[Matt Wiser]

Next one: and the RAF guys meet General Olds:


Welcome to Texas



Sheppard AFB, Texas; 1720 Hours Central War Time, 16 November, 1987:


Major Matt Wiser and Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill were walking to the Tent that housed the Officer's Club at Sheppard. The CO of the 335th TFS was filling in his RAF opposite number on how things worked in the Southern Theater, and how a bunch of USAF types had wound up with the Marines. “Couldn't get back to our parent wing after the balloon went up, so they sent us to Williams AFB near Phoenix, and wound up under MAG-11.”

“And you've been with them since,” Gledhill said.

“That we have,” Major Wiser said. “We've moved three times since that summer offensive you probably saw on either CNN or the BBC. Williams to Cannon in New Mexico, then Cannon to Amarillo, and Amarillo to here.”

“How bad was it here?”

“Bad enough,” Major Wiser, call sign Guru, nodded. “The occupation around here was run by Cubans with some MVD types. Lot of mutual hatred because of Sheppard being here, and the Resistance was pretty active. You might be wondering why we're headed for a tent instead of the prewar club.”

Gledhill nodded. “That has occurred to me, Major.”

“Again, call me Guru for the most part,” Guru said. He saw Gledhill nod, then went on. “Somehow, and we don't know how, the Resistance got a bomb on base and into the prewar club building. Blew it-and a bunch of Russians and Cubans-all to hell. The reprisals were pretty severe.”

“How bad was it? We've heard our share of stories thanks to the BBC and CNN.”

“They took two hundred and fifty people at random from Wichita Falls and the nearby communities, and two hundred and fifty more from the local 're-education camp', made them dig a trench, and shot them all,” Guru said. “Just for that. There's a town near here-or there was-called Thornberry. In a field near the town is a mass grave, where they think everyone around here who 'disappeared' is. The Army's got investigators digging, along with the FBI. If you want to know what you're fighting against? Have a look at that.”

The squadron leader's face turned pale. “Might just have to,” Gladehill said. “And you've been with the Resistance. My predeployment briefing mentioned that.”

“Five months,” Guru nodded. “Saw and did a lot. And a few things I'm not that proud of,” the CO said, as memories of his time behind the lines came back-and many of them not very good. “And here we are,” Guru said as they got to the Officer's Club tent.

“Not bad,” Gladehill said. “And this place looks pretty busy.”

“It is, any given night. It'll be busier still tonight, and not just with you guys being here,” Guru said. He noticed Gladehill's curiosity. “Your weather brief may or may not have told you, but we're getting a storm in tonight and tomorrow. Rain, wind, you get the idea. Any kind of VFR flying is out the window. But at Angels Twenty, it's clear and sunny, so we and the Marines will have people on Zulu Alert-”

“What we call QRA,” Gladehill replied.

“So that's how you do it. Anyway, we'll have crews on alert, just in case we get party-crashers tomorrow. As in MiG-25RB or Su-24 kind of company. But both sides welcome the weather coming in. It's a chance to get caught up on maintenance, aircrew rest, and just plain get ready for the next round,” Guru said as they went into the tent and headed for the bar. “Smitty?” He asked the bartender. “Get that Sam Adams?”

“Came in today, Major,” Smitty said. “And you've got a Brit with you.”

“Smitty, meet Squadron Leader Dave Gladehill. Smitty here used to run the best off-base hangout for pilots from Sheppard before the war,” Guru said. “Sam Adams for me, and one for him. I'll pay.”

Gladehill shook the barkeep's hand. “A pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Smitty said. “Comin' right up.”

Smitty produced the two beers, and both Guru and Dave took a seat at the bar. “What's his story?” Gladehill asked.

“Came through the occupation okay,” Smitty said. “They didn't arrest me because my bar was family-owned and operated. Didn't have more than a dozen employees, so they didn't consider me a 'class enemy,'” the barkeep spat. “But those damned Cubans? They made my bar a strongpoint when the Army got close, and during the battle? The 23rd ID had to blast and burn them out. If I was twenty years younger, I'd be going down to the recruiting office-and they do have some here now-where I'd be signing up-again.”

“Vietnam?”

“Marine Corps, two tours,” Smitty said. “One in '66-67, then again in '69-70. Buried all that stuff-and my guns-in the back yard before the bad guys came, so they had no idea I was a vet.”

“And that, Dave,” Guru added. “Could've been trouble, knowing from experience.”

“You've got that right, Major.”

Gladehill nodded, then looked around. He noticed General Olds talking with both 335th and Marines, and even a couple of his own people. Clearly, ACM was the topic of discussion, as there was the usual waving of hands. He also noticed a civilian woman talking with two female crews from the 335th. “Who's the civilian?”

“Jana Wendt, who's an Aussie. She works for both CBS and a network down in Australia,” Guru said. “She's done a story about the squadron, then one on me and my GIB-and I'll formally introduce you to Goalie tonight-and she's also doing one on the Day One vets in this squadron. Of which there are ten, and you're looking at one of them.”

“How bad was it?” Gladehill asked.

“Well, when you're expecting to start your first day at a Red Flag, and wind up going to war instead? It was hairy. Lost two planes and a crew, and also lost the Exec. But we did our job. Namely, head down to the border and kill everything headed north painted green. Interstate 19 became a junkyard, thanks to us, the A-10s from Davis-Monthan, some A-7s from the Arizona Guard, and some Army Reserve Cobra drivers. Then the Mexicans and Cubans got sent back across the border. Got my first kill the next day.”

“Sounds hairy,” Gladehill nodded.

“It was, even with Weasels on most of the runs,” Guru said, pulling on his beer. “Hearing about D.C, Omaha, New York, and Kansas City on the radio was worse. Throw in watching a Cuban airdrop on the Phoenix area go bad-and that was a turkey shoot as the F-15s from Luke got into the transports and had a field day. But watching MiG-21s shoot down an airliner wasn't any fun. Top it off with a Cuban MiG-21 crashing outside the Vegas Hilton, where we were billeted, and having the pilot land right in front of the place.”

Colonel Allen Brady, the MAG-11 CO, came up to the bar. “I see Guru's talking about Day One, Squadron Leader.”

“Indeed he has,” Gladehill said. “He told me how many in the squadron are left from those days.”

“Ten,” Guru said. “You could say those who were flying-anywhere-on Day One and are still at it are this war's 'few,' as Churchill would say.”

The XO, Capt. Mark Ellis, another Day One vet, came up to the bar. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,” he said, motioning for another beer. “Day one was no fun at all.”

“And Colonel Brady has some stories of his own,” Guru told Gladehill. “From the late and unlamented conflict in Southeast Asia.”

Brady nodded. “From the cockpit, Squadron Leader, and from Hanoi. Spent five years and two months in such lodgings as the Hanoi Hilton, Zoo, Zoo Annex, Dogpatch, and Plantation. Being at the Zoo Annex when the Dramsei-Atterbury escape went down was the worst,” said the Colonel. He was recalling an escape attempt in 1969 when two USAF officers went over the wall at the Zoo Annex, and the NVA had come down hard-not just on the two escapees, one of whom died under torture, but also on anyone even remotely suspected of involvement.

“One of these days, Colonel,” Gladehill said. “I'd like to hear some of those.”

“You will,” replied Brady. He then saw General Olds waving him over. “General Olds and I still have some talking to do. You two have a good evening.”

“Will do, Colonel,” Guru nodded. After Brady went to the General, Guru turned to Gladehill. “Come on, I'll introduce you to the rest of my flight.

“Lead on, Guru.”

When they got to the table the CO's flight shared, they found Goalie talking to Flight Lt. Susan Napier, call sign “Fat Albert.” “How'd you get that?” Goalie asked.

“I was in the Hercules, then when combat was opened to women, the Hawk squadron I was in gave it to me,” Napier said cheerfully. “Two kills in Hawks, then after coming to 74, got a third. Badger, that one.”

“You'll hear some C-130 stories, because I came out of the Herky-bird into F-4s,” Goalie said. “Try evacuating the Air Force Academy from Colorado Springs, then the Denver Airlift.”

“Denver?” Naipier asked. “Heard some horror stories about that,”

“A lot of 'em are true,” Goalie said. “But we did our job getting supplies in and getting people out. Then combat was opened to women, and I asked for F-4s. Showed up at the 335th in June of '86, and been flying with Guru ever since.”

Kara and Sweaty were talking with Flight Lt. Karen McKay, the other female pilot in 74, and were surprised that she had been, of all things, an air traffic controller before the balloon went up. “Four and a half kills?” Kara asked.

“Quite. Two Badgers, two Backfires, and half of a Bear-D,” McKay replied. “Had to share with one of your Tomcats, but we did our job.”

Kara nodded. “Well, you'll find things a lot different than chasing down bombers. Here, it's all tac air.”

“That it is,” Guru said, then everyone was introduced to the other. “Now, our allies will get a formal brief tomorrow, but here's a sneak preview.” Guru sat down, and the others did the same. “First, the MiG threat starts at -21 and goes up from there. Most common are -21s and -23s, but we have encountered -25s on one occasion, and there's also -29s.”

“And Guru and I splashed a couple, back in May,” Sweaty added. She recounted the squadron's only MiG-29 engagement, where both of them had run into a pair of Fulcrums. “And it ended the way General Olds described BOLO.”

“How's that?” McKay asked.

“Simple:” Guru said. “We tangled, they lost. Sweaty there nails the wingman with a head-on Sparrow shot, leader breaks. I went into the vertical, then pitched down, stomped on the rudder, and came down through the Mach and right behind him. Got Sidewinder lock, took the shot, and he pumped out flares and chaff. Took a second shot, and that smashed into his left tail and horizontal stabilizer. Canopy comes off, seat fires, and poof! Here's the guy in a chute.”

Preacher, Sweaty's backseater, added, “Going to tell them about the Foxbat?”

“What?” Gladehill said. “A MiG-25?”

“Got him on takeoff,” Guru said. “Cannon, before Wichita and PRAIRIE FIRE. We were escorting an RF-4, and buzzed Cannon. The MiG scrambled after the RF-4, and Goalie and I got behind him. Two Sidewinders and he cartwheels into the desert floor.”

“Only ways for a Phantom to get a Foxbat,” Sweaty said. “Either jump him on takeoff or get him on landing. Otherwise, they're just too damn fast.”

“Add to that,” Goalie chimed in. “Kara over there got a MiG-23 on her theater indoctrination ride. Only in the squadron all of an hour, and she gets a kill.”

“How'd that happen?” Karen McKay asked.

“CO was at a conference,” Guru said. “Kara reports in, and I decide to take her on that theater indoctrination ride, even though it was a stand-down day. We went to the Rio Grande in New Mexico-that was the front line then-and had two MiG-23s come to the party.”

“And?”

“Simple,” said Kara as she picked up the story. “We tangled, they died. Got one of 'em, and the CO got the other.”

“First flight in the squadron, and her first kill,” Brainiac, Kara's GIB, said.

“That she did,” Guru said. “As for the ground-attack side? Starts at Su-17 Fitter and goes up from there. The whole Fitter family-from -17 to -20 and -22. Nicaraguans and Libyans fly the -20s, but Ivan and the East Germans fly the others. Then there's Su-24.”

“Speaking of which,” Goalie chimed in, “We broke up an Su-24 raid here a few days ago. Kara there got one.” She then pointed to Cosmo and Revlon, who were talking with one of the RAF pilots. “And our first all-female crew got another. Marines did their share, and so did the guys on the ground.”

“Not bad, Squadron Leader,” Kara added. “Because Guru there ordered us up, ten minutes after landing from a strike. We had half our fuel, but full air-to-air.”

Guru nodded, then went on. “Better chances in the air, instead of on the ground. Anyway, after Fencer comes Frogfoot. And also Forger. Throw in the Hinds and Hips, and that's pretty much it. Other than Flankers, and they're in another category.”

“How bad?” Gladehill wanted to know.

“Simple,” Sweaty replied. “You have no business tangling with them in an F-4.”

“She's right,” Guru said. “Get down low, holler for help from the AWACS, do a Doppler Break, and hope a 'teenage' fighter-like an F-15, F-16, or F/A-18 is around.”

“Something to keep in mind,” Gladehill nodded.

“It is that,” Capt. Darren “Sin” Licon, said as he came by. Guru introduced him to the Squadron Leader.

“Sin's my intel, and he's pretty good at what he does,” the CO said. “What's up?”

“Dinner's about five minutes away-they're bringing that over, and the Eastbound C-141 was late. Got the papers.” Licon said, passing out some newspapers.

“Not much,” Guru said, scanning the L.A. Times. “Must be a slow day.”

“Same here,” Kara replied. She was scanning USA Today.

Goalie was going over the Orange County Register. “Says here they're still digging on Proxmire.”
She explained who the good (or not-so-good) Senator from Wisconsin for the visitors' benefit.

“And you people pretty much don't like him,” Susan Napier said. “I can see why.”

“Some have more reason to hate him more than others,” Hoser said. “Look over there at Cosmo,” he gestured to one member of the two all-female crews. “She was a Grad Student in Astronomy when the balloon went up, and people in that discipline don't like Proxmire.”

“He was anti-NASA,” Kara said. “He cut NASA's budget to the bone because he sat on that particular Senate Committee, killed NASA research into space colonies, and blocked NASA from doing any kind of SETI research.”

“SETI?” Napier asked, and Kara explained. “Anyone say this chap should get membership in the Flat Earth Society?”

“Cosmo told us a couple of her professors said just that,” Brainiac said.

Then the restauranteurs and Marine Mess people came in with dinner. “Folks, got some barbequed beef patties, or barbequed pork,” the ex-restaruanteur turned Marine Warrant Officer said. “Come and get it.”

After people got their food, the CBS Evening News came on AFN. This time, though, there wasn't much happening. “Just as with the newspapers,” Goalie said. “Slow day.”

“They probably had days like this in World War II,” Guru noted as he dug into the beef patties.

“No doubt,” Gladehill replied.

“In West Germany,” Walter Cronkite said on the broadcast. “Demonstrations against the Neutralist Government continue, with crowds estimated in the tens of thousands in Bremen, Hannover, and Cologne, while in Munich, over 100,000 people called for the Greens to step down and call for new elections. Former Chancellor Willy Brandt repeated his call for the Greens to step down, before, 'forces more considerable take matters into their own hands,' end quote. Informed sources in both Philadelphia and London have told CBS News that the chances of a coup are growing, and that the West German military has begun restricting military leaves and has begun an intensive period of 'unspecified training.'”

“They're going to do it,” General Olds said. “When that exercise ends, they won't go back to their barracks, but they put tanks in the streets.”

“You mean a coup, General?” Gladehill asked.

“That's right, Squadron Leader,” Olds said.

“About damned time,” one of the Marine F-4 pilots said.

“Send those Commie-lovers back to Moscow or East Berlin,” someone else said.

Sin Licon shook his head. “Not likely, guys. Anyone know Rule Number One in a coup?”

“The losers pose for rifle fire,” said Colonel Brady.

“Not quite, sir,” Licon replied. “First, they get interrogated. Find out who their contacts were, who recruited them, any links to the KGB or Stasi. Then get their passwords to any Swiss bank accounts. Then they pose for the firing squad.”

“West Germany's the big one,” Colonel Brady reminded everyone. “When they go, the others won't be far behind. Though the Dutch were the first.”

After a segment from a destroyer on a Norfolk to Alexandria convoy run, and a report on the likely Democratic candidates in the 1988 Presidential Election-and one possible candidate, Sen. Sam Nunn from Georgia, taking himself out of the running, came a Charles Kuralt On the Road segment. This one was from Parkersburg, West Virginia, and a look at Coal Country. Many homes had either yellow ribbons, often joined by Blue or Gold Stars. The mines were working three shifts, so that the coal could provide electricity to war plants and the cities, while many younger men who came from mining families were eschewing going down and were either waiting for their draft call, or just plain enlisting when they reached 18. Their sisters were doing the same, and it was men in their '30s and '40s, if not older, who were going into the mines. “We may have drills and hammers instead of rifles, but we're doing our part,” one miner said. “If they didn't need me down here, I'd re-up.”

“You're a vet?” Kuralt asked.

“Black Horse Cav in Vietnam, '70-71,” the miner replied. “If they didn't need me down here, I'd probably go and try to re-up. Even if they said no, at least I tried.”

Nearby, there was an apple orchard, and a farm growing corn. That wasn't unusual, but the workers cleaning up after the harvest were: Soviet and other ComBloc POWs. “And so, the war has touched West Virginia, in more ways than one. Charles Kuralt, CBS News, On the Road, in Parkersburg, West Virginia.”

“And that's the way it is,” Cronkite said as he signed off. “For all of us at CBS News, Good Night.”

After that, AFN started to show a rerun of a 1982 Baltimore Colts-New England Patriots football game. Some watched the game, others finished up their dinner. And Squadron Leader Gladehill turned to Guru. “Who's this Frank Carson we keep hearing about?”

Guru winced, but he knew that the RAF people would be working with Frank, like it or not. Might as well give them a short version. “Well, long story short, he's the most hated person on this base.” He pulled on his beer, then went on. “He's from an old Boston family that's filthy rich, but he didn't go to Harvard or Yale, but went to the Air Force Academy. Couple blue blood snobbishness and a big sense of entitlement from having graduated from the Academy partially explains his.....attitude.” Guru nodded at a table where the object of their conversation was talking with two other AF officers-both from the Air Base Group, and with Doc Waters, the 335th's Flight Surgeon. “Notice that Frank's the only one around here in undress blues-everybody else is either in flight suits or utilities. He is not willing to be 'one of the guys' after hours.”

“Add to that a big sense of entitlement,” Sweaty added. “He thinks that Academy class ring on his finger entitles him to whatever he wants in the Air Force.” She, too, pulled on a beer. “Including running this squadron.”

“So,” Gladehill nodded. “How'd you get the squadron?”

“I was Ops Officer for a while, then when the Exec got himself killed, I got the XO slot. Much to Frank's disgust, but Colonel Rivers, rest his soul, didn't trust him-for any number of reasons. Three weeks ago, Colonel Rivers bought that farm in the sky, and I moved up. Frank there felt since he was a Major and I was still a Captain, he should've been put in command.”

“Instead, you were confirmed.”

“I was, and two days later, General Tanner-who runs Tenth Air Force, by the way-came by and pinned on the oak leaves. Both he and General Olds have told Frank to suck it up and get on with it, but he won't listen,” said Guru. “He's too by-the-book, hates any officer who didn't come out of the Academy, ignores NCO advice, and treats enlisted like they're serfs and he's the lord.”

Gladehill winced at that. “He's too formal, in other words.”

“That, and he's too by-the-book,” Guru nodded. “If you talked to him, you'd get an earful about his talents not being recognized-”

“Especially since he didn't get into the F-20 program,” Kara grinned.

“That, too,” Guru said. “And throw in his feeling that a 'peasant' from some small town in California who went to what we call a 'hick' school and didn't even go through ROTC-I went to Officer Training School-got put in command instead of him. Took General Tanner and General Olds to give him a good tongue-lashing about that.”

“So, any advice?” Gladehill asked.

“Just be polite, be professional, and give him the polite minimum at the Club,” Guru said. “That's about it.”

“Good to know. I'll spread the word.”


A few minutes later, Guru and Goalie went to the bar for more beer and an order of nachos, while Kara got another beer, then went to the pool table. Squadron Leader Gladehill looked around, and noticed two pilots-a man and a woman, talking with General Olds and Colonel Brady. “Who's the fellow and girl with the General?”

Sweaty answered. “The guy's Major Dave Golen, IDF. He's officially an 'observer,' but he does more than just 'observe.'”

“He observes by participating,” Guru said as he came back. “Me and Goalie have had MiGs shot off our asses by him twice, and you, once,” the CO nodded at Sweaty.

Sweaty nodded. “That he did. As for the other pilot? That's Flossy.”

“Saw her earlier when she asked about the Belfast,” Gladehill said. “How'd she get that call sign?”

The 335th crewers laughed. “Long story short,” Goalie chuckled. “She has no noticable tan lines, and likes thong underwear.”

“Ah.”

“But Dave Golen's her older brother from another mother, and they've proven to be a good team,” Guru said. “Her regular GIB is grounded due to a sprained ankle, so she's got Jang there-” the CO pointed to 1st Lt. Chloe “Jang” Winters. “For a while. Which means we have two, well, 'unmanned' F-4s in the squadron. Probably in the whole Air Force for all I know.”

“Which explains the reporter,” Gladehill noted.

“It does.”

Kara, meanwhile, was holding court at the Pool Table, and she quickly dispatched two Marines who thought they could take her. Then came General Olds' aide, who had lost to her previously, and wanted his money back. A few minutes later, his wallet was lightened by $50.00. “Next!” Kara called.

“She always like this?” Karen McKay asked.

“You could say that,” Sweaty replied, pulling on a beer. “Now you know why we don't play with her unless there's no money at stake.”

“Uh-oh,” Guru said. “Guess who's headed to the Pool Table?”

Goalie turned and had a look. She replied simply, “General Olds.”

“I was hoping I was wrong.”

As both visitors and regulars watched, General Olds went to the table and laid down his money. Kara did the same, and both combatants went at it. It didn't take long for General Olds' skills to show, and Kara was soon out $50.00. She smiled, shook hands with the General, then went to the bar and got another beer. Then she went back to the table, and defeated a C-130 pilot who was doing an RON, then his female navigator.

Right at 1700, Doc Waters, the 335th's Flight Surgeon, rang the bar bell. “Twelve-Hour for those sitting alert in the morning!”


The 335th and Marine crews affected turned in their drinks, and that included Sweaty, Hoser, Preacher, and KT. “Luck of the draw,” Sweaty said, turning in her beer and getting a glass of club soda.

“How'd you choose who's sitting alert?” Gladehill wondered.

“Element leads drew lots,” Guru replied. “Doc Waters there supervised the drawing. I didn't draw alert, but if I had, I'd be sitting the first shift, along with Goalie, Kara, and Brainiac.”

“That we would,” Goalie said. “Wouldn't be the first time, but we've never had to scramble.”

“Yet.”


A few minutes later, it was time for General Olds' remarks, as it was his last night at Sheppard before going back to Nellis. Colonel Brady stood up and started things off. “People, as it's the last night here for General Olds before he moves on, I'd like him to say a few words, and maybe give our guests from the RAF some stories that the rest of us are familiar with.” He nodded in Olds' direction. “General?”

“Thanks, Colonel,” Olds said as he stood up. “People, for a mixed team, you've done one hell of a job. Most of you are Marines, but both the 335th and VA-135 have done more than their share. Now, with the RAF coming to town, you're proving that people who live, breathe, and speak tactical air can work as a team, and you can only get better. The battle lines are a little too far north for anyone's tastes, but if we're at this a year from now, let's get together at someplace like Laughlin or Laredo-and for the benefit of our British friends, those are bases in South Texas-on the Rio Grande!”

“Hear, hear!” Several people said at once.

“And two years from now? Let's all be where we belong: home, with our families.” Olds paused, letting the words sink in. “After a final stop in Mexico City!”

“Here's to that!” Guru said, and several others echoed him.

“All right!” Others added.

General Olds nodded, then turned to Squadron Leader Gladehill. “For our RAF friends' benefit, gather 'round, and you'll hear some World War II and Vietnam stories.”

Then the General started with his making ace in World War II, in a P-38, while going after a group of 60 Me-109s-with only his wingman for company. “Forgot to switch over to internal fuel, after getting rid of the drop tanks, and the engines cut out. Had a 109 lined up, so I figured 'what the hell', and shot anyway. He went down. And I still claim to be the only fighter pilot to shoot down an enemy in the glide mode.”

“Any one of us would've restarted the engines before shooting,” Karen McKay nodded.

Olds took a sip of club soda, then nodded. “You're probably right. Got the engines going, and hit those 109s like a pair of hawks into a flock of pigeons. Wingman got two, I got another one, then dove on two 109s chasing a P-51-and dove too fast. Couldn't pull up because of compressiblity.”

“What's that?” Flight Lt. Steve “Jack” Lord, who had gone ahead to the 335th as a liaison officer, asked.

“It happens when you approach Mach 1 in an aircraft not designed for it,” Capt. Don Van Loan, the 335th's Ops Officer, said. “The airflow over the controls is disrupted, a shock wave develops, and the controls freeze up.”

“How did you recover?” McKay asked. Nearing Mach 1 in a piston-engined aircraft had to be no fun at all....

“Got to denser air at lower altitude, and barely managed to pull out-and blew out my rear canopy-over a wheat field near Rostock. Headed west, and saw tracers coming by, and there's a 109 behind me, shooting. I want to get home, so I flat-planed, and forced him to overshoot. The 109 goes by, I roll wings level and let him have it. Had two kills prior, so these three...”

“Made you an ace,” Gladehill said. “Jolly well done, sir!”

“Thank you,” Olds said. “I had a total of twelve when my tour was over, all 109s or 190s. Went to jets postwar, and had an exchange tour with your No. 1 Squadron and Meteors. Actually commanded it.”

The RAF people looked at each other. An exchange officer commanding a squadron? “Never heard of that before,” Gladehill's deputy, Squadron Leader Paul Jackson, said. “That has to be a first.”

“Has to be,” Gladehill admitted. “Then came Korea?”

“Nope,” Olds said. “Missed out on Korea, probably because of my wife-who was a movie actress-and she used some Hollywood friends to get the Air Force not to send me over there, though I was itching to go. Eventually wound up commanding the 81st TFW at Bentwaters with F-101s when Vietnam started. In '66, went to Arizona and took the F-4 conversion course.”

Guru then said, “Dave, want to know how long it took him to finish the course? It's a fourteen-part syllabus. He did it in five days.” And the regulars saw the RAF's people having to put their jaws back into place after they dropped.

“That I did, then went to Udorn, Thailand and the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing. Gathered all the guys in the briefing room and said, 'I'm the new guy here. But in two weeks, I'll be better than any of you. And I pointed to everyone in that room.”

“He was,” Don Van Loan said. “I have an Uncle who flew in the 8th, and that's a true story, folks.”

“MiGs got frisky over Hanoi, and I had an idea to do something about that. We would mimic F-105s, using the same approach routes, call signs, and radio frequencies, and even the same terminology over the radio. Even had the F-4s wired to carry ECM pods to complete the deception.”

“Did you plan it?” Gladehill asked.

“Nope,” the General replied. “I had some very smart junior officers flesh out the plan. Got Seventh Air Force approval for 1 Jan 67. Had a weather delay, so we went North the next day.”

“And you know the rest,” Colonel Brady said. “Seven MiG-21s for no losses.”

“Could've been more,” Olds nodded. “The GCI controllers told the remaining MiGs to get in the clouds and stay there.”

“So, how many in Vietnam?” Jackson asked.

“Four confirmed back then,” Olds replied. “Two MiG-21s, two MiG-17s-both of those in one day. Plus a probable MiG-17 on 2 June '67. Fast forward to a few days ago, and I found out that probable was upgraded to confirmed. Flew in two wars, and an ace in both.”

“Look at it this way,” Van Loan said. “Not just an ace in two wars, but also having Me-109s and Fw-190s alongside MiG-17s and MiG-21s in the kill sheet.”

“How many dogfights were you in over Vietnam, sir?” Paul Jackson asked.

General Olds took a slug of club soda, then nodded. “Fourteen. Four confirmed kills and a probable when I left Southeast Asia. But fast-forward to a few days ago, and Major Wiser and Captain Van Loan tell me that the probable got upped to confirmed, so...”

“It made you an ace, even if it was twenty years later,” Jackson said, a grin on his face. “Congratulations, sir!”

Olds nodded. “Thanks, and I'll tell everyone this: when I pass on, whoever goes through my personal papers and logs is going to find some interesting things. Because that Edsel Mechanic in the Pentagon wanted me sent home early if I made ace. They wanted me as a publicity asset. Didn't want to leave my men before my tour was up, so....”

“'Edsel Mechanic?'” Napier asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“MacNamara, the SECDEF, was with Ford when they rolled out the Edsel, and we know what kind of clunker that was,” Mark Ellis said. “That handle is what his detractors-and you can say that means every Vietnam Vet or service member since then-means about him.”

“I see...He's the same fellow with the 'Whiz Kids?'”

“The very same,” Olds nodded. “But....two weeks before I went home, got into a fight with MiG-21s. Was lined up on a MiG, ready to shoot-had Sidewinder tone-when an F-105 comes up off his bomb run, and I don't think he even sees me. Gets between me and the MiG, and guns the -21. Sent him down, and the Thud headed on out. Cheated me out of what would have been officially my fifth, and if that weasel MacNamara wanted to send me home then, well....”

Gladehill nodded. “You both get what you want.”

“That's it. But..” General Olds continued. “Whoever goes through my personal papers will find some interesting things, and only then will you hear about them.”

Guru turned to Goalie. “Any thoughts?”

“How about hot pursuit of a MiG into China before killing it?” Goalie asked in reply. “Or splashing a MiG inside the Hanoi Prohibited Area?”

Guru pulled on his beer, and nodded agreement. “I'll go along with either one, and add this: how about a low-level flyby of Hanoi on a no-strike day? Say, right over the Hanoi Hilton.”

Squadron Leader Gladehill overheard their conversation. “You two sure about that?”

Guru nodded again. “Neither one would surprise me,” he said, and Goalie nodded agreement. “You're in a room full of people, even though only two were there, who despise LBJ and MacNamara for the way the air war over North Vietnam was run.”

Don Van Loan came by. “I'd say that's the least offensive term,” he added. “'Loathe' would be more like it. My uncle spent five and a half years in Hanoi, Squadron Leader, going after targets picked in Washington, or tangling with MiGs-and he was shot down by a MiG-17-that should have been taken out on the ground.”

“Ah, because they were afraid that if you chaps did hit the MiG bases, you would've killed Russian advisors, and that makes things very sticky indeed,” replied Gladehill.

Goalie said, “As in Fulda Gap time.” She shook her head.

Then General Olds stood up. “One last thing, people! I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon, and when I get back to Nellis, I'm going to tell General Tanner at Tenth Air Force that you're all doing a hell of a job, and whatever you're doing? Don't change a damned thing!”

“Glad to know, General,” Colonel Brady said, and all of the squadron commanders echoed that.

“And you all have the same attitude I had with the Wolfpack, back in 1966-67. You're all concerned with accomplishing the mission and producing results. And if a few useless bureaucrats get in your way? You just go around, over, on top, underneath, or plain through them to get what's needed done, done. Same drill on regs-if they get in the way of achieving results? You fold, spindle, bend, or mutilate what's in the way to get the job done! And if we get together a year from now? Let's do it on the Rio Grande!”

“Hear, hear!” several voices yelled.

“ARF!”

Several people looked around, and found the 335th mascot, Buddy, there.

General Olds then raised his glass of club soda. “Here's to you. Keep it up, and keep ramming it to the bad guys.” After bottles and glasses were raised, Olds finished. “You all have a good night.”

“YES, SIR!” The room responded.


As things broke up, people went back to their tables, to the bar, or to hit the pool table or poker games. Guru and Goalie went to the bar. “Smitty, two more.”

“Comin' up, Major.”

As Smitty produced the beers, General Olds came to Guru. “Major, you don't need to see me off tomorrow. You've got more important things to worry about.”

“Thank you, sir,” Guru said.

“And don't be surprised if in a few days, you get a call to come to Nellis. Bring your briefing material, your GIB, and your bird.”

“General, can I ask when?” The CO wanted to know.

“Probably in a week. I'll brief General Tanner on your little plan, and he'll want to hear from you personally. You'll get the word as to when.”

Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “Yes, sir,” both of them said.

“You two have a good night,” Olds said, shaking both of their hands. “I'll see you at Nellis.”

“We'll be there, sir,” Guru said.

“All right, and remember what I said about not changing a damned thing, Major.”

Guru nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The General nodded, then said, “Have a good night, you two. I'll see you both at Nellis.”

“Yes, sir.”

After General Olds left, Guru and Goalie noticed Capt. Ryan Blanchard, their Combat Security Police detachment commander, and Capt. Kerry Collins, who was a flight lead, get up and leave together, with Ryan slinging her M-16. And by the expressions on both their faces and other body language, it was clear what they had in mind.

“Well?” Goalie asked, her expression a bit coy. “We need to get caught up.”

“On what?” Guru replied. Though he had a good idea of what she had in mind.

“Bedroom gymnastics. Haven't had any for a while.”

Just then, Don Van Loan and Sweaty Blanchard went by, and they, too, had similar expressions on their faces.

“Then let's go,” Guru said. He paid Smitty for the beers, and both left for the CO's tent.

Gladehill saw them go, as Mark Ellis came up to the bar. “Squadron Leader,” Ellis said.

“Mark, I can call you that?” Gladehill replied. “Since I've got my own Exec.”

“That you do,” Ellis laughed. “What's up?”

“I noticed Guru and his backseater. Plus Ryan Blanchard and one of your pilots-Kerry Collins, I think, and Sweaty Blanchard and your Ops Officer. Isn't that unusual?”

“Prewar, unheard of,” Ellis nodded. “These days? It's 'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow they may not separate us from the rest of the aircraft.' And AF brass has passed the word that there are more important things to worry about than wartime romances. Though somebody around here hasn't gotten the message.” He nodded discretely in Frank's direction.

“Ah. There always is someone like that,” said Gladehill.

“There is,” Ellis admitted. He took a pull on his beer. “Frank there tried to have Guru and Goalie up on a fraternization thing, and Colonel Rivers tore up his complaint. Gave Frank the biggest dressing-down you ever heard. There's several very good reasons for Guru to despise and loathe Frank, and that is near the top of the list, he told me,” the 335th's Exec said. “And a word of warning: Frank got turned down for a transfer to the F-20 program a couple days ago, and sooner or later, he's going to pop. Just hope none of your guys are in the way when that happens.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Gladehill said. “Your CO told me about Frank being turned down for that, but thanks anyway.”

“Anytime. And welcome to Texas,” Ellis put out his hand, and they shook on it.

After Ellis went to a pool table not dominated by Kara, Jackson, Lord, and McKay, came to their CO. “Well, Skipper?” Jackson asked.

The CO for 74 turned to his own Exec and said, “It's been...interesting, you might say. Jack, you've been with these people a bit. What's your feeling?”

“They're good people, Boss, and dedicated. We'll get along just fine.”

“Good. Karen?”

“Had a talk with Sweaty, Flossy, Cosmo, Revlon, Goalie-even Kara, but not all at once. As for Susan and me? We'll fit in.”

Gladehill nodded. “Right, then. Tell the guys to sleep in tomorrow, and get plenty of rest. Because after this storm passes, it's 'game time', as our hosts like to say.”

“Will do, Boss,” Jackson said, and the others nodded.

And so, the RAF's first day in Texas came to an end when Last Call sounded at Midnight sharp.