be out of service for a few days, he knew. He glanced up, and saw another Fascist aircraft coming...And this one was aiming at a target other than the field. Right away, the Major knew what this one was going for. Fuel depot, he realized.


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted from Hoser's back seat. “We got the runway!”

“How many cuts?” Hoser wanted to know as some tracers flew over the canopy, followed by a shoulder-fired missile.

“Several.”

“Good enough,” said Hoser as he picked up his element lead.


“Five in hot!” Dave Golen called as he came in on his run. He easily picked out the fuel dump, with all the truck tracks in the ground, even though the dump had plenty of camoflage netting on the clusters of fuel tanks and bladders. He picked out one of the largest concentrations and selected it for his aim point. Golen, like the others, ignored the flak as he went down on his run, though Terry McAuliffe, his GIB, ducked involuntarily as some of the tracers were pretty close. “And...And....NOW!” Golen hit his pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82s came off the racks and fell onto the fuel dump. He pulled up and away, jinking as he did so. As he overlew Dublin proper, he, like the others, waggeled his wings to the civilians below. Golen, like some of the others, also had a large missile come close to his aircraft, even with no EW warning. Once clear, he called out, “Five's off target.”

The East German Major stood up in the trench as Golen's F-4 pulled out of its run, and he saw the bombs falling. Each bomb landed in the depot, and he felt the blasts as the bombs went off, followed by numerous secondary explosions as other fuel tanks or bladders cooked off in the heat. The Major stood up, shouting orders to get the fire-fighters in, when one of his NCOs pushed him back into the trench. The Major was incredulous, then he saw another Imperialist F-4 coming in.


“GOOD HITS!” McAuliffe shouted in Golen's back seat. “Multiple secondaries in the dump!”

“How many?” Golen asked as a missile flew past his aircraft on the right, and tracers flew past above and below the aircraft.

“Lots.”

Golen let out a chuckle. “Put that in the strike report,” he said as he headed north.


“Six in hot!” Flossy called as she took 1569 down on its attack run. She saw the fireballs erupting in her element lead's wake, as well as the 23-mm and 57-mm flak coming up. Ignoring the ground fire, and even a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, Flossy concentrated on the bomb run. She picked out the north side of the dump, where there were no fires or explosions, and she noticed several large fuel bladders on the ground. Not your day, Franz, she thought as the target area grew larger in her pipper. “And...And....And...HACK!” Flossy hit the pickle button, sending her dozen Mark-82s off the racks. Then she pulled up and away, overlying the town of Dublin and not only was she jinking, but she waggled her wings to the civilians down below. When she cleared the town, it was time for the call. “Six off safe.”

“VERDAMNT!” The East German Major was cursing as he watched Flossy's F-4 make its run. He saw the bombs come off the aircraft, and though he was hoping the pilot's aim was off, several explosions, followed by oily fireballs, quickly dispelled that notion. He stood up and for a moment, watched as more secondary explosions followed as more of the fuel tanks went up. Then he turned to his deputy. “This has been a bitch of an afternoon, eh, Johannes?”

“It has, Comrade Major, but we can only do one thing: our duty.”

The Major nodded. Whatever thoughts he may have had in that trench, he was still a professional to the end. “True, Comrade Captain.” Then two more F-4s came over, but instead of attacking, they simply flew past, following the others. Reconnaissance flight, maybe?”


In 512, Guru heard Flossy's call. “That's that.”

“Six in and out,” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Mustang One-seven and one-eight, get your asses down and out of there.”

“Copy, Leader,” Flight Lt. Karen McKay replied. “On our way out.” As the two RAF F-4Js overflew the town, they, too, waggled their wings. Then McKay saw them. “Flossy and Dave, break! Bandits on your six!”

Without thinking, Golen and Flossy broke. He went high and right, while she went low and to the left. As the F-4Es turned, their crews saw the threats. Su-25s. Where did they come from? “Lead, Five,” Golen called. “Got two Frogfoots here.”

“Su-25s?” Guru asked aloud. “Where the hell did they come from?” He called Kara. “Drop tanks and on me,” he said as he dropped his two wing tanks. Then he broke right and high, intending to come to the party.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied as she shed her wing tanks, then she went low and left, then formed up on the CO. Sweaty and Hoser heard the call, and they did the same, and four F-4Es were headed back south, fangs out.

In her F-4J, Karen McKay smiled as she got behind the Su-25s. She uncaged a Sidewinder, and got tone. “Nice try, Ivan,” she muttered before she squeezed the trigger. A single AIM-9L shot off the left outboard rail, and the two Frogfoots broke. One went right, and she followed, with her wingmate following, while the leader turned left, with the missile flying between the two Frogfoots, then harmlessly firing its warhead.

Flossy saw that Su-25 pass below, waited a moment, then dropped in behind him. “He didn't clear his six,” she noted.

Jang replied from the back seat. “His bad day.” She took a good look around. “Six is clear, girl. He's yours.”

“Roger that!” Flossy uncaged a Sidewinder and got tone. “FOX TWO!” She squeezed the trigger once, then again, as two AIM-9P4s shot off the left inboard and right outboard rails. Both tracked to the Frogfoot, who only started to maneuver at the last second, before both missiles slammed into the engines. The Frogfoot banked left, then rolled inverted. It smashed into a hill and fireballed, and neither Flossy or Jang saw a chute. “SPLASH!”


“Hear that?” Kara called Guru. “Flossy's got another one.”

“Save it for later,” Guru reminded her. “Still got one out there.


McKay, though, made the remaining Frogfoot irrelevant. She saw him bank right, then pull into a right Vector Roll. “Sure this guy's a mud-mover?” She asked her GIB, Flight Lt. Chris Fryer.

“He flies like one, Karen,” he replied. “You're clear.”

“And I'll take him,” she said, centering her pipper on the Su-25 and getting tone. “And...FOX TWO!” She squeezed the trigger twice, and two AIM-9Ls shot off the rails. Both tracked, and speared the Frogfoot in the tail. The Sukhoi spun right, then plunged into the ground in a fireball, and just before impact, the pilot ejected. “SPLASH!”


“Looks like the girls got both kills on this one,” Kara called Guru.

“They did this time,” Guru replied. “Form on me and let's egress.” That was pilot talk for “Get the hell out of here.”

“You do know that makes McKay an ace?” Goalie reminded her pilot.

“It does, and she'll get a drenching. First things first,” Guru said as he did a 180, then headed north, with Kara tucked in with him in Combat Spread. “Sweaty?”

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

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Dave?”

“Coming up, and I've got Flossy.”

“Seven and eight on top,” McKay added.

“Copy,” Guru replied as the flight reformed and headed north, with the F-4Js coming in just above them. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Lead. Say threats.”

An AWACS controller replied at once. “Mustang, Crystal Palace. Threat bearing Two-four-five for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-eight-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing two-four-zero for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger. Say bogey dope?”

“Mustang, First threat is Fishbeds. Second threats are Floggers, with third being Fulcrums.”

“Mustang Lead copies,” Guru said.

“One minute to Lake Comfort,” Goalie called.

Guru nodded, then said, “Let's get down lower.” He took 512 down to 450 Feet AGL, and the flight followed suit. A quick glance at the EW display still showed the Mainstay, but no fighter radars. “Time to the lake?”

“Forty seconds.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. It wasn't long until the lake appeared, and as they crossed the lake, the Mainstay's radar strobe went off, and the SEARCH warning light went out. “That's the Mainstay.”

“He'll be back,” Goalie replied with a tinge of disgust in her voice. “Somebody needs to take care of those.”

“You're preaching to the choir.”

Once clear of the lake, next up was I-20, and that meant crossing the Fence into friendly territory. Once clear of the Interstate, the flight climbed to altitude, turned on their IFF, and turned off the ECM pods. Then they joined up with the tankers, and this time, the 335th birds tanked up from KC-10s, while the RAF was able to use their own Tristar. Then they headed to Sheppard.

When the flight arrived, they were third in the pattern, with a Marine F/A-18 flight, and their own T-Bird Flight ahead of them. Both T-Birds were there, Guru was glad to see, and that meant that Don Van Loan had taken his advice. When it was Mustang's turn, the two Su-25 killers did victory rolls, then the flight landed. As they taxied in, and popped canopies, the victorious crews held up fingers to signal kills, much to the pleasure of the ground crews, aircrews, and the news media-Ms. Wendt's crew was filming, as usual. Then they taxied into their squadron dispersal, and made for their individual revetments.

Guru taxied 512 into its own revetment, and after he got the “Shut Down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, the ground crew put the chocks into place after Guru shut down the engines. Then he and Goalie went through the post-flight checklist, while the ground crew extended the crew ladder. “Four and done,” Guru said. “And two aces today.”

“That we do,” Goalie agreed. “And tomorrow's more of the same.”

“Count on it,” the CO said as he stood up in the cockpit and got down from the aircraft. Goalie did the same, and both did a quick post-flight walk-around, then Sergeant Crowley came over. “Sarge,”

“Major, Lieutenant,” Crowley said. “How's my bird?” He handed both of them a bottle of water.

“Five-twelve's still truckin' right along,” Guru said as he downed half of his bottle. “No problems or issues, and no battle damage for sure. Get what needs to be done, done, then get her ready for the morning.”

“Yes,sir!” Crowley said. “You heard the Major! Let's get this bird prepped and ready for the morning.”

As the ground crew got to work, Guru and Goalie went to the revetment's entrance, where Kara and Brainiac were already waiting. “How'd things go?” Guru asked his wingmate.

“Got at Hook, and maybe a couple of Hips,” Kara grinned. “And you got a couple of transports and two Forgers.”

Guru nodded, but then said, “Too bad ground kills don't count. There could've been a whole regiment of Su-25s there, and if we tore them up? Wouldn't have meant a damned thing in the score sheet.”

“Not like in WW II,” Kara spat.

“Different war, different rules,” replied the CO, trying to be sympathetic, but he was just as frustrated as Kara was. “Sweaty, Hoser? How'd you make out?”

“Tore up the hangars,” Sweaty said. “And Hoser got the runway.”

Hoser shook his head. “Which they'll get up and running in a day or two.”

“Not taking that bet,” Kara grumbled. “Boss, this is too much like Southeast Asia.”

Guru understood. He'd been thinking the same thing himself. “Don't like it myself, but until we start moving forward again....”

Heads nodded at that. “Well, one good thing out of it,” Hoser said.

“What's that?” Preacher asked.

“We get to know this part of Texas like the backs of our hands.”

“One good thing,” Kara nodded.

Guru nodded agreement, then Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs came up. “Dave, Flossy? Good work on that fuel dump.”

“Thanks, Guru,” Golen said.

“And Flossy? You got what, number eight?”

Flossy grinned. “That I did, and you and I are tied,” she reminded the CO.

“That we are, and you're one shy of Kara,” Guru reminded her.

Oh, shit, Kara thought to herself. “Forgot about that.”

“Easy to do,” Guru grinned. “Come on, let's get our newest aces properly welcomed.” They filled several water buckets, and Sergeant Crowley knew full well what they had in mind, then went over to the RAF's dispersal.

When they got there, Dave Gledhill was talking with both McKay and Fryer. He saw Guru and company, and went over. “Guru,” he nodded.

“Dave,” replied the CO. “Is it just Karen this time, or...”

“Chris has been with her for all of her kills,” Gledhill replied. “So they both get it?”

“They do.”

Nodding, Gledhill called to both. “Karen, Chris? Major Wiser has something for both of you.”

Both crewers had been talking with their crew chief, then McKay turned. “What's that?”

All six F-4E crewers came forward, buckets in hand. “This,” Guru said, as both McKay and Fryer were drenched! “Congratulations, both of you! Welcome to the ace club!”

“Damnit, Major!” McKay shouted as she shook off the cold water. “That's too bloody cold!”

“Try Lake Whitney or Lake Comfort this time of year,” Guru replied.

“This beats that,” Sweaty added.

Sin Licon, the SIO, came up. He'd watched the whole thing. “It does,” he said. “Major, we need to debrief.”

Guru nodded. “All right, let's go make the intel happy. Check your desks, and make sure your IN boxes are empty and the OUT ones are full. Then we get to be animals in the zoo.”

“And some aces get recognized,” Goalie said.

“Right you are, and since they're Dave's people,” Guru said, nodding at Dave Gledhill. “He gets to be the emcee for that.”

“My pleasure,” Gledhill nodded.

“And menana, we do this all over again,” Kara said.

“That we do,” Hoser nodded.

“We do,” Guru agreed. “Come on and let's go.”