[Matt Wiser]

Second mission:


335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX; 0915 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser sat at his desk, going over some papers. One thing the CO thing was teaching him was that the battle with the bureaucrats never stopped, though having a good Exec meant that Mark filtered out the wheat from the chaff, and left him only what was really important. The paperwork from the AF bureaucracy out of the way, he turned his attention to some squadron business-namely, the supply requisitions that required his signature. That done, Guru got up and went to his office window. The rumble of jet engines, and a low-flying HH-53 rescue chopper, was music to his ears, as he watched a flight of Marine F-4s rumble down one of the runways and into the air. Good. Shove it up Ivan's ass, the CO thought when a knock on his office door came. “Yeah? Show yourself and come on in!”

The Exec, Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss, got something for you. It's from Frank.”

“A request for a transfer, I hope?” Guru asked. Major Frank Carson was a running sore in the squadron, having been a thorn in not only his side, but his predecessor's, for two years. The CO had finally had enough of the Major's presence, and had warned him that one more foul-up would send Carson packing for (hopefully) colder climes.

“No, but another complaint,” Ellis said, handing the CO a paper.

Guru took the paper. “What's he upset about now?” He scanned it, then stared at his XO. “Flossy flashed him coming out of the shower again.”

“She did,” Ellis nodded.

The CO shook his head. She had good reason to despise Carson, but then again, so did he, and just about everyone else in the squadron. Not to mention MAG-11. “Well, we know where this goes,” he said, feeding the complaint to the office shredder. Though he did have a mind to remind Flossy about not razzing Frank.

“That's that.”

“It is,” Guru said. “Kerry Collins back?”

“Not yet, Boss. He left a half-hour after you did.” Capt. Kerry Collins was the Squadron's Ordnance Officer.

“Okay. Sometime today, I need to talk to him. I need to know how long it takes to qualify a new piece of ordnance on the F-4.”

Ellis had an idea of what the CO had in mind. “That mission you and Goalie are cooking up?” Seeing the CO nod, he went on. “Anything in particular?”

“Durandals,” Guru said. “Or the Israelis' Dibber bombs.” Both weapons were specialized anti-runway ordnance, and had proven their worth. The former in this war, and the latter both in 1967 and 1973.

“That's F-111 and A-6 ordnance for the Durandal,” the XO replied, referring to the French-made and license-built anti-runway bomb. “As for the Dibbers? Don't know if we've ever had the chance. I know the Israelis have.” Ellis said. “Have you talked to Dave Golen?”

“Not yet. But we'll be bringing him in on this, and not just for planning. Chances are, unless he gets himself killed or gets recalled back home, he's flying the mission,” said Guru. A chat with their IDF “Observer” on this subject was definitely in order, he realized.

“Good idea,” Ellis said. “You still want just three flights?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Four might be better,” Guru said. “We'll work that out after Goalie and I get back from Nellis. General Tanner needs to be briefed, so we get mission approval, but I have no idea when they want us there.”

“Probably after the stand-down,” the XO said. Then there was another knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Guru asked. “Show yourself and come on in!”

Kara opened the door. “Boss and XO, we've got missions.”

“No rest for the weary or the wicked,” Guru observed. “When?”

“Birds are prepped and folders are ready,” Kara replied. “Ready to go when you're ready.”

“Guess I'd best get my people,” Ellis said.

“And mine,” Guru added. “Kara? Pass the word to the XO's flight, and round ours up. We getting Dave and Flossy?”

“Not this one, Boss. We do get the Brits, though,” Kara replied.

Guru nodded. “Not every time,” he mused. He did like having the IDF Major with his flight, for Dave Golen had shot MiGs off his and Goalie's asses at least twice. “All right: have our people in the briefing room. Ten minutes.”

“I'm gone,” Kara said, then she headed out the door.

“Good luck, Mark,” the CO said, shaking the XO's hand. “Kara doesn't want to be Ops just yet.

“You too, Boss,” said Ellis. “And you be careful your own self. Don't want to be CO. Not like that.”

Guru knew what he meant. That was the same way he had gotten the 335, filling a dead man's shoes. “Know the feeling, Mark. Do my best, even if I come back via Jolly Green.”

“You really don't want to take Goalie skydiving?” Ellis said as he turned to leave.

Guru let out a grin. “Only if I have to,” he said.

After the XO left, the CO went to the Ops Office, and found Don Van Loan waiting. “Boss,” Van Loan said, handing Guru a mission folder. “Here's your mission.”

Guru nodded, then opened the folder. “Well, now....more in the East German rear,” he said, scanning the target brief. “Army-level target again.”

“Yeah, same for me, but you don't get Dave and Flossy this time.”

“Okay, Don. Thanks,” the CO said. “You have a good one yourself.”

“You, too, Boss.” The Ops Officer nodded. No need to warn the CO about not coming back-since the XO had already told him.

Guru took the folder and went to his flight's briefing room. When he got there, he found the rest of his flight waiting, and Buddy, the squadron's mascot, already asleep. “All right, people,” the CO said. “We've got a mission.”

“No Dave and Flossy this time?” Sweaty asked.

“Not this one,” Guru said. “This one's in the East German sector again. Seven miles northwest of Hico, at a spot on the map called Clarette, there's a supply depot, and it's good-sized one.”

“And we get to make it go away,” Hoser said. It wasn't a question.

“Bingo,” said the CO. He passed around some RF-4C and SR-71 imagery. “No designated aimpoints on this one, so it's put your bombs where you think they'll do the most good.”

Goalie took a look an some of the imagery, and tapped one of the photos with a pencil. “They've got quite a few revetments here, and that usually means ammo.”

“Fuel drums also here,” Kara noted. “And bladders, too.” She looked at the CO. “Don't they usually separate fuel and ammo?”

“They do,” Guru said. “I'm curious myself, but ours is not to reason what they do, ours is to make this go sky-high.”

“Truck park just across the road,” Sweaty added, looking up from an RF-4C image. “Fuel and dry cargo, both of 'em. And we've seen this before.”

“Maintenance area?”

“Smells like it to me,” Sweaty nodded. “Some of their supply trucks probably rest here when not rolling.”

“Whatever,” Hoser said. “So, who gets what, and what do we get to wreck this place with?”

“Dealer's choice as to the former,” Guru said. “As to what we get? Same as last time: six Mark-82s, six M-117s, plus the usual air-to-air of four Sidewinders, two Sparrow-Fs, usual pods for leads and wingmen, two wing tanks, and full twenty mike-mike, each bird.” He looked at his crews. “The Mark-82s have Daisy Cutters.” By that, the CO meant the fuze extensions. “Dave? You get the TARCAP, as usual.”

“Right,” Dave Gledhill replied. “We've got the same load we had this morning.”

Heads nodded at that, then Kara asked, “So, how do we get there? Usual route for the Brazos?”

“That we do,” Guru said. “Follow the river along the east side, just inside the Nicaraguan sector. All the way to Lake Whitney. A mile short of the dam, we turn to a course of Two-three-five to the town of Fairy. Turn northwest to Hico.”

“Which we've hit before,” KT recalled. “More than once.”

“That we have,” the CO agreed. “The town is the pop-up point. Seven miles northwest, twenty-five seconds, is the target.”

“Egress?” Sweaty asked.

“Once you're finished jinking, get your asses north, but stay clear of Stephenville,” Guru advised. “That place still crawls.”

Nodding, Kara spoke up. “Defenses here?” She asked.

“Hico's close to shoot on the way in, and they still have 23-mm, 37-mm and 57-mm,” said Guru, reading from the intel sheet. “The target area proper? They've got 23s and 37s.”

“Plus the guys with SA-7s,” added Brainiac. It wasn't a question, from his tone of voice.

“That, too, and on the way out?” Guru said. “There's still SA-4 and SA-6. So stay low, keep your ECM on, and that's that. If you see those damned basketball-sized tracers? Abort, and we'll go for an opportunity target.”

Kara grinned. “Plenty of those around in an Army-level rear area.”

“Ought to be,” Guru nodded. “Okay, MiG threat is unchanged, as is the weather. Same for bailout areas. Anything else?”

“Two more after this one?” Susan Napier asked.

“We should, unless somebody hollers for CAS,” the CO said as an Ops NCO came to the door. He would collect the briefing materials after everyone left. “Any other questions?” Heads shook no. “Okay, that's it. Gear up and we'll meet at 512.”

As the crews got up to leave, several people noticed Buddy still asleep. “Buddy slept through,” Preacher noted. “Let him sleep.”

“Remember, it's not him waking up in a brief,” Goalie said. “It's that he doesn't fall asleep in the first place.”

“It is that,” said the CO as he handed the material to the Ops NCO. Then he headed on out to the Men's locker room. After getting into his G-Suit, survival vest, and drawing his sidearm and helmet, Guru left, and found Goalie waiting outside, as usual. “You ready?”

“Let's go fly,” Goalie said. “They do pay us for this, you know.”

“Not enough,” Guru replied as they headed on out. After leaving the squadron's offices, they found Dave Golen, Flossy, Terry McAuliffe, and Jang going over their own mission. “Dave,” Guru nodded. “Too bad you're not going with us.”

“Can't have it every time,” the IDF major said. “Where are you headed?”

“Ammo dump near Hico,” Guru said, showing him the map. “You?”

“Eight miles south, on Highway 281. Reported truck park near Olin.”

“Okay, if it's not there? You come our way. We don't get paid for bringing ordnance home. What's your mission code for this one?”

“Firebird,” Golen replied.

“Good. I'll call you and ask if you have no joy on target. If you don't have a target....”

“We'll come your direction.”

Guru nodded. “Good. And come up our way anyhow if you come across those basketball-sized tracers. Don't want anyone crossing paths with ZSU-30. Not until we get the EW tweaked.”

“We'll be there, and doubly so if the MiGs show.”

They shook on it, then Guru nodded at Golen's wingmate. “I need to talk to Flossy.”

“What's up, Boss?” Flossy asked.

“Come with me,” the CO said, walking towards the dispersal area. “Did you flash Frank this morning?” Guru asked with all due seriousness. “That's the last thing anyone should be doing.”

Flossy shook her head. “No, Major, I didn't, and you can ask Goalie, Kara, and Sweaty. Along with Ryan Blanchard. They were there. I did have my bathrobe open a little more than I should've though.” She looked at her CO and something came to her. “He complain again?”

“He did,” the CO nodded. “I don't want to give him any reason to pop, either in the air or on the ground. No razzing him, understood? Even though you have very good reason to.”

Flossy knew what the CO wanted. Namely, for Frank to impale himself of his own volition, not because of something she-or anyone else in the squadron said or did. “Understood, Major.”

Guru nodded again. “Good. That's that.” The two went back to where Dave Golen and the others in his element were waiting, along with Goalie. “Dave? You all have a good one. Bring everybody back now, you hear?”

“Loud and clear, but nothing's guaranteed in this line of work,” Golen replied.

“As we're all well aware. Okay, if you hit MiG trouble, holler, and we'll bring the Brits.”

“The more the merrier,” Jang grinned.

“That it is,” Guru said. “You all have a good one.”

“You too,” Golen nodded.

Guru and Goalie then headed to 512's revetment. “What was that all about?” Goalie asked as they approached the revetment.

“Frank had another complaint about Flossy,” Guru said. “Said she flashed him.”

“Not that way,” Goalie admitted. “She may have had her bathrobe a little too loose, but then again, a lot of us do that.”

“You were there,” Guru said. “Along with Kara, Sweaty, and Ryan, and they'll back up you and Flossy. Still, no razzing Frank, remember?”

“I know, you want him to fall on his own sword, and not have anyone help him.”

“That's the best-case scenario, other than Doc finding a reason to ground Frank and send him out of here for some tests.” Goalie nodded as they arrived at the revetment, and the rest of the flight was there, waiting. “All right, gather around.” It was time for Guru to give his final instructions.

“Usual on the radio?” Kara asked.

“That it is,” Guru said. That meant mission code to AWACS and other parties, and call signs between themselves. “Dave and Flossy have their own mission, but they'll be close enough to come in if we holler. And if they have no joy at their target, they're coming in anyway.”

“They seem to draw MiGs on occasion,” Hoser pointed out.

“They do, and we get a fight,” Guru admitted. “All right! Let's get this one done, then we can get some chow. Two more in the afternoon, unless some Army puke starts screaming for CAS.”

“That we don't want,” said Sweaty. “Leave that to the Hogs and A-7s.”

“No arguing with you there,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no on that. “Okay, let's go. Time to hit it. Meet up at ten grand overhead.” The CO clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed to their aircraft, while Guru and Goalie went into the revetment. Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, was waiting as the ground crew wrapped up their chores. “Major, Lieutenant,” Crowley said as he snapped a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to rock and roll.”

“As always,” Guru replied as he and Goalie returned the salute. Both pilot and GIB did their usual preflight walk-around, then they climbed the crew ladder and mounted their seats. Crowley and the Assistant Crew Chief helped them get strapped in, then they removed the crew ladder. Then Guru and Goalie went through their preflight checks.

“Looking forward to that little trip to Nellis?” Goalie asked as they went through the checklist.

“It's business, you know,” Guru replied. “But yeah, we'll get at least one night in Vegas.”

“It is that,” Goalie agreed. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours. Arnie?”

“Arnie's up and running, and so is the backup INS.” She meant the ARN-101 DMAS and the backup INS. “You do value your wallet being full.”

“You read my mind,” Guru admitted. “Though I don't mind occasionally feeding a one-armed bandit.”

“Same here. Then there's the other reason.”

“Which is?”

“Getting at least one night in a real bed. Been a long time, and not just for sleeping...Preflight checklist complete and we're ready for engine start,” Goalie said, putting the checklist back in a flight suit pocket.

“It has been. And that we are,” Guru replied. He gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, and Sergeant Crowley responded with the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both J-79 engines were up and running. Once the warm-up was complete, Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” a controller responded. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead is rolling.” Guru gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who responded with one of his own, then waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away from the wheels, then Guru released the brakes and began taxiing. He taxied out of the revetment, responding to Crowley's signals, and once clear, the Crew Chief snapped a perfect salute, and both Guru and Goalie returned it.

Guru taxied out, with the rest of the flight following, and taxied to Runway 35L. There, a four-ship of Marine Hornets, followed by a four-ship of Marine F-4s were ahead of him. First the Hornets went, then the Jarhead Phantoms taxied out. Guru then taxied into the holding area, where, as usual the armorers were waiting. There, the weapon safeties were removed. Guru watched as the four Marines thundered down the runway and into the air, then it was his turn. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear to taxi for takeoff.”

A controller got back to him at once. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are two-six-eight for ten.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru replied. He taxied onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520, taking her position in his Five O'clock. A final cockpit check followed, then Guru checked Kara's bird, and saw Kara and Brainiac give a thumbs-up, as usual. Both Guru and Goalie returned it, then it was time. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

The tower flashed the usual green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“All set. Time to fly,” she replied.

“It is,” Guru said. “Canopy coming down.” He pulled his canopy down, closing and locking it. That done, he glanced again at 520, and saw their canopies down and locked, signaling all was ready. “Then let's go.” Guru firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 thundered down the runway and into the air, with 520 right alongside. It was the turn of Sweaty and Hoser thirty seconds later, followed by the two RAF F-4Js. They met up at FL 100, then headed south for the tanker track.


Over Central Texas, 1040 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south, having crossed the I-20 and were now in enemy territory. They had met up with the tankers west of Mineral Wells and topped up, and were now just east of the Brazos River, a quarter-mile inside the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, but close enough to use the river as a visual navigation aid-especially the bridges. So far, the Nicaraguan flak gunners were staying quiet, but when they got to the first of the bridges over the Brazos, the East Germans on the west bank would shoot-no doubt about that.

In 512's cockpit, Major Matt Wiser looked up from his instruments. Fighter pilot habits took hold once in enemy territory, and that meant having eyes outside the cockpit as well as inside. The need to have one's head on a swivel had been drummed into his head at the RTU before the war, and wartime experience had reinforced it with a vengeance. “Granbury Bridge in how long?” He asked Goalie.

“Four miles and fifteen seconds,” his GIB replied. “EW still clear.” Then a strobe came up to the south, and the SEARCH warning light came on. “Spoke too soon.”

“Mainstay,” Guru said. It wasn't a question.

“Has to be, and bridge at One, and the flak,” Goalie replied as the Granbury Bridges appeared. The railroad bridge that carried a rail line up to Fort Worth had been dropped, but the old U.S. 377 Bridge and the new four-lane bridge that carried the highway across the river were both still up.

“Got it,” Guru said as the East German gunners across the river opened up. He took a quick look at the two road bridges. “No traffic.” Both bridges were clear as they passed by.

“Too bad,” Goalie said wistfully. She remembered armed reconnaissance that they had flown in New Mexico prior to PRAIRIE FIRE that summer, and catching convoys or units in column on roads they had thought safe.

Guru stayed on the east side of the river, as he headed towards the Lake Granbury Dam-where more flak awaited. “Dam in when?”

“Twenty seconds.”

Guru kept up his visual scanning as he led the flight closer to the dam. He knew they were approaching the dam when the gunners on the East German side opened up with their 23-mm and 37-mm guns. “There's the dam.”

“Got it,” Goalie noted. One more checkpoint clear. “Twenty seconds to Glen Rose,” she added. That meant the U.S. 67 bridge.

“Copy,” Guru replied. Then he called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

A controller got back to him right away. “Rambler, Warlock. First threat bearing One-four-five for forty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-eight-five for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Any bogey dope?”

“Rambler, First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are both Floggers.”

“Copy.”

“Bridge and flak ahead,” Goalie advised, as the 23-mm, 37-mm, and 57-mm fire appeared from the west side.

“Roger that,” Guru said as the flak gunners kept shooting. They were shooting wide, as the F-4s were too low and too fast, for Rambler Flight easily outran the flak. “How long to Brazospoint?” He asked Golaie as he took 512 to the right, then right down the middle of the river, with the rest of the flight following.

“Twenty seconds,” replied Goalie. “Libyan sector again.”

“Yep.”

The strike flight continued south, with the Brazospoint Bridge coming up. There, the squadron had been burned by a flak trap a few days earlier, with one crew down and MIA, and another down and rescued. But they had turned the tables on the East Germans and Libyans, putting the hurt on both the flak gunners, SAM operators, and even some Libyan MiGs that had come to the party.

“Visual on the bridge,” Goalie said. “And the flak.”

“Right on time,” Guru said as the East Germans on the west side-and now Libyans on the east side, opened up. A quick glance at the EW display showed no gun radars, which meant the gunners were shooting visually. Again, the strike flight was too fast the for the gunners to track accurately. “Libyans still shooting?”

“Lead, five,” Paul Jackson called. “They're still at it back there.”

“Let'em shoot,” Guru replied. “How long to Route 174?” That was the next bridge, and it led right to Lake Whitney.

Goalie checked the map and the DMAS. “Twelve miles,” she advised. “Forty seconds.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. Then he called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Warlock,” the controller called back. “First threat bearing Zero-nine-zero for forty. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-eight zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-four-zero for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Confirm bogey dope?”

“Rambler, First threats are Fishbeds. Second and third are Floggers, with the fourth Fulcrums.”

“Copy.”

“One-seventy-four Bridge dead ahead,” Goalie reported. “And the flak.” Again, the gunners on both sides began shooting.

“Got it, and there's westbound traffic,” Guru said as they overflew the bridge. It looked like APCs and trucks, and even some tanks. He, too, wished for an armed recon.

“Not their turn,” Goalie said.

“Not today,” Guru agreed.


On the bridge, a Soviet Major of Transport Troops was having a fit. He had had enough problems with those black-assed Libyans causing him delays, and that was without the air strikes-two of which had hit his convoy while in the Libyan sector. The lackadasial attitude the Libyans had only reinforced his loathing for anyone not from the Soviet Union, though he did admit that the East Germans came close-but they were still Germans, he reminded himself.

Now, his convoy with supplies and replacement vehicles for the 144th GMRD was crossing this bridge, and the last thing he wanted was for there to be an air attack. His heart froze as the AA gunners opened fire, then six American fighters came right down the river, headed right for his convoy. Some of his men grabbed their AKM rifles or machine guns and opened fire themselves, while others took cover underneath their vehicles-even though if the bridge was dropped, that wouldn't help. To the Major's relief, the Americans oveflew the bridge and his convoy without dropping a single bomb. Maybe they had other business, he thought. Then he began shouting orders and getting his men back into their vehicles-all the while keeping an eye on the sky. For more American aircraft arrived-or the flight that had just passed turned back....


In 512, Goalie noted, “And here's the lake. One minute ten to turn.”

“Roger that!” Guru said as he dropped down lower, from 500 feet AGL to 450 feet. And Rambler Flight thundered down the lake. He glanced at the EW display. “Still got the Mainstay.”

Goalie was exasperated. “Why doesn't somebody take those guys all the way out?” This was getting tiresome, being tracked by an airborne radar and not being able to do a damned thing about it.

“Maybe somebody's working on it,” Guru said. He was looking around, hoping nobody with a MANPADS was around. “Turn point in when?”

“Forty seconds,” Goalie said. “Hope you're right, or maybe the Tomcats pull another one.”

“Navy's got their uses,” quipped Guru.

The strike flight thundered down the lake, once again giving reassurance to the locals who were fishing, and to the Resistance who were using a couple of boat-in only campgrounds as gathering spots, that friendlies were nearby, and that there was light at the end of the damned tunnel. While the Russians, East Germans, and Libyans who were also there were wondering where their air forces were, if Americans were flying up and down the lake on a regular basis.

“Turn in when?” Guru asked.

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie advised. “Counting down. Ten, now five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned right to a course of Two-three-five, heading for the town of Fairy. “Steady on Two-three-five.”

“Copy that. Thirty-five miles to Fairy. Two minutes.”

“Got it,” Guru replied.

The Texas hills went by, as the strike flight continued on course. While the pilots maintained their visual scanning and quick checks of their instruments, the GIBs checked the navigation, the EW displays, and had another set of eyes looking out. For most crews were killed by what they didn't see, and having two pairs of eyes looking out had been a crew-saver more times than anyone cared to count.

“How long to Fairy?” Guru asked. That was their next turn point.

“One minute,” Goalie replied. “Sixteen miles.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. Then he called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler. Say threats?”

“Rambler Lead, Warlock,” the AWACS controller replied. “First threat now bearing One-eight-five for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-two-zero for Fifty-five. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing Two-seven-five for seventy. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Warlock. Any bogey dope?”

“Rambler Lead, first threats are Floggers. Second and third are both Fulcrums.”

“Copy.” Two groups of Fulcrums, Guru thought. That'll make Kara and the RAF guys drool.

“Fulcrums, Boss,” Kara called, as if she had anticipated Guru's thought.

“Only if they get too close,” Guru said, reminding her of a squadron rule: No trolling for MiGs.

In 520's cockpit, both Kara and her GIB, Brainiac, were disappointed. And yet, they knew full well why that was a rule-going back to the early days of the war. Hassling with MiGs wasn't their primary mission: putting bombs on target and making things on the ground burn, bleed, and blow up was. “Maybe they'll get close enough,” Kara said on her IC.

“Maybe,” Brainiac reply. He didn't sound too confident, with the two RAF F-4Js along to deal with any party-crashers.

“Fairy coming up,” Guru called. “Got visual.”

“Copy,” replied Goalie. “Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 520 into another right turn, centering on a course of Three-four-zero. “Hico's next.” That was the pop-up point. “How far?”

“Six miles,” said Goalie. “Twenty seconds.”

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called the flight. “Switches on, music on, and stand by.” That meant to arm their weapons and turn on their ECM pods.

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

Guru turned on his ALQ-119 ECM pod, and told Goalie. “Set 'em up.”

Goalie worked the rear seat armament controls. “You're set. Everything in one pass.”

“Rambler Lead, Firebird Lead,” Dave Golen called. “No joy on target.” Golen's element had launched just after they did, and had followed Rambler Flight south.

“Roger, Firebird,” Guru called. “Come and join the party,” he said.

“On our way,” Golen replied, his two-ship turning north.

Goalie checked her map, then the DMAS, and looked outside. “Hico coming up.”

“Got it,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Stand by to pull.”

“Five seconds, Four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru pulled up as Hico appeared, and as the flight overflew the town-and sending many in the garrison to their shelters, while a few flak and SAM gunners tried to shoot, he headed for his target. Just as Hico went behind them, he glanced at his EW display, and it chilled him. Four, then five, then one more bright squares appeared, four of them with “11” inside, and two with “23.” “Son of a bitch!”

“What?” Goalie asked.

“We've got a SAM trap!” Guru called. “Flight, Lead. ABORT!”

“Lead, you sure?” Kara replied.

“Gadflies and Zoo Twenty-threes down there,” the CO said. “ABORT! Firebird, did you hear that?”

“Roger, Rambler,” Golen replied. “Coming up on your six.”

Guur turned sharply to the right, and as he did, one of the SAM vehicles launched.

“SAM, Ten O'clock!” That was Goalie's call. A single SA-11 came up, headed for them.

Guru saw the missile, and as it tracked 512, he turned hard left and got back down low. Kara and the others saw it as well, and they did the same maneuver. The SAM break worked, for the SA-11 flew past. Guru then turned back north. “When we get back, remind me to see about crunching some balls.”

“Whose?” Goalie asked. She knew that Guru would want an opportunity target, and some were so marked on their maps.

“Somebody in the ATO shop at Tenth Air Force,” Guru muttered. “Find me an opportunity target,” he said as Dave Golen's element joined up.


At Clarette, a Soviet Lieutenant Colonel was kicking up some dirt in disgust, though he wanted to kick a particular officer. His battalion from the 140th “Borisov” SAM Brigade, which belonged to the 4th Guards Tank Army, had been sent in along with a detachment from the 144th GMRD to set up a missile and gun trap for the American aircraft that had been prowling the area. Though this was the East German rear, the Colonel had gotten his orders from the Colonel who commanded the Brigade, and those orders had come down from Army, and that meant General Suraykin. But instead of setting up a phony munitions dump or missile site, as the East Germans had done, he had found an actual supply dump that the East Germans had just established, and set up around it, much to the surprise of the East Germans, though they were glad to have the missiles around.

Each Buk (SA-11) missile vehicle had been well camouflaged, as had the ZSU-23-4s that he had been loaned, with each vehicle commander given specific orders not to fire until ordered. And yet, someone had been trigger-happy, shooting a missile after some incoming Americans who promptly evaded the single missile and turned away. Frankly, he didn't blame them, for these were fresh arrivals from the Rodina, new to combat. Still, the Colonel made a mental note to kick the vehicle commander's ass later, but he did note that the missile, though it had guided initially, had lost lock once the F-4 (at least that was what he thought the aircraft were) had dropped back down low, and there had been ECM coming not just from the target, but several others with it. Oh, well, the Colonel mused. Not this time. Maybe the Americans will come later in the day. He ordered his men to stand down, then he headed to the field kitchen. Might as well get some lunch, the Colonel thought.


“Now what?” Guru asked as Goalie checked her map. “Can't fly around here all day.”

“I'm looking,” Goalie replied as she scanned a list of opportunity targets. “Got a couple. One's another supply dump.”

“Where?”

“East of Stephenville,” Goalie said. Another one's a missile support facility, and we're headed right for it.”

“Talk to me,” Guru said. A SAM or Scud support site was definitely worth hitting. Even on a spur-of-the-moment occasion like this.

“One mile south of Paluxy,” advised Goalie. “Forty seconds away, and turn five degrees right.”

“Flight, Lead,” Guru called. “That's our new target. Firebird, did you copy?”

“Roger,” Dave Golen called back.

“Copy that, Lead,” Kara replied. Somebody back there had been trigger-happy, and was probably now going to be shot. His problem....But SA-11s? Those weren't in the brief, and she knew, not on the threat board in the Ops Office.

“Fifteen Seconds,” Goalie called. “Pull on my count.”

“Stand by to pull,” Guru told the Flight. “On me.”

“And.....PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick, and as he did, he looked around. But it was Sweaty who eyeballed the target.

“Lead, Sweaty,” she called. “Target at Eleven O'clock low!”

Guru rolled left, and picked it out. Almost a carbon copy of the depot they had been tasked to hit, Only this one had rows of missiles laid out on the ground. At least the EW display was clear at the moment, other than the Mainstay. No AAA, no SAMs, and no MiGs. “That's it. We'll take it. Dealer's choice as to aim points. You guys and Firebird, follow me in. Rambler One-five and One-six, do your TARCAP thing.”

“All set,” Goalie said from the back seat, stowing the map as the rest of the flight-and Firebird-acknowledged.

“Then let's go,” Guru said as he rolled in on his bomb run.


Below, at the SAM support facility, the soldiers there were going about a routine day. The missiles were a mix-some were Krug (SA-4) for the East German Army, while others were Kub (SA-6) and Romb (SA-8) for both the East Germans and the Soviets. The latter, in fact, were present in force as the 144th Guards Motor-rifle Division was refitting nearby, and the Soviets insisted on priority for the division's refit. The East Germans, who considered themselves better socialists than the Soviets, went along, though the Krugs were now regarded as nearly useless, for they were big, not that useful against maneuvering targets, not to mention easily jammed and when the missile radar vehicle was taken out, impossible to guide, for the mobile launchers had no guidance capability. The Kubs and Rombs were still useful, but even the Russians were hoping to replace them-but so far, only the Buk (SA-11) was in-theater, and not all that widely seen. Hence the reliance on the older systems.

All of that was well known to a Soviet Army Lieutenant Colonel who ran the facility along with an East German officer who held the same rank. In fact, the two allies divided up the facility according to Front's allocation of replacement missiles. Right now, since the 32nd Army to the west and the 4th Guards Tank Army to the east had the Buk in their Army-level missile brigades or about to be assigned, the Krugs were all for the East Germans. The Kubs and Rombs were shared equally, but the Colonel knew that those systems were now a little dated. Two years of combat had exposed weaknesses-especially in the Rombs-while the Kubs' weaknesses were well known, and the Americans-thanks to the Israelis in 1982, knew them full well, while the Rombs were getting to be long in the teeth as well. Maybe those draft-dodgers in white coats and carrying slide rules were working on something to help, for he'd heard that in this sector, the number of kills had gone way down, and the intelligence people who specialized in air-defense matters were trying to figure out why.

At least that's not my concern, the Colonel thought. It was a sunny day, though word had come down that a storm was due overnight and would last thorugh most of the day tomorrow. Good. The threat of air attack would go down, his men would be able to get the missiles distributed to those who needed them, and maybe they could displace and move to a new location. He was thinking about lunch when shouts came from the perimeter, and the AA gunners began swinging their weapons to the south. Tiny specks appeared, with smoke trails behind them. Air attack...... “TAKE COVER! AIR ATTACK WARNING!” The Colonel shouted it twice, then jumped into a slit trench.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 down on the bomb run. He saw the flak begin to come up, and noted it was the light stuff, namely the 23-mm and 37-mm. No radars, he saw on the EW display, and that meant the gunners were shooting by eye alone. Not good enough, Ivan or Franz, Guru thought as he lined up some missile transporters in his pipper. Were those SA-4s? No matter, Guru said to himself as the transporters grew larger as he closed in. “Steady...And...Steady...And.....HACK!” He hit his pickle button, sending his six Mark-82s and six M-117s down onto the target. Guru then pulled up and away, applying power and jinking as he did. Once he was clear, the CO made the call. “Lead's off safe.”


“NYET!” That was the Colonel's shout as Guru's F-4 came in and released its bombs. He huddled in the trench with a number of others, and felt the concussion as the bombs went off. When he heard the F-4 clear the area, he glanced out of the trench, and saw that several of the Krug transporters had either been blasted apart by the bombs or tossed like toys by the shock waves. A couple were on fire, and when a missile exploded, he ducked back into the trench. The Colonel then heard the AA guns firing again. Having been bombed more than once, he knew from experience what was next.


“SHACK!” Goalie shouted from the back seat. “Got a few secondaries!”

“What kind?” Guru asked as he jinked to avoid some tracers, then jinked again as a shoulder-fired missile flew past on his right.

“Looked like missile cook-off.”

“Good enough,” Guru replied as he set course north.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she took 520 down on the target. She saw the CO's run, and the secondaries that resulted, and decided to pick other game. Spotting some large missiles on the ground, Kara lined those up in her pipper. SA-4s by the size of them, she thought. Okay, Ivan.....Better to kill the missiles on the ground than dodge them in the air. She, too, noted the flak and a couple of shoulder-fired missiles, and ignored both, concentrating on the bomb run. The missiles grew larger in the pipper as she got closer to the release point.... “Steady....Steady....And...And.....NOW!” Kara hit the pickle button, releasing her bombs, and after they came off the racks, she, too, pulled up and away, jinking to give the flak gunners and SAM-shooters a harder target. When she was clear of the target, Kara got on the radio. “Two's off target.”


In his trench, the Soviet Colonel huddled as Kara's F-4 came in. He didn't look up, but heard the aircraft come over, and also heard and felt the bombs going off. Now what? He wondered, though not aloud, for one of those in the trench was his Political Officer. Even while under air attack, the Party man would be looking out for anyone showing defeatist tendencies-something that the Colonel knew was starting to spread, with the front now back in Texas. When the F-4 was gone, he looked up, and saw where the Krugs had been laid out on the ground, awaiting shipment. Some had gone up in sympathetic detonations, while others had taken off, going across the ground in all directions. Shaking his head, he saw the AA gunners turning their ZU-23s back to the south. Knowing what that meant, he ducked back into the trench as the guns opened fire. More Americans coming....


“BULLSEYE!” Brainiac shouted from 520's back seat. “Got some secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she jinked to avoid some flak, while an SA-7 type missile flew harmlessly above 520's cockpit.

“Several, and they're good-sized. Might have had missile cook-off back there.”

“Good, as long as they fry some Russians,” Kara said as she picked up the CO's bird.


“Three in hot!” That was Sweaty's call as she came in on her run. She watched Kara pull up, and saw the results of her strike, with missiles going off down below, while others took off, some going up, others going towards trees or hills. Sweaty spotted more missiles on the ground, and selected those as her target. Ignoring the flak coming up, she lined the missiles up in her pipper, totally set on the bomb run. “Steady....Steady.....Steady.....HACK!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and her six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the racks. She then applied power, pulling up and away, jinking as she did so. When she cleared the target, Sweaty called, “Three's off.”


“Not now...” the Soviet Colonel said as he heard Sweaty's run. He looked at his Political Officer, and to his pleasure, the man looked properly terrified. Good, the Colonel thought as he heard the F-4 clear the area, and he wondered where the bombs had come down. A dozen explosions and several sympathetic detonations later, he stuck his head up. Looking at where the Kub missiles were stored, he saw the fires and explosions still going on, then he ducked as a missile cooked off, and headed right for him. The Kub flew overhead, and what it hit, right then he didn't care. Then the AA guns picked up again. Knowing what was coming, he wondered, Why me and why now?


“SHACK!” Preacher shouted. “Good hits!”

“Secondaries?” Sweaty asked as she pulled away, dodging some tracers and even a shoulder-fired missile as she got clear.

“Good enough,” her GIB replied.

“Sounds good to me,” she said as she picked up smoke trails ahead, then had eyeballs on the CO and Kara.

“Four in hot!” Hoser called as he went in on his run. He saw what the others had done, and spotted some vehicles near where the CO had put his bombs. The Boss missed a few, he thought, and selected those as his target. He saw the flak coming up, and ignored it as he picked out the remaining missile transporters and lined them up in his pipper. Your turn, he thought, as he approached the release point. “And...And....Steady...And....NOW!” Hoser hit his pickle button, sending his bombs down onto the target below. He then pulled away, applying power and jinking as he did, not giving the flak gunners an easy target. “Four's off target,” Hoser called when he got clear.


“Damn it!” The Soviet Colonel said, not caring if anyone heard him. He heard the AA guns open up again, then Hoser's F-4 came, and as it thundered past, it left a dozen bombs in its wake. He heard and felt the bombs going off, and after the last explosions, the Colonel took a look around. He saw where the F-4 had planted its bombs, close to where the first one had struck, and the remaining Krug missile transporters were either wrecked or on fire. Shaking his head, he started to get up and out of the trench when someone pulled him back in. He saw it was his East German counterpart, but before he could open his mouth to thank the man, the sound of AA fire started up again. More Americans? Lovely.



“BULLSEYE!” KT shouted as Hoser pulled clear. “Good hits back there.”

“Any secondaries?” Hoser asked as he dodged an SA-7, then some tracers as he maintained his jinking.

“Two or three.”

“Good enough,” replied Hoser as he dodged some tracers, then an SA-7. Then he picked up Sweaty's bird, and formed up with his element lead.


“Firbird Lead in hot!” Dave Golen called as he came in on his run. As he went in, Golen noticed that the target had been serviced pretty well, with numerous fires and secondary explosions still visible. He looked around, and noticed a truck park across the road from the target. Golen adjusted his run, then lined up some of the trucks in his pipper. He noticed the flak, and even a couple of SA-7s, but ignored both the flak and the missiles, as he concentrated on the bomb run. Your turn now, Ivan, he thought. “And...And..Steady...And....NOW!” Golen hit the pickle button, relasing his dozen bombs onto the target below. He then pulled up and away, applying power as he did so, and began jinking. When he was clear, he made the call, “Firebird Lead off target.”


“This isn't happening,” the Soviet Colonel muttered as he heard the AA guns firing, then the thunder of Dave's F-4 as it flew by. Then the bombs followed, and it sounded and felt like the bombs landed further away than the others. He poked his head up out of the trench, and saw several smoke clouds to the south, across the road from the depot. The truck park, he realized. Then he saw the AA guns swivel back to the south, and shook his head. Another American? The Colonel muttered another curse, then dropped back in the trench.

“GOOD HITS!” Terry McAuliffe shouted from Golen's back seat. “Got a few secondaries!”

“How many and how big?” Golen asked as he jinked left to avoid a missile, then right to dodge some tracers. These looked like 23-mm, he saw. Those, we can handle, he thought. Not those nasty 30-mm ones....

“Several, and they're good-sized.”

“We'll take those,” Golen replied as he jinked one more time, then headed north, picking up Sweaty's element.


“Firebird Two in hot!” Flossy called as she took 1569 down on its bomb run. She saw where Dave had planted his bombs, and noticed a number of trucks that had escaped her lead's strike. All right, Ivan, she thought. Your turn. Flossy selected a group of trucks and lined them up in her pipper, all the while ignoring the flak and a couple of SA-7s that came up her way. Keeping steady, she concentrated on her bomb run, and got ready. “And....And....And....HACK!” Flossy hit her pickle button, and her six Mark-82s and six M-117s came off the racks. She then pulled up and away, applying power and jinking to give the flak gunners and SAM shooters a harder target. Once clear, she made the call, “Firebird two off safe.”


“Sookin sin!” The Colonel shouted. Son of a bitch.....and this was shaping up to be a bitch of a day. He heard the AA gunners shooting, even the whoosh of a missile being fired, then came the thunder of Flossy's F-4 as it came by. The bombs followed, and he had a good idea as to what had been hit. He got up out of the trench, and saw more smoke and flame from the truck park. Looking around agog at the general destruction, the Colonel was at a loss for words at first, then the AA gunners shooting again brought him back to his senses. Two more F-4s thundered past, but didn't attack. A reconnaissance flight? That didn't concern him, but getting some order out of this mess did. He began shouting orders.


“Flossy's clear,” Goalie said in 512's back seat.

“Six in and out,” Guru agreed. Firebirds, join up on us. Rambler One-five and One-six, get your asses north.”

“Roger, Lead,” Golen replied, as did both Paul Jackson and Susan Napier.

“Copy all,” said Guru. “Two, you there?”

“Right with you,” Kara replied, and both Guru and Goalie took a look, seeing 520 tucked in with them in Combat Spread.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “Sweaty?”

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

“Copy, Four,” said Guru. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS controller replied at once. “Ramber, Warlock. First threat bearing Zero-eight-zero for forty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-seven-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-one-zero for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru said. “Bogey dope?”

“Rambler, first threats are Fishbeds. Second threats are Floggers, and third are Fulcrums.”

“Eighty seconds to the Fence,” Goalie advised.

“Roger that, Warlock,” said Guru. He got down even lower, to 400 Feet AGL, and still, the damned Mainstay radar was still there on his EW display. No fighter radars, though. Good.

“Lead, do we turn on 'em?” Kara asked. Though she knew the answer, she had to ask anyway. For the CO did want to catch up to her in terms of the squadron's kill lead, Kara knew.

“Only if we pick up their radars,” Guru replied.

“Roger,” Kara said. She knew why, but still...she wanted that tenth kill and the status of double ace.

“One minute,” said Goalie. Sixteen miles to the Fence.

The combined strike flight headed north, right over the East German 20th MRD's positions. They drew no fire, mainly because the East Germans were surprised to see American aircraft coming at them from their own rear. By the time the ZSU-23s and SA-6s were warmed up, it was too late. Though there was some small-arms fire.

“How long? Guru wanted to know as some machine-gun tracers came up after the flight.

“Thirty seconds,” Goalie replied. Eight miles.

“Rambler, Warlock, threats have all turrned away,” the AWACS controller advised.

“Roger that, Warlock,” Guru said. Not this time, but one of these days, they would be in a fight again, and he knew it. Then he'd catch up to Kara, and even get past her. For he wanted that tenth kill as well.

“Crossing the fence....now,” said Goalie as the twin ribbons of I-20 appeared.

“Flight, Lead. Music off, and IFF on, out,” Guru called the flight. He glanced at the EW display, and the Mainstay's signal was off, and the SEARCH warning light was dark. After the flight acknowledged, he climbed up to altitude and headed for the tankers.

After meeting up with the tankers, and taking on fuel from the KC-135s-and for the RAF, a KC-130, the flight headed back to Sheppard. When they arrived, they were second in the pattern, after a Marine four-ship of Hornets, with two 335th flights behind them.

When cleared in, Rambler and Firebird came in and landed, and as they taxied away, those waiting were again disappointed. No kills scored this time out, but maybe next time, the ground crews watching thought. The same thoughts were shared among the news crew, who, as usual, were filming as the F-4s taxied past, canopies now open.

“Don't they ever stop?” Guru asked, shaking his head as 512 passed the newsies.

“If they did, maybe their pay would be docked,” Goalie joked.

“Guess so,” Guru said as he turned into the squadron's dispersal area.

The flight taxied in, and the crews headed to their revetments. Guru found 512's, and Sergeant Crowley guided him in. Once he was in place, Guru got the “Stop” signal, and the ground crew put the wheel chocks in place. Then came the “Shut down” signal, and both engines were shut down. After that, came the post-flight checklist, while the ground crew deployed the crew ladder. Once the checklist was done, Guru, then Goalie, climbed down from the aircraft. They did the post-flight walk-around, and only then did Sergeant Crowley come up. As usual he had bottled water for both pilot and GIB.

“Major, Lieutenant? How'd things go?” Crowley asked as he handed a bottle to the CO.

“Almost ran into a flak and missile trap,” Guru said after taking a swig of water. “Almost, that is.”

“So we found an opportunity target,” Goalie added. “Some of the SAM operators down there are going to be short of reloads.”

“For a while,” Guru grinned. “Wrap up the post-flight, Sergeant, then get yourselves some chow. You can do the turnaround once you all get some food.”

The crew chief beamed. “Yes, sir!” He turned to the ground crew. “All right, people! Let's get the post-flight done, then we get something to eat before getting the CO's bird ready for the next one! Get to it!”

“Still going to send him on R&R? Goalie asked as she and Guru headed for the revetment's entrance.

“Yeah,” Guru nodded. “He deserves one, and I'm making sure he gets it over Christmas and New Year's.

Goalie agreed. “Ordering him to have a Merry Christmas at home?”

“Something like that,” Guru said as they got to the entrance, and found Kara and Brainiac there. “Well, that was an interesting one.”

“Not every day we run into one of those,” Kara said. “Missile trap with SA-11. Somebody's fucked up on the intel estimate-again.”

Guru nodded. “Not arguing with you, and I do want somebody's balls crunched, but not Sin Licon's. He just passes down what they give him.”

Kara knew it as well. “So you want somebody's ass at Tenth Air Force?”

“Something like that,” Guru said. “So, a SAM support site got it instead.”

“It did,” said Kara. “And you had a few secondaries.”

“So did we,” Brainiac added.

“Who put that briefing together?” Sweaty roared as she and Preacher, with Hoser and KT, came up. “Nobody said a damn thing about SA-11s!”

Guru nodded sympathetically. “Down, girl, and I'm just as pissed off as you are.”

“Where'd they come from?” Hoser asked.

“Your guess is as good as anyone's,” Kara said. “Nothing on the threat board at Ops about SA-11 in the area.”

Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs came next, followed by the RAF crews. “That was fun,” Golen said. “First time I've had two targets changed on one mission.”

“Same here,” Flossy added. “Where'd those missiles come from?”

“Good question, and something we'd like to know,” Guru said. “What'd you guys hit?”

“Truck park across the road from the missile depot,” Golen replied. “You seemed to have serviced the dump pretty well. Plenty of secondaries and fires down there.”

Guru nodded. “Good to know, Dave. Too bad the MiGs didn't show,” he added for Golen's benefit and the RAF's. “First time for SA-11?” The CO asked Dave Gledhill.

“On land, yes,” Gledhil replied, and his people nodded. “But at sea? We were told not to get too close to a Red Convoy if they had Sovremmeny destroyers. They have SA-N-7, and it's the same type of missile as SA-11. Even has the same code name: Gadfly.”

“Same missile?” Brainiac asked.

“So they say,” Gledhill replied. “No way to know for sure-yet.”

“Save that for later,” Guru said. “Be glad somebody down there was trigger-happy. Otherwise I'd be writing letters-or Mark Ellis would, and some of us would've been skydiving.”

“Happy thoughts,” Sweaty said. “Not.”

Guru winced at that. “No. Once was enough, mind.”

“So now what?” Jang asked.

Guru said, “We debrief, and don't tear into Sin Licon. He just passes down what they tell him.”

“You know the Intel Community's motto, Boss,” Preacher said. “We're betting your life.”

The CO knew it. “We all know it. And today, somebody was betting just that. Okay, let's debrief. Then get the armchair warriors out of the way, and chow down. Because in an hour and a half, max, we're back at it.” It was 1145.

“Third quarter,” Flossy said.

“It will be,” said Guru. “Let's go.”