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Old 08-07-2019, 08:24 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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Location: Auberry, CA
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And the day concludes:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1645 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was in his office, and he had just finished some paperwork, and no matter what, the elves never did what they were supposed to do, so he had to attack the papers. One thing about Mark, the CO thought, he's shaping up to be a good Exec, for he did a good job of filtering the wheat from the chaff, and left only the really important stuff for the CO's attention. He had also gotten one key chore done: writing the letters to the next-of-kin of the lost crew. And that, the CO knew from experience, never got easier with time.

The debrief had gone well, and there was no question of either Flossy's or Karen McKay's Su-25 kills. Two more, the Major thought. Two more, and the RAF people will cross that ten-mission threshold, and their chances of getting to San Diego and turning their birds over to the Navy increase. Though he wondered, given the abuse the airframes were likely to take in this arena as compared to Bermuda, would the Navy want the aircraft? If not, well, that was the Navy's problem. With that thought, Major Wiser got up from his desk, and went to the office window. There were still missions coming in, and he also saw a C-130 come in. Just another day winding down, he knew. Then there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

The Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Got a couple of things before you knock off.”

“Lay 'em on me,” said the CO.

“First, all the recommendations for NCO promotions,” Ellis handed the CO several papers. “All signed off by their department heads.”

Guru went over the papers. “They still have a promotion board, right?” He looked at Ellis. “A couple of these are for E-5 to E-6.”

“They do,” the Exec said. “One thing that hasn't changed from peacetime.”

“Figures,” said the CO as he signed off on the recommendations. “What's next?”

“Weather update,” said Ellis as he handed the CO a sheet of paper. “Got some weather coming our way in three days or so.”

“Storm coming into Central California, then over the Four Corners, then our way,” Guru nodded as he read the forecast. “And it'll be bad enough for little or no VFR flying.”

“It will be.”

“Anything from Tenth Air Force?”

“Not yet,” said Ellis. “You expecting something?”

“Yeah. Namely, a call to brief General Tanner and his staff on this strike on the Su-24s,” replied Guru. “General Olds briefed General Tanner, and they want to hear from Goalie and me on the whole thing.”

“Which gives the two of you a day or two in Vegas,” the XO grinned. “Even if it's not an official R&R.”

“Down, boy, because most of that is going to be all business,” Guru told him. “And when we go? That leaves you in command, and having to deal with Frank.”

“Don't worry, Boss. I can manage,” said Ellis. “As for Frank, well, any complaints get fed to the shredder. As usual.”

“Good,” the CO said. “Anything else?”

“Eastbound C-141 brought some stuff on Ross' scrounging list, and they also brought newspapers.”

“Tell Ross to keep an eye out for laser bomb kits, and for a couple spare ejection seats,” Guru told his Exect. “Add to that anything you can think of.”

“Will do,” Ellis said.

“Anything else?”

“That's it 'til morning,”

Guru nodded, then glanced at his office clock. 1702. “That's good. Now we're off the clock.” He went to the office door. “Let's head to the Club.”


When CO and XO got to the O-Club Tent, they found the place buzzing. Word about the RAF aces had clearly gone around, and the two 335th officers saw both Karen McKay and Susan Napier in the process of getting slightly-or more than slightly-drunk, along with their GIBs, Razor Wilkinson and Chris Fryer. “I see the party's in full swing,” the CO observed.

“It is, Major,” Squadron Leader Gledhill said. He'd overheard Guru's remark.

“Then we'd best belly up to the bar,” Guru said. He and Ellis went to the bar, and found Smitty there, as usual. “Smitty, what've you got today?”

The barkeep smiled. “Got some Bud, Bud Light, Sam Adams-”

“One for me,” Guru said.

“And a Bud for me,” Ellis added.

“Comin' up.” Smitty produced the bottles, and both CO and XO paid him. “The Brits have a reason to celebrate, Major,”

Guru took a pull on his bottle, then nodded. “They do. Two female pilot aces, and the GIBs crossed the threshold with 'em.”

“A lot better than yesterday.” A voice said. Marine Colonel Allen Brady, who was the MAG-11 CO, came up to the bar. “Bud for me, Smitty.”

The barkeep nodded, and produced a bottle. “Here you go, Colonel.”

“Thanks. Always good to celebrate, instead of how it was last night,” said Brady. He knew from bitter experience, first in Vietnam before his own shoot-down, and in this war. The MAG-11 CO was referring to the RAF having had one bird go down with the crew MIA, and there was the strong possibility that they had been captured.

“It is, sir,” Guru replied. “Today, though, the 335th had had two birds go down,” he reminded those at the bar. “One crew's MIA, and the lucky crew should be back soon.” Just then, the sound of a Blackhawk helicopter could be heard.

“That's probably C.J and Redeye,” Ellis said.

“Find out, Mark.”

The XO downed the rest of his beer, then nodded. “On my way,” Ellis said, then he headed off to the transient ramp. A few minutes later, he was back, with Capt. C.J. “Rascal” Taylor and 1st Lt. Eric “Redeye” Wallace. Rascal was a former Air Force Academy basketball player, and looked like one, being just under the height limit for flight training, while Redeye had been a pre-law student who'd forsaken law for, as his squadron mates teased, “more honest work” as a navigator. And when the duo came in, there was a round of applause.

“Our lost sheep are back,” Guru announced. “Belly up to the bar and get drunk. That's an order.”

“One we'll be glad to obey,” Rascal said, and as he and Redeye did, Smitty produced two beers. It was a house rule that a downed crew coming back got the first one on the house.

After their first slug of beer, Guru asked C.J., “What happened out there?”

“Rolling in behind Rabbit, and there was a ton of flak coming up, radar missiles, and heat-seekers,” Rascal said.

“What got you?”

“Flak, Boss, and a SAM. Did a SAM break when an SA-8 came up, and a heat-seeker took the left engine. We had more holes in that bird than a colander. Got to the Fence, then the other engine quit, and no choice but to punch out.”

“See what happened to Tread and Notso?” Guru wanted to know.

“We were jinking best we could,” Redeye said. “On a jink, I saw their bird on fire and starting to break up. Then the seats fired, and there were two chutes.”

“Other than that, Boss?” Replied C.J.. “Nada.”

Guru frowned, then he took a deep breath. “Okay. You two get checked out by Doc first thing tomorrow morning. You're not on the flight schedule, so you can sleep in. And hopefully, tomorrow, or maybe the next day, there'll be a new bird for you two.”

“Thanks, Boss,” said C.J.. as he and Guru shook hands.

“Same here, Major,” Redeye added. “Only want to go skydiving once.”

“You're not alone in that department. I'll want to talk to you both in more detail tomorrow, though. Now get yourselves smashed,” Guru told them. “That's an order.”

“Will do, Major.” And both pilot and GIB went to the bar to get drunk.

Guru went back to the bar, and found his Exec still there, along with Colonel Brady and Dave Gledhill. “Mixed bag today. Got two lost sheep back. Too bad it wasn't four.”

“Not the way this business works, Major,” Colonel Brady said. “You know it and so do I.”

“Yes, sir. Just that, well, the fewer letters I have to write, the better.”

Brady understood that sentiment. “No arguing that, Major.”

Guru nodded, then saw the two RAF ace teams come in, along with Flossy and Jang. There was quite a bit of hand-waving, and it was clear that the day's combats were the topic of discussion. “The aces are in.”

“Looks like they're talking shop,” Dave Gledhill observed. “Not that surprised.”

“No,” said Guru. He motioned to Smitty. “One more,”

“You got it, Major,” the barkeep said, producing the beer.

Guru paid him, then saw his flight's table filing up. And Dave Golen had gone over to talk with the two new RAF ace teams. “And on that note, Colonel, I need to get some food.”

“Don't we all?” Brady nodded. “You have a good evening, Major. And Squadron Leader?” He asked Dave Gledhill. “When you're ready to honor your aces, let me know before Twelve-hour, and we'll get that going.”

“Thank you, sir,” Gledhill replied.

“And Major? Same with you. You've got two survivors to toast, and a lost crew to remember.”

“Will do, sir,” said Guru.

The CO went towards his flight's table, but Jana Wendt, the correspondent for CBS and 9 News Australia, intecepted him. “Major,” she said pleasantly.

“Ms. Wendt,” Guru replied. “What can I do for you?”

The reporter smiled. “Just wanted to let you know that the segment about General Yeager airs tonight on CBS, and the one about your mascot? It'll run tomorrow.”

“That's good to know,” Guru said. “We'll be having a stand-down in a few days; can't tell you when, of course.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “So?”

:”So, that means you'll get your check ride,” said Guru. “Captain Thrace will take you up.”

Wendt looked at the CO. “Still trying to scare me out of here?”

“No,” Major Wiser said. “You've been through a Scud attack and at least one air strike, and you're made of sterner stuff than you appear. It's just that Kara is the best I've got, and you probably want to fly with the best.”

“She's better than you?”

“Negative. Unless you think 'better' means her kill score?” Guru saw her shake her head, then went on. “She can fly a plane like the devil himself, and has left a decent trail of MiG parts in her wake, along with enough Russians and Russian lackeys bunt, bled, and blown up. Why do you think I have her as my wingmate? I know that if I get into trouble, she's there to bail me out.”

“Understood,” Wendt said. “And Trevor?” She was referring to her cameraman, Trevor Scott.

“He flies with me.”

She contemplated what the CO had said. “So we have a flight?”

Guru nodded. “We do. I'll let you know when.”

“Thanks, Major,” Wendt said. She then went to talk to Flossy, Jang, and the two RAF ace teams.

Guru nodded, then went to his flight's table. Goalie was already there, along with most of the others. Though Kara was still at the bar. She saw the CO at the table, then came over. “Well?”

“What was all that about with the reporter?” Goalie asked.

“Just reminding her about the 'check flight', she's getting. And she did tell me that the segment they did about General Yeager airs tonight.”

Kara heard that. “Yeager's piece is on the news?”

“It will be,” Guru said.

“Wonder what Ivan's going to think about that when it airs?”

“Good question.”

Sweaty then came to the table. “Got some newspapers here,” she said, passing them out.

“What's up?” Guru asked as he went through the L.A. Times. “Says here there was a pro-neutralist rally in West Berlin, and a few blocks away where JFK gave his Berlin speech? 200,000 on the anti-neutralist side.”

“How many on the pro side of things?” Kara asked as she went through USA Today.

“About 40,000, and they had a nasty riot, too.”

“Serves 'em right. Betcha those Berlin cops don't play around.”

“I'll go along with that,” said Guru. “As for those Commie-lovers? Just take them to Checkpoint Charlie, and tell them, 'You like the Russians and East Germans so much? Here, go on over, and don't come back.”

“Fine with me,” Preacher said. “Says here in Stars and Stripes one of our convoys and one of theirs actually crossed paths in the Central Atlantic.”

“That had to have been a shootout,” Hoser said as he went through USA Today's sports section. Even with the war on, there were still some pro and college sports going. Though such things were mostly local college or minor-league teams.

Preacher nodded. “Says here it was, and it's happened a couple of times before. Both convoys' escorts start shooting at each other, and it's a free-for-all.”

“And both sides lose some ships,” Kara noted. It wasn't a question.

“They do. Last two times it happened?” Preacher said. “It was pretty much a draw.”

Heads nodded at that. Then it was Goalie's turn. “Orange County Register for this one. The traitors down in Austin are screaming bloody murder.”

“About what?” Guru wanted to know. He was at that moment going through the most important part of the paper to him-and to many others. Namely, the comics.

“They're wailing about the fate of collaborators,” Goalie said. “And no, I'm not kidding here. AP picked this up off of that 'Liberation Radio' bullshit. Either the Resistance gets 'em, or they get turned over to the Army, and we all know how long the trial process takes here, with that PSD son of a bitch they caught a few days ago.”

“Shot or hanged already?” KT asked.

“Either one's going to happen, tomorrow,” Capt. Ryan Blanchard said. She was the Officer-in-charge of their detachment from the 4th Security Police Squadron that accompanied the 335th.

“He'll be pushing up daisies,” Sweaty grinned. “After all those killings and 'disappearances' that went on in occupied territory? Those traitors are a bunch of hypocrites.”

“Shame we can't pay those scum a visit,” Kara said.

Sin Licon overheard that from one table over. “Wouldn't surprise me, Boss, if those dirtbags move around a lot.”

“You mean they don't spend two straight nights in the same bed,” Guru nodded.

“Four-oh on that, Boss. In their place? I'd do the same.” the Intel said. “Any word on the Bundeswehr?”

Guru scanned the L.A. Times, while Goalie went through the Orange County Register. “Okay, Page 7. 'West German Military Exercise Continues,” Goalie said.

“Page 8 on the L.A.,” Guru added. “You're wondering when the coup is going down.”

“Best guess on that, Boss, is two or three weeks. Lull the Greenies and their friends into a false sense of security, get used to the exercise....”

“And the Bundeswehr lands on those Commie-lovers like a ton of bricks,” Kara said.

The Intel Officer grinned. “Exactly.”


A few minutes later, the restaurateurs-turned Mess Officers came in with dinner. “Folks, we've got real Texas-style Chicken-Fried Steak, or Country Fried Chicken, with all the fixin's. Come and get it.”

After people got their food, Dave Gledhill came to Guru. “You trying to turn us English into Texans?”

Guru laughed. “Something like that. But here? These guys ran, or cooked at, some of Wichita Falls' best restaurants. Ivan wrecked their businesses, so this is their way of thanking us, and don't argue.”

“If the Eighth and Ninth Air Forces adapted when they came our way,” Gledhill noted. “We can do the same.”

“One way of looking at it.”

The RAF officer then went to the table where his own flight was seated, and there was some ribbing, for the others were digging in. Seeing that, Kara asked, “We really trying to turn those guys into Texans?”

“Couldn't hurt,” the CO replied. He was one-quarter Texan himself. “At least they'll appreciate what's on the menu if they ever come back.” Then he dug into a Chicken-Fried Steak.

“Then they also have to learn more English,” Kara quipped, before she took a bite of Fried Chicken.

“What do you mean by that?” Sweaty asked.

“They'll be fluent in English, British English, and Texan.”

Everyone at the table laughed as a result.


People were eating when AFN began showing the CBS Evening News. “Good evening from Los Angeles,” Walter Cronkite said. “The day's news starts at sea, when a U.S. Navy escorted convoy in the Central Atlantic encountered a Soviet convoy bound for Cuba. Our Defense Department Correspondent, David Martin, has a report.”

“Navy sources are saying that a convoy from the Mediterranean met the Soviet convoy roughly halfway between Bermuda and the Azores,” Martin said. “Escorts from both convoys began exchanging fire, and there were also encounters between helicopters on both sides, with door gunners trading shots with machine guns. Two escorts from the American convoy were sunk, along with two freighters, though the Soviets got off worse, with a Sverdlov-class cruiser and two destroyers being sunk, and at least eight of the ships in the convoy, either freighters or tankers, sunk, and several others damaged.

“Navy sources also say this is nearly a mirror image of a similar encounter last fall, when the heavy cruiser Salem, on convoy duty, also encountered a Soviet convoy, and the cruiser alone sank five ships. No word as yet from the Navy as to which ships were involved in this incident. David Martin, CBS News.”

Cronkite then picked up another story. “In the Pacific Northwest, the Third Marine Division fought off a North Korean attack on their positions north of the British Columbia-Washington Border. Jordan Phillips, with the Marines, has this report.:

“Here, near Columbus Lake, how far, I can't tell you,” the reporter said. “The 4th Marines from the Third Division fought off at least two regiments of North Koreans. Major Leo Risner, from Columbia, South Carolina, leads one of the battalions-” the reporter went on, as footage of Marines-and some of them were clearly female-returned enemy fire, and one female Marine was bringing a couple of North Korean prisoners to the rear, the expressions on the prisoners' faces showed shock, as if they weren't believing that a female had captured them (probably). Then a bareheaded Marine officer came up. “Major, who were these North Koreans?”

“We're not sure who they were exactly, but they're clearly some very tough customers,” the shaven-headed Marine said, before his radioman came over and handed him the handset. He spoke into the radio for a moment, then went on. “This isn't like Texas, where you can see the bad guys for miles. Here, it's up close and personal.”

“I take it the prisoners we saw going back were the exception to the rule?”


Major Risner nodded. “When they attack, they put everything into it. Kind of like the Japanese back in World War II. More often as not, they don't want to give up. Once in a while, though, some of 'em do.”

“And they don't like to be bothered with prisoners, either, Major,” Phillips said. “Is that a fair assessment?”

“It is,” Risner said. “But one more difference between us and them.” A platoon of M-60A1 tanks lumbered up, and the Major waved the armor on, then turned to the reporter. “If you'll excuse me, I have a pressing engagement.” He and his radioman ran to the lead tank, and climbed on.

“And when it was over? Several hundred North Koreans lie dead in front of the Marines' positions, and many more are wounded. When they can, the enemy takes its wounded back with them, but in this case, they couldn't.” Images of two lines of stretchers with North Korean wounded filled the screen, as Navy Corpsmen attended to the casualties. “So far, Round one of this fight goes to the Marines. Jordan Phillips, CBS News, with the Third Marine Division, Southeastern British Columbia.”

“Glad we're not there,” Sweaty said. “Hard to see your targets if you're on a CAS run.”

“No kidding!” Preacher added.

“If it's North Koreans you want, word has it that some of 'em are flying for Qaddafi,” Sin Licon said. “Want to bet some of those MiG-23s we splashed this morning had NK pilots?”

“Hadn't thought of that.”

The news continued as people ate, and after some more news from the war at sea, and a report from a town in West Texas called Kermit, where the locals, having been fortunate not to have any fighting in and around their town during the summer, and were glad to have life coming back to some semblance of normalcy, though a battalion of South Koreans were based in the town, and U.S. Army Civil Affairs was busy trying to get both the city's government back up, as well as some semblance of County Government. While at the same time, they were dealing with a few local collaborators. “And that's the way it is. For all of us at CBS News, Good Night.”

“Well,” Goalie said. “Not quite a busy news day, but not a slow one, either.”

“You could say that,” Guru agreed. “There were days like this in World War II.”

“And with that,” Kara said. “Time to hold court.” She got up, and after going to the bar for another beer, went to the pool table. She easily dispatched a VA-135 pilot, and a transiting C-141 copilot, then came one of the RAF Regiment officers.

“This'll be a challenge for her,” Dave Gledhill said as he came over to Guru's table.

“Oh?” Guru wanted to know.

The RAF Squadron Leader nodded. “Watch.” Sure enough, the RAF officer was just a little better than Kara was. She paid the $50.00, went to the bar in a fit of the sulks, got another beer, then went to get her maoney back. Unlike previous experience with the generals, such as General Olds or General Yeager, this time, she did reclaim her money.

“Honors were even, Dave,” Guru said. “This time.”

“There's always tomorrow night.”

“Speaking of which, all of you should have something to celebrate. If all of you make it through tomorrow, you'll cross that ten-mission threshhold, and your chances of surviving your tour go up. Quite a bit.”

“Good to know, and we were told just that before we left Bermuda,” Gledhill said.

“As long as you remember,” the CO nodded.

The clock went on, and soon it was 1845. Fifteen minutes to Twelve-Hour. “All right, people!” Colonel Brady said as he rang the bar bell. “We've got some business to take care of. First, The 335th has a couple of lost sheep to welcome back. Major?” Brady nodded in Guru's direction.

“Thanks, Colonel.” Guru stood up. “We had a flight go into a buzz saw today, and while Ops and Rabbit got away, Rascal and Redeye had a shot-up bird, and made it across the Fence before bailout. A good thing too, because their bird looked like a Colander after all the flak and even taking an SA-7 in the left engine. The Army's good for something, because they got picked up mighty fast, and spent the rest of the day at a MASH. Now, we did lose Tread and Notso, and all we have is two chutes seen and not much else. So....” Guru raised his bottle of beer. “Here's to getting Rascal and Redeye back, and to Tread and Notso. May our friends come back safe.”

“Hear, hear,” the crowd replied.

“Colonel,” Guru nodded to Colonel Brady.

“Thanks, Major. Some days, we lose people, but also have something good to follow. Our RAF friends had two crews get kill number five today, so they join that exclusive club known as the Fraternity of Fighter Aces, even if the pilots in question in the crews are of the fair sex!” There were some laughs at that, but everyone knew Colonel Brady was serious. Brady went on. “Squadron Leader Gledhill, the floor's yours.”

Dave Gledhill got up and went to the bar. “Thank you, Colonel. Yesterday was a bad day for the Tigers, but today, now....On the big strike against that Flak Trap, there was a real free-for-all in the air. Susan Napier and Razor Wilkinson got their fifth, which was a MiG-23, and that puts them in the ace category. Susan, Razor? Would you two be so kind as to stand and be recognized?” Both stood, to much applause. “Now, in the afternoon, we had another crew go over the top, and for a bunch of people who've spent most of the war chasing down Bears and Backfires, this one finally proved we're in the tactical arena, for Karen McKay and Chris Fryer splashed an Su-25. Though I'm sure she would've gotten the other Sukhoi, if Flossy there hadn't gotten in the way.” Gledhill nodded in Flossy's direction.

Flossy, though, replied, “In your dreams, Squadron Leader.”

“So, before I got here, I did some checking. Flight Leftenants Napier and McKay are the first female aces in 74, and the first female RAF Phantom aces! Congratulations, and good shooting!”

“Thank you, Dave,” Napier grinned, and McKay did the same.

Gledhill nodded, then turned to Colonel Brady. “Colonel,” he smiled.

“Squadron Leader,” Brady replied. “All right, people! You've got ten minutes to Twelve-Hour, so drink up!”

People did, for it wasn't long until one of the Navy Flight Surgeons rang the bar bell. “Twelve-Hour is now in effect!”

Those flying in the morning turned in their drinks, while those who weren't until afternoon kept at it. Guru went to the bar for a plate of nachos, and found Doc Waters there, and he was looking at Rascal and Redeye. “Doc, keeping an eye on those two?”

“No, but given what happened today, they've got a right to get loaded,” the sawbones replied.

“They do. Just like Hoser and KT after they went down. They got smashed that night, remember?”

Doc nodded. “Don't blame them.”

“Neither do I, and it's 'been there, done that' for me.” The CO said as he got his nachos. “We need to get you up in a few days. Got to collect your flight pay, after all.”

“I'll be waiting,” Doc grinned.

Guru went back to his table, and found his flight glued to the TV. A rerun of an L.A. Lakers-Utah Jazz game was on ESPN. “Let me guess: the rerun's three or so years old, and no matter what happens, the Lakers still win?”

“Something like that,” Goalie grumbled. “If you want real sports, all that's left is College, and even then, with rationing, the teams are usually close enough to take a bus instead of fly. Like USC and UCLA, or Cal-Stanford.”

“No getting around that for a while,” the CO acknowledged.

“Yeah,” KT added.

The party went on until 2100, when Doc Waters rang the bar bell. “Aircrew curfew for those flying in the morning now in effect!”

Those so affected went off to their respective tents, for sleep beckoned. A good night's sleep was certainly in order, for 0430 and aircrew wakeup was not that far off. After that, another full day of flying was on the agenda.
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