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Old 12-01-2016, 01:01 AM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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And the next part:


Over Central Texas, 1335 Hours Central War Time:


Corvette Flight was headed south, following the boundary between the Nicaraguan II Corps and the Cuban 2nd Army, which was on their right. So far, not a sign of any kind of air-defense activity from the Nicaraguans, though the Cubans off to their left were active. But the strike flight's ingress at low altitude, coupled with the fact they were on a command boundary, meant that no one was shooting at them. Yet. But the RWR display showed a radar well off to the south, and that meant a likely Red AWACS, a Mainstay. “Mainstay's likely got us,” Guru said.

“Nothing we can do about that,” Goalie replied. “One minute to turn. Cleburne coming up.”

“Roger that,” replied Guru. They had hit targets around Cleburne, including its airport, several times in the past, and though weakened, the AAA there could be a problem-if the Nicaraguan gunners were alert. “Visual on the town,” he called. The town was the actual turn point.

“And.....turn.” Goalie called.

Guru put 512 into a right turn, and headed due south, with the rest of Corvette Flight with him as they flew right over Cleburne.

In the town, the Nicaraguan garrison commander was the Major commanding the 33rd Motor-Rifle Regiment, 3rd Mechanized Rifle Division. He happened to be the highest-ranking officer in town after the out-of-shape Colonel who had the job previously had been killed a couple days earlier in an Yanqui air strike on the airport. Now, he was finding out that the headaches the man had to deal with were numerous, and one thing he had learned, was that the locals, while surly and largely uncooperative, had not engaged in any serious guerrilla activities, and conducting any kind of reprisals was the last thing he wanted. The Soviets also had a garrison in town, a regimental HQ from a Soviet Army Rear-Area Protection Division, and the Russians were content to stay in the towns where their men were stationed, patrol the roads, and by and large, be content with doing just that. For once, the Soviets and the Nicaraguans were actually agreeing on something-which,since the American Summer Offensive, had been a rare thing.

Now, the Major was talking with his Regimental Political Officer, as well as the Mayor, and both were trying to assure the Mayor that the previous commander's policies would continue. Then the four F-4s came over and made their turn to the south, and to the Major's chagrin, the AA batteries only started shooting after the Yanqui aircraft had flown past. Not just that, but many of the local garrison that he had inherited were running for cover, and the locals were cheering. The Major turned and saw his Political Officer with an ice-cold stare. “Comrade Captain?”

“Comrade Major, I suggest we set a few examples for this....blatant disobedience.”

“NO. The last thing we need is guerrilla activity, and any kind of reprisals will only fuel that sort of fire.” The Major glared at his Political Officer. Why the Personnel Department sent the man to his command was beyond imagining. The Captain did look good on paper, but now.....


“Two minutes to Lake Whitney,” Goalie called from 512's rear seat. “That's the next turn point.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. “So far, so good.” Nothing other than that Red AWACS was on his RWR display. “And nothing across the river.”

“That'll change,” replied Goalie.

The landscape flew by as Corvette Flight maintained its heading south. It wasn't long until the lake appeared. “Turn point coming up.”

“Copy...” Goalie said “Turn in five, four, three, two, one....NOW!”

Guru put the F-4 into a hard right turn, and did a 180. Now, they were headed north, and right for the Route 174 bridge over the Brazos, and though they had briefly gone into the East German sector, they were now just east of the river, and the Nicaraguan and Libyan AOR. “One minute.”

“Roger that,” Goalie replied. “Set 'em up?” She meant the ordnance control panel. They had a dozen Mark-82 500-lb bombs with Snakeye retarders.

“Go. Everything in one pass,” Guru replied.

Goalie worked the switches, then said, “All set.” She checked the INS. “Thirty seconds.”

“Copy.”

The bridge came into view, and then the East Germans on the west side started to shoot, while the Nicaraguans were slow to react at first, but there were tracers coming up from both sides of the river. “Bridge ahead,” called Goalie. That was their pop-up point.

“Got it,” Guru replied. He got on the radio. “Flight, Lead. “Switches on. Music on, and stand by to pull.” That meant to arm their ordnance and turn on their ECM pods.

“Copy, Lead,” Kara called.

'Three copies.” Sweaty.

“Roger, Lead.” Hoser.

“Pull in five, four, three, two, one, PULL!” Goalie called

Guru put 512 into a power climb, and at the same time, turned on his ECM pod. As he climbed, he looked to the north, just shy of the Twelve O'clock position, and not only did he see a bend in the river, but to the north of the bend, was their target. “Got it. Target in sight.”

“Ready back here,” Goalie said.

“Roger that,” replied Guru. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight.” He pitched down and rolled to the left.


At the supply dump that was Corvette Flight's target, a Libyan Army Captain was not in a good mood. While the site was seemingly well defended, with the East Germans across the river, and not only his own guns, but also Soviet and Nicaraguan air-defense assets, no one seemed to know who was in charge when it came to air defense, and that worried him. Then there were his laborers. Not only were they Libyan Army personnel under punishment, but there were also Mexicans who had been recruited for labor service and no one knew any Spanish. A Cuban officer who spoke Arabic was supposedly assigned to him as a liaison, but the man was nowhere to be found. He would have preferred forcibly pressing locals into labor service, but the Nicaraguan Corps Commander had flatly refused the request, and the Soviets, to his surprise, had backed the Nicaraguans. Shaking his head, he surveyed his depot, with supply trucks in the vehicle park, and supplies stacked where planned for easy access. Everything the brigade would need was here: ammunition, fuel, rations, everything. He turned to the south, and saw a sight that chilled him. Aircraft coming in, and they weren't friendly. “AIR ALARM!” He shouted, then jumped into a slit trench.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he rolled in on his bomb run. As he did, Guru lined up part of the dump along with what looked like a couple of office trailers. As he came in, he saw the Triple-A batteries were silent. He'd have a free ride, but the others would get some flak. Guru lined up a row of supply pallets and some trucks......”And...and....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and a dozen Mark-82s came off the racks. Guru pulled up and away, and as he did, he noticed at least one of the flak batteries had started shooting. “Lead off safe.”

The Libyan Captain huddled in the trench, along with some of his men, as Guru's F-4 flew past, then the bombs detonated. Dust and debris landed in the trench, and one of his men was actually killed when a piece of a truck, hit by a bomb, landed on the man's head, killing him instantly. One thing he knew, was that American aircraft didn't attack alone. He poked his head out of the trench, and looked around. Several sets of supplies had been blown apart, but no fuel or munitions, Allah be praised, though several trucks were now burning wrecks or had been blown apart. The Captain looked to the south, and saw another speck and smoke trail coming in, and getting larger. He ducked back into the trench.

“SHACK!” Goalie called from 512's back seat. “Got a secondary, I think.”

“What'd we hit?” Guru asked as he banked left to pick up the Brazos River and head north.

“Not sure.”


“Two's in hot!” Kara called as she rolled in on her bomb run. She noticed where the CO's bombs had gone off, and only one secondary, so she decided to lay her bombs to the right of where Guru had put his. As Kara came in, she noticed the Triple-A was starting to come up, and just like previous strikes, the Libyans were shooting, but not very well. Even an SA-7 came at her from head on, with no chance of guiding, and flew harmlessly by. “Steady....and....HACK!” She hit the pickle button, sending a dozen more Mark-82s onto the target. She pulled up and headed on out, following the CO, and called, “Two's off target.”

In his trench, the Libyan Captain heard Kara's F-4 come in, and in its wake, more explosions. This time, there were several more, as either fuel or munitions had been hit. He stuck his head up, and saw what looked like fuel drums exploding, and spreading fires. Before he could do anything, someone pulled him back into the trench. More aircraft, or was it just the fires and explosions?


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac yelled from 520's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

“Any guess as to what?” Kara asked as she turned to follow the CO, and gave a flak battery a wide berth at the same time.

“Fuel, looks like.”

Kara nodded as she picked up the CO. “Good.”


“Three's in hot!” Sweaty yelled. She came in, and saw where Kara had put her bombs, and noticed that the vehicle park looked to be undamaged. Sweaty decided to remedy that oversight, and lined up a concentration of trucks in her pipper. Just as the CO had said, the Libyans were shooting, and they were doing a lot of it. Sweaty ignored the flak, and lined up the trucks in her pipper. “Steady....steady, and NOW!” She hit the pickle button, and released another dozen Mark-82s down on the Libyans. As she pulled up and away, Sweaty gave the call, “Three off target.”


The Libyan Captain heard Sweaty's plane come in, and the trench shook again as bombs exploded in its wake. He poked his head up, and noticed the vehicle park, where his supply trucks were parked. Several had been tossed aside like toys from the bombs, while others were twisted, burning wrecks. And a bomb had landed near a fuel bladder meant for the trucks, and the bladder had exploded, drenching still more trucks-along with some supply pallets, with burning fuel. He started to get out of the trench, then he glanced to the south, and froze. Another American plane was coming in, and two of his men pulled him into the trench.

“SHACK!” Preacher yelled. “Got some secondaries!”

“How many?” Sweaty asked as she jinked to avoid some flak. These Libyans may not be good shots, but they sure as hell put a lot of lead in the air.

“Got a few,” replied Preacher.

Sweaty grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “Good enough for me,” she said, then she picked up the Brazos and headed north.


In his F-4, Hoser made his call, “Four's in!” As he rolled in, he not only saw the flak, but also the smoke from where not only Sweaty, but Kara, had put their bombs, and he picked out what looked like some fuel tanks. Hoser decided right then to make that go away, and he lined the tanks up in his pipper. “Steady, steady.....and...HACK!” Hoser hit his pickle button, releasing his twelve Mark-82s onto the target. He pulled up and away, jinking as he did so, and called, “Four's off safe.”


At the dump, the Libyan Captain heard Hoser's Phantom fly past, and then more explosions followed in its wake. He never knew what hit him as some fuel tanks and drums were hit, not only sending plumes of smoke into the air, but drenching their immediate surroundings with burning fuel, and that included his trench. The Captain and those others in the trench were turned into human torches......


“SHACK!” KT yelled. “Big secondaries!”

“Any idea what?” Hoser asked as he jinked to avoid flak. He and KT had been shot down once already, and for sure, that was an experience neither wanted to repeat.

“Looks like you hit some fuel,” she replied.

“Fair enough,” said Hoser. “Time to get out of Dodge.”


Just as Hoser's F-4 was coming off target, a UAZ-469 jeep was approaching the supply dump. Besides the driver, the only other occupant was a Cuban Army Captain, and he was suddenly wondering what kind of hell he'd gotten himself into. An Arabic Studies major at the University of Havana with hopes of joining the Foreign Service, he'd been suddenly plucked out of his studies, given an eight-week officer training course, and then sent to Texas. Someone had found his area of study in his dossier, and suddenly, he'd been promoted to Captain and made a liaison officer with the Libyan Expeditionary Force.

Now, as the jeep drove down this road called F.M. 1242, both occupants saw something that chilled them. American aircraft had hit the supply depot, and left fires and destruction in their wake. Just as they got to the depot, the antiaircraft batteries were firing wildly, and an F-4 flew right overhead, then turned to the northwest. Counting themselves lucky, the Cubans got out of the jeep, as the AA guns were still firing and no Imperialist aircraft in sight. Shaking his head, the Captain started looking for a Libyan officer. Time to get some order out of this mess, and he was thinking something else. What do I have to do get a transfer away from these people?


In 512, Goalie heard Hoser's call. “Good. Four in, four out.”

“Not yet,” Guru reminded her. “Still got a game on.” He was following the Brazos, and there were the U.S. 67 and then the U.S. 377 bridges over the river, and there would be flak at both. If he led the flight along the east side of the river, the Nicaraguans on that side wouldn't likely shoot, but the East Germans on the west side more than likely would. “Two, where are you?”

“Got eyeballs on you,” Kara replied as she joined up with the CO. “On your Five.”

Guru glanced to the Five O'clock position, and saw 520 pulling in alongside. “Roger that,” he said. “Warlock, Corvette One-one,” Guru called the AWACS. “Say threat?”

“Corvette One-one, Warlock,” the AWACS controller replied. “Threat bearing One-six-seven for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Second threat bearing One-seven-five for sixty-eight. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-niner-eight for eighty. Medium, closing.”

“Warlock, Corvette. Copy,” Guru said. “Say bogey dope?”

“Corvette, Warlock, stand by.”

“Ain't got all day,” Goalie muttered.

“Corvette, Warlock. Threats bearing One-six-seven are four Fishbeds. Threats bearing One-seven-five are two Flankers. Threats bearing One-niner-eight are four Fulcrums.”

“Copy, Warlock,” Guru said. “How long to the fence?” He asked Goalie. The 'fence' meant I-20 and the front lines.

“Two minutes,” she replied.

“Roger that,” said Guru. “Warlock, Corvette. Can you have a reception committee waiting if they get too close?”

“Affirmative, Corvette,” the AWACS replied.


Corvette Flight kept going north, though when they got to the U.S. 67 bridge, they did draw flak from the west side, while the Nicaraguans only fired after they had gone past. And the same thing happened at Granbury and the U.S. 377 bridge. As they got closer to the I-20, the bandits continued to close. “Corvette, Warlock. Threat bearing One-seven-five for thirty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Warlock, Corvette,” Guru replied. “Get the Eagles on the bandits, if you can.”

“Roger that, Corvette.”


Just as Corvette Flight reached the I-20, the F-15s flashed by overhead. They heard over the radio as the F-15s engaged the Su-27s, splashing one, and as the MiG-21s came in to assist, two of the Fishbeds were also downed. Then they reached the tankers, and hooked up for their post-strike refueling. Corvette Flight then came off the tankers just as Mustang Flight arrived, and they waited for their friends to tank up, then all six Phantoms headed for Sheppard.

When they got there, both flights had to wait for outgoing traffic, Marine, AF, and Navy, before things cleared for them to land. As they taxied in, the crews noticed the TV crew filming them. “Ever think that'd change?” Goalie asked Guru

“No, and want to bet they've shot enough that postwar, some of it's going to be stock footage for who knows how many documentaries?”

Hearing that, Goalie laughed. “That's a bet even Kara won't take.”

“No kidding.”

The flight taxied into their revetments, and when Guru got to 512's he noticed their RAF liaison was waiting. Guru taxied into the revetment, then got the “Shut down” signal from Sergeant Crowley. Then he and Goalie went through the post-flight checks, while the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Then Guru and Goalie climbed down, and did a quick post-flight walkaround. After that, they went over to where Sergeant Crowley was waiting. “Sergeant,” Guru said.

“How'd it go, Major?” Crowley asked, as he tossed both the CO and GIB a bottle of water. “And Lieutenant?”

“Made a supply dump go away,” Guru said. Then he downed half the water. “And taught some Libyans a lesson.”

“About staying home,” Goalie added.

“Want to bet they didn't learn, Ma'am?” Crowley asked.

“Their problem.”

“Major, how's my bird?” Crowley asked the CO.

“She's working like a champ. Whatever you're doing? Don't change it,” Guru said. “There's time for one more, so get her turned around ASAP.”

The Crew Chief nodded. “Yes, sir!” He turned to the ground crew. “You heard him. Let's get the CO's bird ready for one more.”

“Still want to bump him up in the R&R Rotation?” Goalie asked her pilot as they walked to the revetment's entrance, where Jack Lord was waiting.

“If I can,” Guru admitted. “I'd love to, but he still might turn that down. If he does that, then making him a Tech Sergeant instead is something he can't refuse.”

Goalie nodded. Nobody that she had heard of turned down an extra stripe. That meant some more money in the allotment checks one sent home. “Well, here's our RAF visitor,” she said, changing the subject.

“How'd things go, Guru?” Lord asked. “And, Goalie? How'd you get that call sign anyhow?”

“Well, Jack,” Goalie said. “Every instructor at the RTU tried to, uh, score with me, if you know what I mean. I fended all of them off, and somebody said, 'You're like a soccer goalie.' So they stuck me with it.”

“And we made a supply dump go away,” added the CO. “And taught some Libyans a lesson.”

Jack nodded. “I take it the lesson was 'you should have stayed home?'”

“Something like that,” Kara said as she and Brainiac came over. “Nice one, Boss.”

“Good job yourself,” Guru said. Then Sweaty and Preacher, along with Hoser and KT, came over as well. “Nice work, Sweaty. You and Hoser.”

“Thanks, Boss,” replied Sweaty. “Had some big secondaries. Righteous ones, as Preacher likes to say.”

Hearing that, Jack Lord turned to Goalie. “How did he get that call sign?”

“Ex-seminary student,” Goalie told him.

Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs came over next. “Guru, how'd things go with you?”

“Supply dump down in the Libyan AOR. You?” The CO replied.

“Found a supply convoy headed north on one of those Farm-to-Market roads,” Golen said. “We turned it into a junkyard.”

Flossy added, “A burning one.”

“How'd you and Jang work out?” The CO wanted to know.

“I'd fly with her anytime,” Flossy said, and the object of that attention was beaming. “When Digger goes on R&R? I'd like her in the back seat again.”

“Done,” Guru said. “Jang? You keep this up, because sooner or later, you'll be in a permanent crew.”

That was music to Jang's ears. “I've been waiting for that, Major.”

“Your time's coming,” the CO assured her. “Okay, people, we all need to debrief, get some food inside us, and check our desks. We've got time enough for one more, then we can hit the Club.”

“Speaking of which,” Kara said. “Anybody notice how young two of those F-20 drivers look?”

Flossy nodded at that. “Noticed that myself. Two of 'em look like eighth-graders in flight suits.”

“Didn't the Air Force reduce the educational requirement for pilots and navs to two years of college?” Goalie wondered aloud.

The CO nodded. “They did. Chances are, those two did just that. We'll sort that out later, as in 'after the war' later. Come on, let's get the debriefs done, then remember what I told you.”

With that, the crews headed back to the squadron offices, because it wouldn't be long until the last mission of the day.
__________________
Treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect, but always have a plan to kill them.

Old USMC Adage

Last edited by Matt Wiser; 12-01-2016 at 01:07 AM.
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