[Matt Wiser]

The next:


335th TFS Squadron Commander's Office, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1652 Hours:


Major Matt Wiser glared at the officer in front of him. He'd loathed the man for over a year and a half, and even when he was still a First Lieutenant, he'd been put off by Major Frank Carson's overbearing, Academy “know-it-all” attitude, his Boston Blue Blood arrogance, and that was the beginning. After coming back from his E&E with the Resistance, and getting 1st Lt. Lisa Eichhorn as his GIB, the two had developed a more...private relationship to go along with their professional one. Carson had found out, and tried to have them written up for fraternization. Major Wiser's predecessor as CO, Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, had asked them if the....private was getting in the way of the professional. They had replied no, and said that if it ever did, he'd be the first to know. Then Colonel Rivers had shoved a memo from General Tanner, the Commanding General of Tenth Air Force, advising unit commanders, JAG, and OSI to ignore any fraternization cases unless it was a senior forcing himself on a subordinate,. He had also outlined several other regulations that were getting in the way of job number one, which was winning the war. And the General felt that anything that got in the way of winning the war was to be ignored. Then, after dismissing the two officers, Colonel Rivers had given Carson a severe dressing-down, and Carson's complaints to General Tanner had been ignored, and now that the Inspector General's representative had been kicked off base by Tanner himself.....it was obvious to everyone that no one cared for Major Carson's attitude, complaints, or the man in general. Except Carson and a few fellow Academy grads from other services who had the same attitude, everyone in Marine Air Group 11 felt the same way.

“Major, have a seat,” Major Wiser said.

“I'd rather stand, sir,” Carson replied. And both the CO and XO could tell the contempt in the man's voice.

The CO nodded. 'Suit yourself, Frank. Now that I've had a couple days to settle in, it's time you and me had a chat. And you'd better pay attention. First of all, what's with you? Your Academy 'know-it-all' attitude, Boston Blue-blood arrogance, strutting around as if you're the Lord and everyone else is the peasants?”

“I have been trying since I arrived in this squadron to enforce Air Force Standards, and all rules and regulations-”

Major Wiser slammed his fist on the desk. “And a lot of that means nothing here. In case you haven't noticed, we are at war. And we've been fighting for our national survival for two bloody years. There's no time for your kind of attitude.” He glared at Carson. “That Academy ring on your finger means nothing. SAMs, triple-A, and MiGs don't discriminate, and ninety percent of the officers in this squadron, hell, the entire Air Force, came out of AFROTC or OTS. They are not brand-new Doolies, despite what you may think. And when NCOs give you advice, you listen! And the enlisted airmen who keep this unit flying and fighting are not pieces of equipment to be used, abused, and disposed of as you see fit. Those men and women work fourteen to sixteen hour days so that we can fly and fight. All that matters is ordnance delivered on the enemy and MiGs shot out of the sky. I could care less if officers go by first name or call sign, or if the NCOs and airmen who work on the flight line or in the hangars are either wearing the grimiest, dirtiest uniforms they have, or wear gym shorts at most, or shorts and either T-shirts or sports bras in the women's case because it's so hot on the flight line. We don't have time for snappy salutes, spit-shined boots, polished brass, or pressed uniforms! We're flying four, five, six times a day, if not more, and we don't have time for that kind of nonsense!”

Carson glared at the CO. It was bad enough that he'd been passed over for command of the squadron, but this...this peasant from some tiny California town, who'd gone to a 'hick' school and then OTS, now not only had the squadron, but rank to go with it. “Sir, there are still Air Force rules, and regulations-”

“And half of that means nothing once the balloon goes up!” The CO shot back. “Remember what the General said? If it gets in the way of winning the war, winning the war comes first! If we have to fold, spindle, bend, or mutilate a few regs in order to get results? So be it. What matters is results first. And when in doubt, win the war! Or has that ever occurred to you?”

“What about rank?' Carson sneered. “I have seniority in rank over you.”

Major Wiser got in Carson's face. “I'm not as rank as you. And I don't let it go to my head. And when a two-star general thinks I'm doing a good enough job running this squadron, that goes pretty far in anyone's book.”

“Just because the General thinks it's okay doesn't make it right,” said Carson.

“Oh? Care to tell him he made a mistake? He'll give you more of an ass-chewing than I ever will,' Major Wiser said. “And before we go any further, I've loathed you ever since you tried to have me and my WSO written up on a fraternization violation. In case you forgot, General Tanner, then the Air Force Chief of Staff himself told JAG and OSI to ignore any such complaints, because winning the war comes first! If you're wondering why I haven't transferred you out already, it's because you could go to JAG and claim retaliation. And I'm not giving you that pleasure.”

“That's another thing,” Carson said. “You and Lieutenant Eichhorn-”

“Ever hear the phrase 'wartime romance'? “ the CO shot back. “We're not the only ones. There's several such romances going on among the officers, and a few among the enlisted as well. As long as we keep our private lives private, it's no one's business but our own. And before you open your mouth, I'll say this: you are a bloody hypocrite.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mark, you have his 201 File?”

“Right here, Boss,” Ells said, handing the CO the file.

“We know what you pulled at the Academy,” the CO said. “Treating the Academy as if it was a Frat House in uniform. Hell, your GPA would've made you eighth in your class. But your disciplinary record puts you in the 49th percentile. Then there's your taking advantage of a female cadet in a SERE exercise.”

“That never went to trial, let alone the Article 32,” Carson reminded the CO.

“Because some tough guys from Boston-did your daddy arrange that-intimidated the victim into dropping the charges. I'll tell you this: she left the Academy, and went to the University of Washington on an AFROTC scholarship thanks to OSI. She's now a C-130 driver at Yokota in Japan, and she's done more for the war effort than you ever will.” Major Wiser said. “Then there's your time at Clark after graduation and getting your wings, and then Elmendorf.”

“That was consensual,” retorted Carson.

“It may have been, but as far as the Wing Commander was concerned, if anyone he doesn't like touches his little girl, it sure isn't. Be glad he didn't take a shotgun to you and give you an ass load of buckshot or just march the two of you to the Chaplain's office for a double-barrel ceremony,” the CO reminded Carson. “Then Moody, and Squadron Officer School, and promotion to O-4 below the zone. How'd you manage that? The Academy's old-boy network help you?”

“I had an understanding commanding officer, unlike here,” Carson snorted.

“And you got married,” Major Wiser said. “But it didn't last long, because you were in the middle of divorce proceedings when the war began. Caught you on leave in Vegas, I see. Celebrating your impending divorce?”

“Wouldn't you?'

“Maybe, but I'm a bachelor,” the CO said. “And last, but not least, the Sandi Jenkins business. There's no excuse for that kind of behavior, and it galls me that a fellow officer would pull that kind of BS. One more reason for anyone to despise you.”

“What...” Carson stammered. How did that get out? It was so simple. One night in bed in exchange for his signature.

“She told Colonel Rivers when she came back as a First Lieutenant and with pilot's wings. He treated her like she was his own daughter, and made her his wingmate,” nodded the CO. “And she was with him when he went down. And before I forget, If I ever hear you badmouthing Colonel Rivers, I'll be tempted to slug you then and there. And everyone else in the squadron would be feeling the same way, so don't bother.”

“Are you threatening me?”

The CO got in Carson's face. “No. Just reminding you that you are the most hated man in this unit and on this base. And I'm giving you notice, Major.” Major Wiser thumbed at a calendar. “New Year's Eve, Major. 11:59 PM. If you haven't done a complete and total 180, you're done. And if you fuck up just once? You are out of my squadron.”

“What?” Carson asked. “You can't be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” Major Wiser said. “And if you want to leave this squadron on your own terms? Just come to me and I'll sign the transfer orders. Then I'll shove you on the next space-available C-130 out of here. My only regret? I'd be making you someone else's problem, and that officer would be wondering what he did to have you arrive.” Then the CO got eye to eye. “Too bad I won't see it, but seeing you shoveling snow at Goose Bay or K.I. Sawyer, or being in some Air Liaison Team on the Montana-Alberta border when it's minus thirty outside in January would be something I'd love to see.”

Major Carson glared at the CO. And to the CO and XO, it was a look of total contempt. “Anything else, sir?” And that 'sir' was an obvious afterthought.

“Just reminding you that I gave you your first, last, and only warning. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,....sir.” Carson muttered.

“I doubt it, but one can hope,” Major Wiser said. “Now get out of my sight!”

Carson didn't say a word, but snapped a salute, did an about-face, then stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

“That, Boss, is not a happy person.” Ellis observed. “Never seen him that mad.”

Major Wiser nodded. “Neither have I, Mark.” He glanced at the wall clock. Ir read 1705. “Why do I get the feeling that the last ten minutes have been a complete waste of time?”

“Had to be done, Boss.” said the XO. “Sooner or later. At least you got it out of the way.”

“Yeah, but why do I also have the feeling that every word I said went in one ear and out the other?”

“At least you gave him fair warning,” Ellis said.

“There is that,” Major Wiser nodded. He looked at the clock. “Come on, the Club's open, and we got a few things to celebrate before twelve-hour kicks in.”

That we do,” grinned Ellis. “And you got a round to buy.”

“Don't remind me,” the CO said.

“Boss, it's my job to remind you.”

Major Wiser laughed. “That it is,” he said. “Come on.” And the two officers left the CO's office, and headed over to the Officer's Club tent.


Officer's Club Tent, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1710 Hours:


Major Matt Wiser and Captain Mark Ellis walked into the tent that held the Officer's Club. The prewar Officer's Club had been a candidate for reactivation, but it was a burned-out shell. It turned out that the Soviets had simply taken it over, until a Resistance operation managed to get a bomb into the building and blew the place apart, killing 44 Soviets and injuring 200 more. In reprisal, the Soviets took 440 prisoners from a forced labor camp and 560 ordinary people rounded up from Wichita Falls and nearby towns, and shot them all. War-crimes investigators were going through the mass grave, even as the fall rains were coming, to recover bodies and try to identify them. When MAG-11 heard the story after moving in, they had donated excess clothing and other supplies to the families looking for their loved ones' remains. And it had given the aircrews and the soldiers from III Corps yet another score to settle.


When the two AF officers entered the tent, they found it full of Air Force, Marine, Navy, and even some Army Aviation officers from III Corps. And it didn't take them long to be noticed by General Tanner and Colonel Allen Brady, the CO of MAG-11. “Ah, I see our last guest of honor has arrived,” the General said.

“Sorry to be late, sir,” Major Wiser said. “But we had squadron business with a certain officer. And I had to give him fair warning.”

Both the General and Colonel Brady nodded. They knew full well who the Major was referring to. “And how did it go?” General Tanner asked.

“About what I expected, sir,” Major Wiser nodded. “Though I can't help but think that everything I said went in one ear and out the other.”

Both Tanner and Colonel Brady nodded as well. They knew that it was more than likely the case, but the talk had to be done. “Time will tell, Major. Either he'll do a complete 180, or he's on his way out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Colonel Brady came and shook the Major's hand. “Haven't had time today, Major. But congratulations. Glad to see you make O-4, but too bad the man who thought you should get it isn't here to see it.”

“Thank you, sir,” the Major replied. “I know he's looking down on us and smiling. He knows.”

“That he does,” Colonel Brady said. “Now, get your drinks, because we've got some business to take care of before 1900 and twelve-hour kicks in.”

Major Wiser nodded. “Yes, sir.” He and Mark went to the bar and the barkeep came over. “What have you got tonight, beer wise?”

“Foster's, Sapporo, some Bud,” the barkeep replied.

“Any Sam Adams?”

“Expecting some later in the week. Sorry, Major.”

“Oh, well. Bud for me,” Major Wiser said.

“Same here,” Ellis added.

The barkeep nodded, popped two bottles, and plopped them down in front of the two officers. Major Wiser paid him, then they walked over to where most of the squadron's officers were gathered. “You know, Bud's a good way of sticking it to the Russians.”

“What do you mean by that?” Capt. Kara “Starbuck” Thrace, the Major's wingmate, asked.

“Anheiser-Busch was one of those, like McAir, that wasn't hit in the firebombing of St. Louis,” the Major said. “They're still going, and every bottle they put out is one more to shove up Ivan's ass.”

“That's how many beer bottles shoved up that bastard Chebrikov's rear end?” First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, the Major's WSO, asked.

“A lot,” Ellis replied.

The bell at the bar rang, and General Tanner got up. “People,” he said as he surveyed the crowd. “Two days ago, you lost your CO. Lieutenant Colonel Dean Rivers. A fellow Vietnam vet, a trusted aide, and a good friend to me. To you, he was a father figure, someone the more junior members of the squadron looked up to. And to others, he was not just a beloved commanding officer, but he was a good friend. And he'll be dearly missed.” The General paused for a moment. “I know losing a CO is hard, and trust me, in my F-105 days, I lost a couple. But, he's looking down on you and smiling, and he'll be with you in spirit as we finish the job he helped start, and we kick those Commie bastards back to where they came from,” General Tanner surveyed the crowd again. “So, here's to Colonel Rivers.” He raised his beer bottle.

“To Colonel Rivers,” the crowd repeated. And the toast was drunk.

“Now, then, to more positive business,” the General said. “Major Wiser, front and center!”

The Major heard several of his friends mutter “Uh-oh,” as he stepped forward. “General,” he nodded.

“Colonel Rivers set things in motion when he decided his Exec should have the rank that went with the job. Unfortunately, he went down before it could be finalized. It's a pity he's not here to see this, but he's watching you from above and he's no doubt very pleased. So, here's to the new CO of the 335th, Major Matt Wiser, and here's to the best damn Air Force F-4 unit in Tenth Air Force!”

“Hear, hear,” the crowd said, and then the 335th people started to shout “Speech! Speech!”

The Major got up and addressed the crowd. 'Well, people, let me say this: It's an honor and privilege to be your commanding officer. Colonel Rivers had a rule in the squadron: 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.' Well, the 335th ain't broke, and nobody's going to fix it! Despite what some people-” he shot an icy glance to one corner of the bar where Major Frank Carson was sitting-”may think.” He surveyed the 335th officers. “I know I've got to buy a round tonight. But, there's several of you who are up for promotion in the coming weeks. When you guys get your promotions, we're going to have one hell of a promotion party! How's that, people!” There was a lot of applause, then he finished. “And like the General said, Colonel Rivers is going to be watching over us, and be with us in spirit, as we get the job done and send those Commie bastards back to where they came from! Drink up, people!” Then he turned to General Tanner. “General,”

“Major, I believe you have some squadron business to take care of now?”

“Yes, sir,” Major Wiser said. “Lieutenant Valerie Blanchard and Lieutenant Bryan Simmonds, front and center!”

When Sweaty and Preacher heard their names called, there was applause, as everyone knew that they had made ace that day. “Major,” Sweaty nodded.

“Now., Sweaty and Preacher's first kill was a MiG-21R that some Cuban was using to get the guys in Western New Mexico on Candid Camera,” the Major joked. “I got the escort, but she got the photo plane. Their second kill was a MiG-29, and he, like his flight lead, didn't think that an F-4 could kill a Fulcrum, Well, we taught them wrong, and that MiG flight leader walked home from that one. Kill number three was a Hip on the Denver Siege Perimeter, while number four was a MiG-23 that she got when our dear friend Kara Thrace made ace-” the Major waved at Kara, and she waved back-”while their fifth? Some Su-25 jockey thought a Frogfoot could handle an F-4. He thought wrong, and Sweaty and Preacher made sure he walked home from that one. Though I bet as he was walking back to his field, he was probably wondering, 'Where did that damned F-4 come from?'” There was quite a bit of laughter at that. “Now, Sweaty, Preacher, you guys are now fighter aces. You two are a pair of certified, card-carrying aerial assassins, and no one can take that away from you. Welcome to the club!” Major Wiser, an eight-kill ace, said, and there was a thunder of applause.

“Thanks, Major,” Sweaty said, while Preacher echoed it.

“You've got an hour and a half to party hearty, so get with it,” the CO said. He turned to the General, who nodded. 'All right, we got one last bit of business. Lieutenant Sandi Jenkins and Lieutenant Ken Dahlberg, front and center!”

When they heard that, Sandi and Ken gulped, then went to where Sweaty and Preacher had stood.

“Now, you two don't have call signs, and that's something we need to work on, isn't that right people?”
The Major said, and there was a bit of chatter about that, then he waved his hand and everyone quieted down. “Now, Ken, you were so good at the RTU they kept you on as an instructor, but you finally get to do what you signed up for, and you're doing a hell of a job. Sandi?

“Major?” Sandi asked.

“Sandi, you were in the 335th from Day One, not as a pilot, obviously, but as an airman. Then Airman to Pilot opened up, and you were the first to go from this squadron. It was a tough road, but you're back, and you've earned the respect of your squadron mates for coming back. Colonel Rivers took you under his wing, and made you his wingmate, and he treated you as if you were his own daughter. He made you forget that past, and get on with the job at hand. And you were with him when he went down, and speaking as someone who saw two squadron commanders go down, well, 'been there, done that.'” Major Wiser paused, then continued. “I know what it's like. That pit in your stomach. Well, all you can do is suck it up and get on with the job at hand. Now, you've got the older brother from another mother as your element lead-and Major Golen, stand up if you will?” Major Dave Golen, their IDF “observer” stood up. “And the two of you are going to do just fine. Now, she got back in the saddle today, got it out of her system, and, most important, Sandi got her first kill today. How's that for back in the groove?”

Once again, there was quite a bit of applause.

“Now, it may have only been a Hip, but what the hell, a kill's a kill, right?” The Major asked. “And when she gets her fifth? We're going to have a hell of a party, and not only are we going to be proud of her, but I know Colonel Rivers will be, watching from above. Isn't that right?”

The crowd shouted approval, “Hell, yes!”

“Okay, Sandi? Ken? You two did great today, and keep at it.” The two nodded, then Major Wiser finished. “Okay, I'll buy the next round, then it's sixty-five minutes to twelve-hour, so drink up, people!” The Major bought the round, then took his second beer over to Goalie's table. She had been sitting with Kara and Brainiac, Kara's WSO. “Well?”

“Was it this raucous when Colonel Rivers took over?” Goalie asked.

“More subdued,” The CO said. “We just had two CO s and an XO shot out from under us, the news was still bad, even though the front lines were stalled, and we were wondering how long he'd last.”

“I can imagine,” Kara said. “Heard plenty about how bad it was at Kingsley.” Kingsley Field in Oregon was the West Coast F-4 RTU.

“Bad enough,” the CO said, recalling those first months of the war. He changed the subject. “Now, Kara, you going to hustle anyone at the pool table or at a poker game tonight?”

“Maybe, Boss,” Kara said. “What are you getting at?” And both Goalie and Brainiac were listening intently.

“Well, the last thing anyone wants is a repeat of your antics after you made ace,” the Major noted. “Tonight, if someone loses to you and can't pay? Take a check for once.”

“Okay, Boss,” Kara said as she got up and headed over to the pool table.

“Well?” Goalie asked. “When are we having our little private celebration?”

“Not while the General's here,” Major Wiser said. It was an open secret in the 335th that the two were seeing each other on a more.....intimate basis.

“Fair enough,” Goalie said.

The Marine mess people brought dinners into the Club, and the CO got a fried chicken dinner for himself and another one for Goalie. “This is fine. A cold beer, fried chicken, corn on the cob, cole slaw, and good company.”

“That it is,” Goalie smiled.

Major Wiser nodded, then glanced over at the pool table. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Goalie asked, turning to look.

The CO put his palm to his face. “Please tell me that isn't Kara and the General at the Pool Table, and someone has challenged the other to a game.”

“Okay, I won't,” Goalie said.

“That's good.”

“But Brainiac will,” Goalie said, nodding at Kara's WSO.

“Well?” Major Wiser asked.

Brainiac smiled. “Exactly as described, Major.”

“I was afraid of that.”


The CO, and everyone else, watched, either from a distance or close up, as General Tanner and Kara went through the game. It didn't take long for Kara to realize that she was up against someone who'd done this before, and often. And it didn't take long for experience to take hold, for there was shock in the Club as General Tanner did something that few had managed to do. Beat Kara. She smiled, shook hands, paid the $50.00, then came over to the CO's table in a fury.

“How'd he manage that?” Kara fumed as she finished her beer.

Goalie looked at her. “How much did he take you for?”

“Fifty,” spat Kara. “He's done this before.

“I'll find out,” Major Wiser said, standing up. “And Kara?”

“What?”

“Can't win them all.”


Major Wiser went over to the General, who was shaking hands with Colonel Brady. “General, I see you've managed to do what very few have managed to do. Beat the Wild Thing at one of her games.”

Tanner nodded. “Major, I'm not new at this. Won quite a few at Takhili in my second F-105 tour.”

“I'll take your word for it, sir.”

“Well, I've got some of my own paperwork to catch up on,” Tanner said. “I'll see you at the memorial service. 1000, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tanner took his leave, then Major Wiser went back to the table. Kara was still there, fuming. “What'd the General say?”

“Takhili, 1967,” the CO said. “Did this quite a few times, he said..”

“Figures.” Kara spat. “Well, the poker table awaits.”

One of the Navy Flight Surgons with MAG-11 rang the bell at the bar just after that. “Okay, people! Twelve-hour now in effect!”

Major Wiser checked his watch. “Nineteen hundred on the dot,” he said. “Okay, Kara? You stick to club soda or Seven-up. Comprende?”

“Gotcha,” Kara said as she got up.

“And Kara?”

“Yeah, Major?”

“No shenanigans like you did when you made ace, okay? The last thing I want to is find out you're in Carson's front office, stark naked and drunk as a skunk. Especially while the General's here,” Major Wiser said with all due seriousness.

“Major, you know me,” Kara said, giving the innocent act.

“I do,” the Major replied. “There's a right time for getting crazy, but tonight's not one of them. Not while the General's on base.”

Kara looked at her CO and saw that he meant it. “Understood.”

“And one more thing: tonight, make an exception. If someone can't pay what they owe you? Take a check this one night.”

“Will do, Major,” Kara said, then she went and got in on a poker game.

“Well?” Goalie asked.

“This is a first,” Major Wiser said. “Kara actually taking it cool for a night.'

“With the General here? Even she wouldn't get that crazy.” Goalie said.

“You never know, but she will,” the CO replied. “I'll get us a plate of nachos, something nonalcoholic to drink, and be back We've got a couple of hours to kill before aircrew curfew.”

The card games and the pool table were busy, and those not interested were glued to a rerun of the 1979 World Series on ABC when Colonel Brady rang the bell. “Okay, people! Aircrew curfew for those on the flight schedule is now in effect!”

Those on the flight schedule, no matter what service they belonged to, got up and headed for their respective tents. Even with the memorial service scheduled for 1000, it would still be a typical day, with three or four sorties per crew the norm.