[Matt Wiser]

The next, and the 335th has a visit from Frontal Aviation:


Over North-Central Texas: 1140 Hours:


Corvette Flight was over the northern part of Lake Ray Hubbard, already having gone down low, and had met up with their Weasels over the lake. While the WSOs handled the navigation, the pilots were watching for threats, keeping an eye on their instruments, and checking their own maps in their kneeboards.

In 512, Major Wiser was keeping his head on a swivel, with his eyes looking for threats. That had been drummed into his head at the RTU down at Homestead AFB, not that long ago. Three years or three lifetimes, it seemed. “Royce City dead ahead,” he called.

“Roger that,” Goalie said. She watched as the town, then I-30 passed underneath. “And turn.”

Guru turned 512 onto its new heading for the town of Union Valley, ten miles away. As he turned, he could see A-4s, A-7s, A-10s, and Army attack helicopters at work. The Soviet 1st Guards Army was pressing its counterattack, and VII Corps was busy parrying it. “Flight, Lead. Music on.” That was the call to turn on their ECM pods.

“Two, copy,” Kara.

“Three,” Sweaty.

“Four copies,” Hoser.

“Thirty seconds to turn,” Goalie said. “Steady, steady, and turn!”

Guru turned south, towards the old rock quarry that was their IP. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by to pull.”

“Steady...” Goalie called. “And pull!”

Guru pulled up, and just as he did, his Radar Warning Receiver picked up an SA-4 radar, a gun radar, and a search radar. “Coors, Corvette. Got some radars, fella.”

“We got 'em, Corvette. Going in,” Coors One-five called. The two F-4Gs climbed to 5,000 feet, and as they did, they shot off a couple of HARM missiles, and “Magnum” calls came over the radio.

“Guru, Starbuck,” Kara called. “Target at Eleven O'clock!”

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Lead's in!” He rolled his F-4 in on the target. “Switches set?”

“All set,” Goalie said.

“Okay, here we go,” Guru said. He lined up the helicopter dispersal area in his pipper, and spotted two Mi-24s sitting on the ground, among several. You are mine, he thought as he lined them up. “HACK!” Guru called a s he hit the pickle button and a dozen Mark-82 Snakeye 500-lb bombs came off his F-4. Then he made a hard 6-G turn to the right to get away. “Lead's off,” he called.

In the dispersal area, the Soviet 55th Independent Helicopter Regiment was having a busy morning. They had deployed to America from their base in Bzhag, Poland, and had been in the thick of combat almost from the beginning. Now, the Regiment was fully engaged in supporting 1st Guards Army's attack against the Americans pushing down the east side of Lake Ray Hubbard, and trying to cut off Dallas from the east. The Regiment had sent two squadrons of Mi-24Vs into combat, leaving a third in reserve, while the Fourth Squadron's Mi-8MTs supported the dispersal operations.

In the Second Squadron's dispersal, a SAF Major was having a bad day. He was the commander of the squadron, and they'd already lost five of twelve Mi-24Vs to either American helicopters or Stinger missile teams, and it wasn't quite noon yet! He barked orders at the ground crewmen, who were busy refueling and rearming the squadron's helicopters for they had to get airborne and back into the fray as soon as possible. Then he saw two ground crew pointing to the north, and he saw an F-4 Phantom rolling in. He shouted, “Air Raid!” before taking cover in a slit .trench.

As Guru pulled the egress turn, both his and Goalie's G-suits inflated. But Goalie was able to keep watching as the bombs exploded. 'Good hits!”

“How good?” Guru asked as he came out of the turn and headed north.

“Good enough,” she replied as a secondary explosion came into view. She also spotted Kara's F-4 in its attack run.

“Two's in hot!” Kara called. She picked out two Mi-24s with a fuel truck between them, and decided they were going away. Kara lined them up in her pipper, and pressed the pickle button. “HACK!” she called, and her Mark-82s came off of 520. Then she put the plane into its own egress turn, and as she did, she called, “Two off target.”

The SAF Major poked his head out of the trench, and saw that two of his helicopters were blazing wrecks. To his dismay, there were no antiaircraft guns firing. He started to get up, then remembered that enemy aircraft rarely attacked alone. He saw Kara's F-4 come in, then he ducked back down into the trench. As he got to the bottom of the trench, he felt the concussion of bombs exploding, and heard the bombs going off.

“SHACK!” Brainiac called. “Got a secondary.”

“Fair enough,” Kara said. She knew that if the fuel truck had gone up, so would the two Hinds. Kara smiled underneath her oxygen mask, then headed north to link up with the Major.

“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She started her roll in, and picked out a cluster of tents and vehicles. That had to be a Squadron or Regimental command group, she knew. So much the better. Just then, she saw some 23-mm flak start to come up from the perimeter of the dispersal area. Too little, too late, Ivan. Sweaty lined the tents in her pipper and hit the release button. “HACK!” Her bombs came off her aircraft, then she went into the egress turn. “Three's off target.”

In his trench, the SAF Major heard the howl of Sweaty's plane as it came over, then the sound of more bombs exploding. After the last bomb went off, he took a quick peek. He saw some ZU-23s try and engage the F-4 that flew past, but their fire was ineffective, going behind the F-4 as it left the area. Then he looked at the Regimental command post, and saw that the tents and command vehicles had been torn apart. Tents had been blasted to ribbons, while the command vehicles had been either torn apart by bombs, or had been tossed aside by the concussion. He started to get up, then saw the ZU-23s turn back north and fire. Another aircraft, he knew, so he got back into the trench.

“Good hits!” Preacher told Sweaty from the back seat.

“Good enough?” She asked as she came out of the turn and headed for Lavon Lake and the rendezvous.

“I'd say so,' Preacher said.


“Four's in!” Hoser called. He rolled in, and picked out an Mi-8 Hip parked near several fuel bladders and a couple of fuel trucks. Ignoring the flak coming up, Hoser lined up the fuel trucks in his pipper, then hit the pickle button. “HACK!” Again, twelve Mark-82 bombs fell on the Soviet helicopter regiment as Hoser made the egress turn. “Four's off safe.”

Hoser's bombs landed among the fuel bladders, exploding them in a fireball, and also taking out the Hip and the fuel trucks.

Watching the bombs go off, KT Thornton, his GIB, called. “We got secondaries!”

“Good ones?” Hoser asked as he headed north.

“Big ones,” she replied.


“Corvettes, Lead,” Guru called. “Form on me and let's egress.”

“Copy Lead,” Kara replied. “On your right wing.”

Guru looked to his right, and found Kara's F-4 tucked in nice and neat. She gave him a thumbs-up, and he returned it. “Sweaty?”

“On our way, Lead,” Sweaty replied.

“Coors, Corvette,” Guru called the Weasels. “We're clear of the target.”

“Roger that,” Coors One-five called. “On our way.”

Guru had started to circle over Lavon Lake with Kara when Sweaty and Hoser joined up. “Coors, Corvette Lead. We're headed home.”

“Roger, Corvette,” Coors One-five replied. “Nice doing business with you guys.” The F-4Gs then turned for the tanker track, while the F-4Es headed back to Sheppard.

Corvette Flight had barely gotten to altitude when a call came on the radio Home Plate (Sheppard) was under attack. “WHAT?” Guru yelled over the radio.

“Stay clear, Corvette,” the tower replied.

“Roger, tower,” Guru replied. The flight began to orbit at 10,000 feet, and above them, they could see other flights, either 335th or Marine, orbiting as well. Two of the flights, whose they didn't know, broke off and headed for another tanker track, this one over Fort Sill, Oklahoma. One Marine Skyhawk flight decided not to head for the tankers, and headed for Altus AFB in Oklahoma instead.

“How long can we orbit?' Goalie asked.

“We're not Bingo yet,” Guru replied. “Two, how's your fuel?”

“Still green,” Kara replied.

“Sweaty,” Guru asked. “How's your state? And Hoser's?”

“Not bingo, if that's what you mean,” Sweaty said.

“Okay so far,' Hoser said. “Estimate two-zero minutes to Bingo.”

Guru nodded in his cockpit, and as he orbited, glanced north. Two, then three columns of smoke were now rising from the base, but he-and the rest of the flight, watched as a Marine I-HAWK SAM came up and exploded an aircraft, and the plane plummeted to earth in flames, exploding on impact. Two more SAMs went up, and one of them found a target, and that plane exploded in midair. Above them, they could see a dogfight in progress, and two aircraft, whose they couldn't tell, falling in flames. And a couple of parachutes.

As they orbited, the crews were scanning visually, while the WSOs had their radars on. And it was Sweaty who made the call. “Lead, Sweaty. Tallyho! Bandits at Eleven O'clock low!”

Guru glanced in that direction and saw them. Two Su-17s coming from the direction of Sheppard. “Sweaty, Guru. Press to engage. Two and I will cover.”

“Roger that!” Sweaty said, “Hoser, on me. Let's go!” She then rolled in behind the Su-17s.

As Sweaty and Hoser did, Guru and Starbuck assumed a cover position. Both armed their AIM-7s, and their GIBs were trying to lock the Fitters up. “Anything?' Guru asked Goalie.

“Negative,” she replied. “Too much ground clutter.”

Dave Golen's voice then came over the radio. “Corvette Leader, Mustang Leader. Break right!”

Without thinking, Guru broke right and low, while Kara broke left and high. As he did, Guru saw two missile trails, then the familiar sight of MiG-23s. “Copy Mustang. Get some.” Where the hell did the MiGs come from?

“Roger,” Golen said. He led Sandi Jenkins, his wingmate, into the fray.

Sweaty and Hoser, though, were closing in on the Su-17s. The two Fitters broke, and Sweaty went for the leader, while Hoser took the wingman. In her cockpit, Sweaty had armed her Sidewinders, and was trying to get good tone. The AIM-9's seeker growled in her headset, then it growled very loudly. Missile lock. “FOX TWO!” Sweaty called as she fired a Sidewinder.

In the lead Su-17, the commander of the Second Squadron, 274th Fighter-Bomber Regiment, was turning his head. He'd led eight of his aircraft in a strike on Sheppard AFB, and watched tched as American fighters, then SAMs, took a toll. Three of his aircraft didn't make it in, and though he and three other aircraft had gone in, hitting several buildings on the base and putting bombs on one of the runways, the other one dropped its bombs short of the runway and had turned away, only to eat a Stinger from the ground. Not sure of what damage he'd inflicted on the target, he turned for home, and had the other element split off. Then his wingman called. F-4s incoming. He turned left, then right, looking for an attacker, then his plane exploded around him. His last sensation was the heat....

:Sweaty and Preacher watched as their Sidewinder flew up the Su-17M's tailpipe and exploded. The big Sukhoi's tall caught fire, then the internal fuel tanks exploded, turning the Fitter into a fireball. There was no chute. “SPLASH!”

“Sweaty got a kill!” Goalie said from 512's rear cockpit.

“Save it for later. Still got a fight on,” Guru reminded her.

Above them, Dave Golen was lining up the lead MiG-23. He selected his M-61 Vulcan cannon, then drew lead. “Steady...” he muttered, then took the shot. A two-second burst was all that he needed, for 180 rounds of 20-mm cannon shells tore into the MiG, and the MiG-23 rolled inverted, trailing smoke and fire, then plunged into the ground. There was no ejection. “That's a kill.”

“Good kill, Lead,” Sandi Jenkins said, then lined up the MiG wingman. She armed her Sidewinders, and centered the pipper on the MiG's tail. The seeker head growled very loud in her headset, and she squeezed the trigger twice. “FOX TWO!”

The MiG wingman heard his leader die, and he was trying to look around, looking for a second F-4 that had to be out there. He lost sight of the two F-4s that he and his leader had been tracking, then he saw a Sidewinder missile fly past him. He turned right, which solved the problem for Sandi's second missile.

Sandi watched as her first missile missed, and the MiG turned right, and the second Sidewinder flew up his tailpipe and exploded. The MiG trailed fire, and rolled right and headed down. As she flew past, she watched the canopy come off and the seat fire. To her horror, she didn't see the pilot separate from the seat, and he fell to his death. Better you than me, she thought. “Splash one!”

“Good kill, Sandi!” Kara called.

“Where's the other Fitter?' Guru asked. “Goalie?”

“Can't pick him out. Too much clutter.”

Hoser, though, was chasing the second Fitter, with Sweaty covering him. Over Lake Arrowhead, fourteen miles south of Wichita Falls, he got lock and fired a Sidewinder. “FOX TWO!” He called, and the AIM-9 flew up the Fitter's tail and exploded, taking it off. The Su-17 spun down into the lake, and this time, there was a chute. Fortunately for the pilot, Lake Arrowhead State Park was being used by the U.S. Army for CH-47 Chinook ops, and the Soviet pilot was pulled from the lake and captured by the Army.

“Good kill, Hoser!” Sweaty called.

“Thanks, Sweaty,” Hoser replied. It was his first.

“Corvettes, Lead. Form up on me over the lake.” Guru said. The other three crews acknowledged, and Dave Golen and Sandi joined them. “Sheppard Tower, Corvette One-one.”

“Corvette One-one, Sheppard. “Runway Three-Three Lima and Three-Three Charlie are now open,” the tower replied. “Clear for landing on Three-Three-Lima. Winds are two-six zero at ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru said. Corvette Flight, thanks to the others leaving for the tankers or for Altus, was first in the pattern. They came in and landed, and as the crews taxied to their dispersal, they saw a 727 burning on the ramp, along with a Marine KC-130, with fire crews hosing them down with foam, while General Tanner's C-130B was untouched. To Guru's relief, the dispersal area hadn't been hit, and hopefully, none of his people had been hurt or killed. He taxied into his revetment and shut down, popping the canopy as he did. “That was interesting.”

“No kidding!” Goalie said. “When's the last time we got bombed? A month or so?”

“Something like that,” Guru said. “Scud attacks don't count.” He took his helmet off and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as Sergeant Crowley came with the crew ladder. “Sergeant.”

“Shit hot, sir!” Crowley said. “You guys missed all the fun.”

“Had our own,” Goalie said as she stood up in her cockpit.

“That we did,” Guru nodded. 'Sweaty and Hoser got kills on those chumps.” He climbed down from the cockpit, and Goalie followed. The two did a quick postflight walk-around, then he turned to Crowley. “No damage, Sergeant. Pull the camera film and send it in. Then get her turned around ASAP.”

Crowley smiled. “You got it, Major!”

Guru and Goalie went to the entrance of the revetment, and found Kara and Preacher there. “Jealous?” Guru asked.

“Of whom? Sweaty, Dave, Hoser, or Sandi?” Kara asked.

“Either one or all of 'em,' the CO said. He looked at his wingmate. “Hey, you and I can't get them all.”

Kara reluctantly nodded. “Yeah, well.. I guess so.”

Sweaty and Preacher came up, with Hoser and KT following. “Geat job,” Major Wiser said. “That's six for you, Sweaty.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Sweaty grinned. “Nice to have kills on back-to-back days.”

“It is that,” Guru said. “Nice job, Hoser,” he nodded, shaking Hoser's hand. “Your first, right?”

Hoser smiled. “It is, Boss.”

Guru grinned. “Good work, and that might not be your last. If the Club's still standing, we can celebrate.”

“That we can,” Kara said.

'Let's go,” Guru said. “Need to debrief, and see if anyone got hurt.” They headed over to the Squadron's building, and when he opened the door, Guru found people picking up the pieces and getting on with things. He noticed Capt. Mark Ellis, his Exec, and waved him over. “Mark, what the hell happened?”

“Major, I have no idea,” Ellis replied. “I had just taxied in when the siren sounded, and the next things I see are Fitters over the base, strafing and dropping bombs.”

“They didn't hit the dispersal area,” Guru said. “So what'd they hit?”

“Runway 17/35 took a couple of bombs, and Red Horse is out now, filling in the craters,” Ellis said. AF Red Horse Engineers could build a new base on their own, or get a damaged base back operational. “Seabees are out as well.”

Guru nodded. “What else did they hit?”

“The old Officers' Club, the one that the Resistance hit,” Ellis said. And north of here? An old Atlas ICBM site.”

“What the hell was there?” Major Wiser wanted to know.

Ellis shook his head. “No idea, but nothing's there as far as I know.”

“Okay,” Guru nodded. “Any of our people hurt?”

“No. Ross has been out, and he's reporting no casualties,” Ellis said.

“That's always good to hear,” Major Wiser replied. Then Dave Golen and Sandi Jenkins came in. “Dave,” Guru said. “Thanks for getting those MiGs off of us.”

“My pleasure,” Golen smiled. “And this engagement was a gun kill. Like it should be in our book!”

“You said you'd show us one,” Kara said, coming up and shaking Golen's hand.

“That I did,” Golen said, a grin coming across his face.

“Sandi?” Guru nodded to Sandi Jenkins. “Good job. That's your first fast-jet kill.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sandi replied. “And I know Colonel Rivers was there. I can't explain it, but he was there.”

“I'll take your word for it,' Guru said. “Okay, you two. Get debriefed, and get ready to do it again.”

Golen nodded, then he and Sandi went to see the Squadron's intelligence officer.

“How many today?” Goalie asked as she came up.

Guru looked at her, and his flight. “Expect two more today. With that storm coming in tonight...”

“Maximum effort?”

“Yep,” Guru said. “Let's debrief, eat, then get ready to do it again.”