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Old 08-17-2019, 07:42 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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Location: Auberry, CA
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Another day is done, and the crews blow off steam:



335th TFS CO's Office: 1655 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat behind his desk, going through the last of the papers that had filled his IN box. Nothing really important, he saw, but stuff that still needed doing and his signature on it. Shaking his head at the still active AF bureaucrats who felt they had to make his life-and every other CO in the Air Force, from squadron level on up-miserable, he signed his name on the last paper, and put it in the OUT box. The CO was about to get up when there was a knock on his office door. “Show yourself and come on in!”

Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, came in. He had a couple of papers for the CO's attention. “Got a couple of things before you head off to the Club.”

Guru nodded. “Lay it on me, Mark, it's been a long day.”

“First, and I don't need papers for this, but Firefly and Rabbit both got back from their missions. So General Yeager won't be coming back to kick anyone's ass-literally.”

“He probably could, Mark” Guru reminded his Exec. “They get to celebrate, then menana, they head off to Nellis for a week in Sin City.”

Ellis knew what came next. “Then it's off to Edwards and the F-20.” Seeing Guru nod, he went on. “Why'd they put the RTU there? You'd think the Flight Test Center would have a few words about that.”

Guru smiled. “Well, when the guy who helped put Edwards on the map with everything he did there asks if he can put his program there, who's gonna say 'no'?”

“There is that,” the XO admitted. Then he handed the CO a paper. “Info on the newbies. All are guys, by the way.”

The CO scanned the paper. “Captain John McMurray. Out of....3rd TFS, Clark?” Guru looked at his Exec. “He ask for a transfer?”

“Doesn't say, and for all we know, somebody must've thought he ought to come to the real war, instead of putting the hurt on Cam Ranh Bay and killing Badgers trying to hit Clark, Subic Bay, or Manila.”

“We'll find out,” Guru said. “First Lieutenant Greg Prather is the GIB, says here. Fresh out of the RTU.”

“A real FNG,” said Ellis. “You plan to pair them up?

“Probably,” the CO admitted. “Anything else?”

“Updated weather, and no change. The storm they're expecting hits the West Coast day after tomorrow, and we get it the following day.”

Guru nodded. He was pleased the weather was holding. A stand-down would enable Maintenance to get caught up with the backlog, the aircrews could get some well-deserved rest, and get ready for the next round. For he and his people, along with every other unit in Tenth and Ninth Air Forces, needed it. He also knew that the Soviets and their lackeys did the same thing. Mother Nature had no favorites in war, even if on occasion, her acts did favor one side over the other. “No change, and so good to know. Anything else?”

“That's it,” the XO said.

“Nothing from Frank, not even a complaint?” Asked the CO.

“Nada.”

Any day he didn't hear from the despised Major Frank Carson was a good one, Guru knew. “The shredder can use a rest.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. 1704. “Now we're off the clock. Let's head to the Club.”

Before Ellis could respond, there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Guru said. “Come on in and show yourself.”

His GIB, First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, came in. “Boss, you're going to want to turn on your TV to CNN.”

“What's up?” Guru asked his GIB.

“Something happened in Moscow, and they're playing somber music over their TV and Radio. Nobody knows what else is going on.”

Guru grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. It had been Colonel Rivers' set, and by mutual agreement, the only channel it would be set to was CNN. Right away, the screen showed an orchestra clad in black, and somber, almost funreal, music came over the air. “What the hell?” He asked. “Sin Licon have any idea?”

“No. Nada,” Goalie said.

Then the voice of CNN's Bernard Shaw came on. “For our viewers in the U.S and abroad, this is live from Moscow via our friends at Swedish TV. This orchestra has been playing for the last fifteen minutes, and so far, there is no word as to why. One moment....All right, I'm hearing from our London Bureau that is paying attention to the BBC. They've been monitoring Radio Moscow, and Radio Moscow has announced the death of Gregory Petrovich Alexandrov, the Supreme Party Ideologist. He died at the age of 77 after what the Soviet radio calls 'a brief but serious illness.'”

“That could mean anything,” Goalie said.

“Yeah. Stroke, heart attack, anuryism, you name it,” Guru nodded. “Or a sudden case of 9-mm lead poisoning.”

“Any of which can ruin your day,” Ellis said.

Shaw continued. “Our London Bureau is now monitoring Radio Moscow, and a statement from General Secretary Chebrikov has been released. It declares 'three days of national mourning, followed by a State Funeral, and that the General Secretary extends his condolences to Alexandrov's family, and regrets that he will not live to see the final victory.' What does all this mean? Back in a moment for more coverage and analysis.”

“Turn it off, Mark,” Guru said. And after Ellis did so, he went on. “Well, now...got another reason to celebrate tonight.”

“We sure do,” Goalie grinned.

“Come on,” said the CO. “Let's hit the Club, and pass it on.”


When the trio got to the Club Tent, the place was already abuzz with the news. The big-screen TV was tuned to CNN (something not normally done, as AFN's relay of ESPN was much more popular, even if the sports were mostly reruns), and people were clearly in a celebratory mood. Guru and the others got to the bar, and found Colonel Brady talking with Dave Gledhill and Paul Jackson. “Colonel,” Guru nodded. “I see word's gotten around about Alexandrov.”

“It has, Major,” Brady said. “Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole, except for Chebrikov himself,” the MAG-11 CO noted. “

“No doubt, sir,” Guru replied. “Smitty? Sam Adams for me, the XO, and Goalie.”

“You got it, Major,” the barkeep said. He quickly produced the beer, and Guru paid him.

“Well?” Goalie asked, seeing Guru in thought.

“Colonel, here's a toast to the late and unlamented Alexandrov,” Guru said, raising his beer. “May his reception in hell be a five-alarm one.”

“Here's to that,” Brady grinned, and several beer bottles came together in a clink.

“Dave,” Guru said to Squadron Leader Gledhill. “Telling the Colonel about your kill?

“Quite,” Gledhill grinned. “Some poor sod in a Mi-2 lifts off, giving Guru and Goalie there a fright, along with Kara. They break, and so do Sweaty and Hoser. Paul just lines the chopper up in the pipper, squeezes the trigger, and that 20-mm goes through that little chopper like a buzz saw.”

“Any idea who was on it?” Brady asked. “Those puppies are used for courier duty and for VIPs who want a low profile.”

“Sin Licon said he'd put a query in with Tenth Air Force,” Guru repiled. “Probably won't hear back for a while.”

“No doubt, Major. Now, what about Alexandrov? You're the History major around here.”

Guru took a drink from his bottle, then thought for a moment. “Colonel, he's probably going to be succeeded by his deputy. And if Alexandrov was a hard-liner-”

“He was, my Intel said,” Brady nodded. “Hardest of the hard-line.”

“Then sir, his deputy's bound to be just the same.”

Heads at the bar nodded. “You're probably right, Major,” Sin Licon said. He'd overheard Guru as he was bellying up to the bar himself. “Intel's not sure a hundred percent, but it looks that way.”

“Did they kill him off?” Goalie wondered. “Wouldn't be the first time they pass off a natural death as a purge.”

Licon shook his head. “No, and Ivan really hasn't done things like that since Stalin died,” the intel said. “Even with Chebrikov, they don't do that anymore. When they purge their own men behind the lines, though? Different story altogether.”

“It'll be interesting, though, when Cronkite talks about it,” Brady said.

“That it will, sir,” Licon replied, and the others at the bar nodded.

Guru and Goalie then went to the table their flight usually took, and found Kara, Sweaty, Brainiac, and Preacher there already. “Well, now. Looks like we got another reason to celebrate,” Kara said as the CO and his GIB took their seats.

“We sure do,” Guru said. “And we've got not only this, but two new birds in from Japan day after tomorrow, and we also get a new crew.”

“FNGs?” Sweaty asked.

“The GIB is, but the pilot? Veteran from Clark.”

“Kinda like the RAF guys,” Brainiac nodded. “Putting the hurt on Cam Ranh Bay, and killing Badgers or Backfires is one thing, but what we do day in and day out? Whole new ballgame.”

“If the Brits can learn, this guy can,” Guru said firmly as the rest of the flight joined them at the table.

“Yeah,” Goalie said. “Corinne starts flying tomorrow, and so does Doucette.”

“They do, but remember: neither one has fired a shot in anger,” Guru reminded them. “Cassidy's a Day One vet, and not that many can say they did what she did.”

Heads nodded at that, as they recalled Cassidy telling them her Day One, hitting a force of Hip troop carriers in her T-38 like a hawk hitting a flock of pigeons, and knocking one down with her jet wash. “Doucette really is a FNG, though,” Kara said.

“Lord have mercy,” Preacher added. “He'd better be watching out.” Everyone knew what Preacher meant by that. Seventy-five percent of their losses were people who didn't make it past that ten-mission threshhold. After ten missions, a new crewer's chances of survival grew considerably.

“If we had tours like in Southeast Asia, we all would've had a break by now,” KT said as she joined the conversation.

Guru nodded. “We would.” He glanced over at a nearby table, and found Cosmo, Revlon, Flossy, and Jang talking with Ms. Wendt, and it was on camera.

“Looks like the newsies are still engrossed with our 'unmanned' crews,” Hoser said.

“Yep,” Sweaty replied. “And what's after that?”

“The RAF, or Day One vets,” Guru said. “Ms. Wendt wants a check ride, and Kara's giving her one.”

“I still have to fly that prissy reporter around?” Kara shot back. Seeing the CO nod, she asked, “When?”

“If the weather clears during the stand-down?” Guru saw Kara nod. “Then. I'll have her cameraman in my back seat.”

Those at the table saw Kara have an evil-looking grin. “And I give her an E-Ticket ride.”

“You do.”

Mark Ellis came in, with the day's newspapers. “Boss, L.A. Times for you, Orange County Register for Goalie, and here's USA Today and Stars and Stripes for everybody else.”

“Thanks, Mark,” Guru said.

Before anyone could open the papers, the restaurateurs came in with the dinner menu. Everyone was glad that these guys, who had run several popular restaurants in Wichita Falls prewar, had taken over the Mess operation from the Marines, and the quality of the food had improved considerably since. Colonel Brady was pleased enough that he had arranged for them to become Warrant Officers in the Corps, and they were directly supervising the Marine Mess people. “Folks, we've got grilled beef patties-well, more like Bison, but it's real meat, and Chicken and Dumplings. Both with all the fixin's. Come and get it,” the Senior WO called.

After people got what they wanted, they dug in. Just then, Smitty, the barkeep, turned the TV to the CBS Evening News, and Walter Cronkite came on. “Good evening from Los Angeles,” Cronkite's voice intoned, as the “Most Trusted Man in America” came on. “The top story tonight is the death of one of the key members of the Soviet Politburo, the Supreme Party Ideologist, Gregor Alexandrov. Our former Moscow Bureau Chief, Tom Fenton, reports from London.”

“Gregor Alexandrov, who can be best described as the Chief Ideologist of the Soviet Union, died today in Moscow at the age of 77,” Fenton began. “A man who rose through the ranks of the Communist Party, and has been viewed by many in the Allied countries as a key force in the Soviets' political decision to go to war, his death is seen as a personal blow to General Secretary Chebrikov. Doctor Ian Mathews, a Soviet Studies Professor at King's College in London, says that while there will be some short-term dissension in the Politburo, there will be no long-term change.”

“Alexandrov was known to be in poor health, and though Chebrikov will have to fill the position, it's very likely that he's already got a list of candidates, and chances are, they're just as ideological as Alexandrov was.”

“Sources in both London and Philadelphia share this view, and hopes for any moderation, or any genuine Soviet peace feelers, are likely to be unfulfilled. Tom Fenton, CBS News, London.”

“Reaction in Philadelphia has been muted,” Cronkite continued. “Both the White House and the Defense Department have refused comment, though members of Congress have been more outspoken, with expressions of regret that Mr. Alexandrov will not be facing any kind of tribunal for his culpability in the war.”

Sen. Sam Nunn (D-GA) and Sen. John Warner (R-VA) gave similar statements, then Cronkite went on. “In other news..”

It turned out to be another slow news day. Not much big was happening, though there was coverage of a carrier air strike on targets in Occupied Alaska, how a ranching town just south of the Montana-Alberta border was carrying on despite the front lines being about thirty miles to the north, and a feature about a town in California's Central Valley-Kerman, was getting along with some 5,000 new neighbors: Soviet POWs who would be working in nearby Orange groves.


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


“That's all?” Kara said as she took a bite of Chicken and Dumplings. “You'd think there'd be more.”

“The story probably broke too late,” Ms. Wendt chimed in from a nearby table. “They had to run with what they had,” she pointed out.

“Still, when you got guys just as bad as he was waiting in line to take his place...” Guru said.

Several heads turned to look at the CO. “What do you mean?” Sweaty asked.

“Nobody in his job's going to go up to Chebrikov and whisper 'Make peace, you idiot.' or words to that effect. No, to them, it's the final battle between us and them, and they won't back down anytime soon.”

“You sure?” Don Van Loan said.

“Pretty much. Took Soviet Poli-Sci in college, and some of those guys are pretty ideological in their thinking.”

Goalie nodded, then she opened the Orange County Register. “Not much here-wait a minute. Says here on Page Three. “Belgian Defense Minister resigns.”

“One more nail,” Sin Licon said. “Why'd he quit?”

“Doesn't say, but the Neutralist Government in Brussels faces a vote of No-Confidence tomorrow in their Parliament.”

“That's that,” Dave Golen said. “Once the small ones have gone-what's left?”

“West Germany and Italy,” Guru said. “Once West Germany goes-and that's a question of when, not if, then Italy and the others like Spain fall out as well.” And good riddance to those Commie-lovers, he thought. “Anything else?”

“Another story lifted from that 'Liberation Radio' bullshit,” Goalie said. “They're wailing that the UN won't recognize them as a government.” Their problem, she knew.

There were many good laughs at that. “Their problem,” Kara spat. “Too bad we couldn't snatch their 'delegates' from Geneva and hustle 'em onto a plane for Philly.”

Colonel Brady nodded, then said, “Remember what General Olds said? That's too blatant, even for the Swiss.”

“Colonel, I know, but one can dream.”

“No doubt,” Brady said. “Major, when you taking up that reporter? That's a 'check ride' I'd love to see.”

Guru shot a glance at Ms. Wendt and Trevor Scott, her cameraman. “Stand-down day-we get an hour or so of decent weather. Captain Thrace will fly her, and I'm taking the cameraman.”

The Colonel looked at the two news people, then at Guru and Kara, before turning back to Ms. Wendt. “A bit of advice: take plenty of airsickness bags. Knowing these two, you'll need them.”

“They've been warned,” Guru said.

“We have,” Ms. Wendt added, nodding at Scott, who smiled.

“Good.”


After people finished eating, eyes were either turned to ESPN, which was showing a rerun of a Boston Celtics-Chicago Bulls game from 1983, or to the poker or pool tables. Guru went to the bar and got another beer and some nachos, then watched as Kara went to work at the pool table. She dispatched one of the RAF GIBs, a transiting C-130 navigator, then, to everyone's surprise, the MAG-11 Intelligence Officer-who was a light colonel. Shaking his head, the CO went back to his flight's table.

“Kara taking down a light colonel,” Sweaty noted as the nacho plate got to the table. “Not that often you see that.”

Goalie nodded. “She did take General Olds once,” she reminded them.

“She did just that,” Guru said, recalling that affair, and though General Olds had come out on top, money wise, he still dreaded every time Kara took on a general officer. For it was Frank they all wanted packing for a cooler climate....

Doc Waters then rang the bell. “Fifteen minutes until Twelve-hour!”

“Major,” Colonel Brady said. “We've got some business.”

“That we do, sir.” Guru said, as he and the other squadron commanders bellied up to the bar.

Brady rang the bell to signal quiet. “All right, people! We've got some things to celebrate tonight. First, as we all now know, when one of Chebrikov's pals gets an express elevator straight to hell, it's always a reason to let loose,” and the tent roared with approval. “Now, Captains Dan Lucere and Mike Donahue from -134 now join the ace ranks! Stand up, you two!”

The two Marines stood up, much to the delight of the crowd.

“Now, they got two today-and though one can laugh at Hinds when you're shooting Sidewinders, a kill's a kill, and they got two Hinds, and you guys got a big thank-you from First Cav for that.”

Lucere laughed. “Tell the Cav, 'you're welcome. Uh, sir.”

“Will do, Captain,” Brady said. He went through some other Marines, then it was the turn of VA-135's CO, then it was Guru's. “Major?”

“Thank you, sir.” Guru said. “First, Firefly and Rabbit, stand up and be recognized.” The two in question did so, and the CO went on. “These two flew their last combat missions with the 335th today. These two lucky stiffs hop the westbound C-141 tomorrow, and they get a week in Sin City.” There were howls of approval, then Guru went on. After that? They head to more austere circumstances-at Edwards, and the F-20 transition. Anything to say, you two?”

“Major, it's been an honor and priviliege flying with you all,” Firefly-who was senior, said. “Gonna miss you guys.”

“Same here, but I won't miss losing money to Kara,” Rabbit added. “Just glad I never had to, uh, give an 'alternate payment.” Howls of laughter followed.

“Too bad,” Kara grinned.

“We'll see you guys around, and for sure, at the reunion,” Firefly said.

“We will. Take care, you two, and show General Yeager and his people-especially those two young pups Clancy and Pruitt-what a couple of Double-Ugly drivers can do in their league.”

“Will do, Major.”

“All right! Now, Squadron Leader Gledhill, you and your eight primary crews, stand up, if you please,” Guru said. The RAF crews did, and Guru continued. “Dave, you and your primary crews all made it past ten missions today. It's a shame that two of your friends didn't, but be glad you guys did. For the other three crews? Your time's coming.”

“Thanks, Guru,” Gledhill replied. “And it's a shame two of us aren't here to see this,” he added, recalling the crew downed on their first day in combat.

“Part of the game,” Colonel Brady said. “Major, anything else?”

“That's it, sir,” said Guru.

“All right, people-especially all of us on the flight schedule in the morning. Drink up! You've got ten minutes. Now, Firefly and Rabbit from the 335th?” He nodded at those two. “You two have a right to get happily smashed.”

“Colonel, is that an order?” Firefly asked.

“Make it so, Captain.”

“Sir, in that case,we'll be glad to obey,” said Firefly, knowing that the Twelve-hour didn't apply to him and Rabbit, finally! Both bellied up to the bar, intending to do just that.

Ten minutes later, a Navy flight surgeon rang the bell. “Twelve-hour now in effect!”

After turning in their drinks, those flying in the morning settled for whatever nonalcoholic drinks they favored, and the place buzzed until 2100, when Doc Waters rang the bell. “Aircrew Curfew now in effect!”

Those flying grumbled, then headed off to their tents. For 0430 came early, and another full day of flying would be on the day's agenda.
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