View Single Post
  #493  
Old 08-17-2019, 07:39 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
Registered User
 
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Auberry, CA
Posts: 1,002
Default

Next mission, and the RAF gets a kill:



335th TFS, Sheppard AFB, TX: 1455 Hours Central War Time:


Major Matt Wiser was in his office, going over some papers. No matter what, the elves never did what they were supposed to, so he had to attack the paperwork. Even though the war had reduced the number of armchair warriors, there were still enough of that species to make his life, and that of every other squadron and wing commander in the Air Force, miserable from time to time. Disgusted with the thought of some paper-pusher trying to lord it over him-and a memo from some Major at Tenth Air Force he'd never heard of got his attention. The author was criticising what he called “excessive expenditure” of 20-mm ammo, much to the CO's fury. Vowing to raise the issue with General Tanner in the future, Guru finished the rest of the paperwork, and his OUT box was full when there was a knock on the door. “Yeah? Come in and show yourself!”

His Exec came in. “Boss,” Capt. Mark Ellis said. “Got some things for you. In case you're wondering, the Eastbound C-141 was early for some reason.”

“Lay it on me, Mark,” Guru said. He was looking forward to some treadmill time.

“First, our new birds will definitely be here before the stand-down,” the XO reported. “Both brand-new out of Japan.”

“Good. What about crews?”

“Can't poach the ferry crews,” said Ellis, and he saw the CO's scowl at that. “We're getting two new crews tomorrow, and before you tear my head off, I wasn't happy when I saw this.” He handed the CO a paper.

Guru took the paper and scanned it. “Let's see...” Then he stared at his Exec. “You're shitting me. Four FNGs?”

“I kid thee not, Boss,” Ellis replied. “That means Goalie's friend Cassidy not only jumps into an element lead slot, but has to break in a brand-new wing crew.” He was referring to Capt. Corinne Cassidy, a friend of Goalie's from their Academy days, who was a qualified element lead, but had never been in combat, due to her time on the TransPac Ferry Run.

“Been there, done that,” Guru said. “Last time I had to do it? It was Sweaty and Preacher, and look how they turned out.”

“No complaints about their flying,” Ellis smiled. “Weather update, and before you ask, no change for the rest of the day.”

“That's good,” Guru said as he got up from his desk. “Anything else?”

“Heard this on AFN: the West German Vice-Chancellor, well, the new one they got after his predecessor, or was it the Defense Minister got run over by a truck?”

“Kind of hard to remember,” Guru nodded. “Being busy and all. What about him?”

“Had to resign because some photos got sold to a magazine called Stern. He's in bed with a woman who's not his wife, and said female looks like she's barely out of high school,” Ellis said.

“Well, now,” Guru nodded. “Looks like someone's sending a message: 'Quit or there's going to be a coup.'”

“Looks like it.”

“Okay, guess we'll hear more on the news tonight,” Guru said. “I'm headed over for a workout. Got to keep Doc happy.”

“Anyone needs you, I'll steer them that way,” said the XO.

“Do that, and one other thing,” Guru said, pointing a finger at Ellis. “You keep Firefly alive for one more mission, because if you don't, General Yeager will kick both our asses.”

“Gotcha.”

Guru headed out, but before he opened the door, he said to his Exec. “You have a good mission, Mark.”

“You, too, Boss. And be careful. Don't want to be CO yet,” the XO told him.

“Always,” Guru said.


Guru went to his tent to change into workout attire, then went to the Fitness Center-which was in a tent due to the prewar building having been used as a strongpoint by Cuban infantry, and thus was very much worse for wear. When he got to the entrance, he found his Flight Surgeon, Doc Waters, sitting in a beach chair, clipboard in hand. “Doc,” the CO said. “Checking off names again?”

“Have to stay busy somehow,” the sawbones replied. “Haven't been busy much since the last air strike, though giving flight physicals, tending to the occasional sports injury, and an emergency appendectomy does let me keep my hand in.”

“So you keep watch on us,” said Guru. “Has anyone told you that you can be a sneaky bastard?”

“Kara, for one,” Doc smiled. “Ops, the XO, Sweaty, Goalie, I could go on.”

“Fair enough, Doc,” Guru said as he went inside and the sawbones checked his name off the list. He then put in some time on the weight machines, before getting onto a treadmill for a four-mile run. As he was running, several others from his flight came in, namely, Goalie, Sweaty, Hoser, KT, and Brainiac. When Goalie came to use a treadmill, he asked her, “Where's Kara?”

“She was here after the debrief,” Goalie said as she got started. “Why do you ask?”

“Doc told me she said that he was a sneaky bastard, checking up on us.”

Goalie smiled. “Well, he can be. Besides, he's probably bored as hell.”

“He's probably the only one on this base-along with the Navy flight surgeons-who are.”


They finished their runs, and were cooling down when Kara came in. “Kara,” Guru said. “What's up?”

“Got a mission for us,” she replied. “Birds are ready, and Ops sent me to get you.”

Guru and Goalie looked at each other. “No rest for the weary or wicked,” she deadpanned.

“We'll rest when this is all over, or we're dead, whichever's first,” Guru reminded her. “We getting the RAF?”

Kara nodded. “Napier was in the Ops Office when the mission came down,” she replied. “She's rounding their guys up right now.”

Guru waved Sweaty and the others over. “Get cleaned up, and in the briefing room in twenty.”

“We've got a mission,” said Sweaty. With her tone of voice, it wasn't a question.

“We do.”


After hitting the showers and cleaning up, Guru, in a fresh flight suit, went to the Ops Office. He found the Ops Officer waiting for him, as usual. “Don,” Guru said. “Kara says you've got a mission for me?”

“Her, you, and the rest of your flight,” Van Loan replied. He handed the CO a target folder. “You've got a tank repair facility. Just north of Alexander on SR 6.”

“Soviets or East Germans?” Guru asked. “Not that it makes any difference.”

“East Germans,” the Ops Officer replied. “This is in their Army rear.”

“Fair enough,” Guru said, scanning the brief. “Any Weasels?”

Van Loan shook his head. “Negative, but the RAF is going with you again. No Dave Golen and Flossy, though. They've got one of their own.”

“All right,” the CO nodded. “You have a good one yourself, and keep Rabbit alive for one more mission. I warned Mark about Firefly, and I'll repeat it for you: if Rabbit gets killed, General Yeager comes back and kicks both our asses.”

“Don't want that,” Van Loan said. “Be careful, Boss. Don't want to be XO just yet.”

“And Kara doesn't want to be Ops,” Guru laughed. “Knowing her and paperwork.”

“Yeah,” the Ops Officer nodded. “Just be careful out there.”

“You too,” Guru said.

The CO then went to the briefing room, and when he opened the door, the rest of his flight, along with Dave Gledhill's RAF element, were there, waiting. “All right, people!” Guru said. “We've got our last one.”

“Where to?” Kara asked.

“Town called Alexander on State Route 6. Just north of there, at the intersection of F.M. 274 and F.M. 275 is a tank-repair yard. We get to make that go away.”

Sweaty nodded. “Whose sector is this?”

Guru checked the intel sheet. “East Germans again.”

“And this is the Army rear, and that means SA-4s,” Kara said, speaking from experience.

“It is that.” Guru passed around some reconnaissance photos. These were low-level images, probably from an RF-4C flight. “No heavy guns around the target, but there are ZU-23s there, and you can also expect the usual MANPADS and small-arms threats as well.”

Hoser asked, “Any other threats nearby?”

“Good question. The division at Dublin has SA-6, and we'll be close enough to them they may be a factor. Watch your EW and call any SA-6s.”

“Got you, Boss,” Kara said. “Any word on those Mainstays?”

“Nada,”

Flight Lt. Paul Jackson, Dave Gledhill's pilot, asked, “What's the MiG situation?”

“Unchanged since this morning. Nearest ones are Brownwood Regional, with the East Germans and Russians, with -21s and -23s. Remember that the nearest MiG-29s that may be a factor are down at Gray AAF at Fort Hood, so be careful, people!”

Kara then asked, “What's the ordnance loadouts?”

“Just getting to that,” the CO said. “No CBUs on this one-again. Instead, we all get six Mark-82s with Daisy Cutters, and six M-117s.” That meant the usual mix of 500-lb and 750-lb bombs. “As for air-to-air? Four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, full gun, two wing tanks, with the usual ECM pods for leaders and wingmates.” He turned to Dave Gledhill. “Dave?”

“The Js have four AIM-9Ls, four Sky Flash, two wing tanks, and a SUU-23 gun pod,” Gledhill replied.

“Good,” Guru nodded. “Now, ingress.” He pulled out both a TPC and a JOG chart. “We refuel at Tanker Track ARCO, near Mineral Wells, as usual. Then we get down low, and cross the Fence just east of the I-20 bridge over the Brazos. Stay just east of the river, but close enough to use it as a navigation aid.”

“Which takes us just inside the Nicaraguan sector,” Sweaty noted. “Any word if those guys have been hit today?”

Guru shook his head. “Not a one, but be careful anyway. Follow the river until we get to the Glen Rose Bridge, then we go right down the river, because then it's the Libyans on the east side, and we all know their fire discipline.”

Preacher shook his head at that. “What fire discipline, Boss?”

“Yeah, what?” Guru said, and everyone laughed at that. “Go down the river, past the Brazospoint Bridge, then Route 174 and Lake Whitney. One mile short of the dam, turn right to Two-three-five, and stay on that heading until we reach State Route 36 and the town of Lamkin. Turn north, and it's eighteen miles to Alexander and State Route 6. That's our pop-up point. Climb up, and ID a ranch pond at the intersection. That's the target area. No intact ranch buildings, so pick out the vehicles and make your runs. Once you drop, get your asses north. Just make sure you bypass Stephenville on the way out.”

“You got it, Boss,” Kara said.

“This the last one?” KT asked.

“Not enough daylight for one after,” Hoser reminded her.

“That, we don't have,” Guru said. “This should be it.” He looked around. “Anything else?” The CO asked as an Ops NCO came to collect the briefing materials. Heads shook no. “That's it. Let's get ready to fly. See you at 512.”

The crews headed to their locker rooms to gear up. When Guru came out of the Men's, Goalie was waiting, as usual. “Well?” She asked.

“Last one of the day, and Hoser's right. Not enough daylight for one more,” Guru said.

“When's the last time we flew a night mission?”

“Been a while, and keep that to yourself. Somebody might have an idea about that,” said the CO.

They left the office, and found Dave Golen, Flossy, and their GIBs wating outside. “Guru,” Golen nodded.

“Dave,” the CO replied. “Where you guys headed?”

“Some town named Clarette, in the East German sector. You?”

“Nearby,” Guru said. “We're still Rambler Flight.”

“And we're still Camaro,” Golen said. “If you run into more MiGs, give me a call.”

“Same with you,” Guru nodded. “And I'll bring the Brits.”

“Fair enough,” Golen said, and they shook hands on it.

“Okay,” Guru said. “You all be careful.”

“Will do, Boss,” Flossy said, and the GIBs nodded.

Guru and Goalie then walked to the squadron's dispersal, and found the crews waiting by 512's revetment. “All right, folks. Gather 'round.” He was ready to give his final instructions.

Sweaty asked, “Usual on the radio?”

“You got it.” That meant call signs between them, and mission code to AWACS and other parties.

“Boss,” Kara said. “Any word on if the East Germans have those ZSU-30s?”

Guru shook his head. “No, but good question. If you see those basketball-sized tracers at the target? Abort. We'll reform and go northeast of Stephenville, about five miles. There's a fuel dump we can blow.”

“Or we can hit the airport,” Hoser grinned.

“Or both,” Brainiac said, with an equally nasty grin.

“Or both,” the CO agreed. “Okay, bailout areas are unchanged, so remember past briefs on that. And this should be the last one today. Meet at ten grand overhead, as usual. Any other questions?” He looked at his crews, and there were none. “All right, let's go. Time to hit it.” He clapped his hands.

The crews headed for their aircraft, and Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and found the Crew Chief, Sergeant Crowley, waiting, while the ground crew finished up their tasks. “Major, Lieutenant? Five-twelve's ready to rock.” He said, saluting.

Guru and Goalie returned the salute, then the CO said, “Thanks, Sarge.” He and Goalie did their usual pre-flight walk-around, then climbed the crew ladder and mounted the aircraft. After getting strapped in, and putting on their helmets, they went through the preflight checklist. As they went through the checks, Guru said, “Another day almost done, another round of flight pay.”

“It is that,” Goalie agreed. “One thing about fall: the days are shorter. Ejection seats?”

“They are,” said Guru. “Seat armed top and bottom. Check yours. Arnie?”

“Arnie's set, and so is the INS,” replied Goalie. That meant the ARN-101 DMAS and the INS. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“That we are,” Guru said. He waved to the ground crew, who closed the crew ladder, then gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief.

Crowley returned it, then gave the “Start engines” signal.

One, then two, J-79 engines came to life, and once the warm-up was complete, Guru called the tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

A controller came back to him at once. “Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number three in line.”

“Roger, Tower. Rambler Lead rolling.” He gave another thumbs-up to Sergeant Crowley, who waved to the ground crew. The chocks were pulled away, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru released the brakes, and taxied 512 out of the revetment. Once clear, Sergeant Crowley snapped a perfect salute, and Guru and Goalie both returned it. Guru then taxied to the runway, as the rest of the flight fell in with him. When they got to Runway 35L, there were two Marine flights, one with F/A-18s and one with F-4s, a 335th two-ship, and the CO recognized it as Dave and Flossy by their tail numbers, ahead of them. The Marines went, then Dave and Flossy taxied onto the runway. Guru taxied into the holding area, where the armorers removed the weapon safeties.

Dave and Flossy launched, then it was their turn. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” the controller replied. “Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-seven-five for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru called, then he taxied 512 onto the runway. Kara followed in 520, taxiing right into the CO's Five O'clock position. Guru took a look, and both Kara and Brainiac gave thumbs-ups. Guru and Goalie returned them, then a final check, and it was time. “Tower, Rambler Lead. Requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the tower didn't reply, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Born ready,” Goalie replied.

“Then let's do it,” said Guru. “Canopy coming down.” He pulled his canopy down, closing and locking it, and Goalie did the same. A check of Kara's bird showed 520's crew having done it as well. They were ready.

“Time to go,” Goalie said.

“It is,” Guru said. He applied full power, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with Kara right with him in 520. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, with Paul Jackson and Susan Napier following. The flight formed up at FL 100, then headed south for the tanker track.


Over Central Texas, 1600 Hours Central War Time:


Rambler Flight was headed south. They had tanked up from the KC-135s and KC-10s, and had just crossed the I-20 and were now in hostile territory. As they headed into the Nicaraguan II Corps sector, the crews noticed that, as usual, the Nicaraguan air-defense people were quiet. As was by now the usual, they didn't bother shooting unless they were actually being attacked. And that suited the strike crews who flew into the area just fine.

“Nicaraguans are quiet,” Guru said. “Nobody bothered to hit them today.”

“Who does?” Goalie asked as the flight approached the northern end of Lake Granbury. They were just east of the river, but close enough to still use it as a navigation aid.

“I'd like to know myself,” Guru replied. “Probably at night,” he added. “Lake Granbury's coming up.”

“Got it,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to Granbury Bridge.” That meant the new U.S. 377 bridge over the Brazos, but also meant an older bridge that used to carry the highway as well.

“Roger that,” said Guru. He had his eyes on a swivel, checking outside the cockpit, then his instruments, and his map. Then a BEEP sounded. Guru checked his EW display, and saw a strobe appear to the south, along with the SEARCH warning light. “Got a radar.”

“Mainstay again?”

“Bet money on it,” Guru said disgustedly. Somebody needed to take those converted Il-76s out, as in all the way out, he felt. And for sure, that opinion was widely shared in Tenth Air Force, and no doubt, in Ninth AF as well. Sure enough, the strobe was moving on the scope, and that meant a Mainstay radar.

“Coming up on the bridge,” Goalie advised.

“Got it,” Guru replied, and though they were just east of the river, they were still within range of the flak guns on the west side, and the East Germans still opened up with their 57-mm S-60 guns. Fortunately, the East Germans were shooting optically, and the strike flight easily evaded the flak.

“East Germans earning their pay,” noted Goalie. “Fifteen seconds to the dam.”

“Copy,” said Guru. The dam appeared to the right, and again, the East Germans on their side opened up, this time with 37-mm. Again, the gunners were aiming without radar, and Rambler Flight easily evaded their fire. He then followed a bend in the river, then turned straight south. “How far to Glen Rose?”

“Twenty seconds.”

“Roger that,” Guru said. He then called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

“Rambler, Warlock,” an AWACS controller came back. “First threat bearing One-four-five for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-zero for sixty. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-zero-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-three-zero for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Do you have bogey dope?”

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

“Copy that, Warlock,” Guru replied.

“Bridge coming up,” advised Goalie.

The U.S. 67 bridge came into view to their right, and the flak that came from the west side was no surprise. “Those guys are on the ball,” Guru noted.

“When's the last time they weren't?”

“Good question.” Guru then put 512 into a right turn, picking up the river, then heading right down the middle of the Brazos.

Goalie checked her map, though she already knew where they were. “Brazospoint bridge coming up,” she reported. “And that means Libyans to the east.”

“It does,” Guru said. “Bridge at Twelve,” he called. “And the flak from both sides.”

“Right on time,” Goalie replied. “East Germans and Libyans.” They were now out of the Nicaraguan sector and a Libyan force was on the east bank. Both East Germans and Libyans shot at them as they flew by, but the East Germans were much more disciplined in their shooting. The Libyans, though....A quick glance to the rear showed flak tracers still going up, even though the flight had passed the bridge.

Goalie shook her head. “Libyans their usual selves,” she said. “Thirty seconds to the 174 Bridge.” That was the bridge for State Route 174.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He looked at the EW display. No other radars other than the Mainstay, but it was getting just a little brighter. “Mainstay's still there.”

“Lovely.”

“Yeah.” Guru then called the AWACS. “Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?”

The same controller came back to him right away. “Rambler, Warlock. First threat bearing One-five-five for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-seven-zero for fifty. Medium, going away. Third threat bearing One-nine-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-two-zero for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Bogey dope is unchanged.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Guru replied. “And there's the bridge.”

“With the flak,” Goalie said as tracer fire came from both sides of the bridge. As the flight overflew the bridge, a convoy was seen on the highway. “Traffic on the bridge,” she called.

“Not their turn,” Guru reminded her. “Maybe we'll get an armed recon and then...”

“To be wished for.”


On the bridge, An East German Major was frozen in fear. His convoy, carrying personnel, replacement vehicles, and equipment to help rebuild the 20th MRD was in the middle of crossing the river when shouts, followed by antiaircraft fire, drew his attention. The Major was in a BTR-60P, an open-topped version of the venerable BTR-60, and he knew that if the Fascist aircraft used anything like their dreaded Cluster Bombs, he and his APC would have had it. He looked behind, and saw tank crews-some of the vehicles were T-55s being hauled on tank transporters-manning the machine guns on their tanks, but it was too late. Before anyone in the convoy could open fire, the six F-4s were overhead, then gone, heading south. One soldier did fire a Strela-3 (SA-14) shoulder-fired missile, but the missile simply flew off into the distance, not finding a target.

The Major shook his head. If the bridge had been attacked, he and some of his men would now be in the river. Thanking the God that the Political Officer denied existed for his continued existence, the Major began shouting orders and getting the convoy reorganized. The convoy had been running late, and though someone at the 20th MRD would not be happy the convoy was late, it was much better to be late than to be dead.


“That's the 174,” Guru said as Lake Whitney opened up. “One minute to the turn?”

“One minute,” Goalie confirmed.

“Let's make his job a little harder,” Guru said, referring to the Mainstay. He took 512 down to 450 Feet AGL, and as the rest of the flight followed suit, thundered down the lake.

“He's still there,” Goalie said. Her EW display still had the Mainstay's signal.

Guru nodded. “Hope he doesn't pick us out from the ground clutter.”

“You and me both,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds to turn.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. He scanned his instruments again, then the EW display. The Mainstay's signal had dropped in brightness, but was still there.

As the flight thundered down the lake, unknown to them, a number of faces were paying attention. Some were locals, and were glad to see the fighters going down the lake, for that meant the front lines were close. Others were resistance people, for a number of boat-in campgrounds were being used by some local guerillas, and to them, the strike flights that came down the lake were a sign that not only was the front line close, but that there really was light at the end of the damned tunnel. And last, there were the Soviets and their lackeys, who were either on patrol, or were fishing to hopefully catch some fish to supplement their rations. Seeing American fighters meant that the line the political officers were saying, or the propaganda handbills and broadcasts, that the “Socialist forces have complete control of the air” was an empty boast.

“How long to turn?” Guru asked.

Goalie gave the count. “Turn in ten....now five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru turned the big Phantom to the right, onto a course of Two-three-five, and the flight matched his maneuver. “On course, and how long to Lamkin?”

“Forty miles. Two and a half minutes,” Goalie came back. “And the Mainstay's bright again.”

Guru checked the EW display. Sure enough, the Mainstay's strobe brightness was back. But there were no other radars around, whether ground or airborne. “Damn it. No other radars, though.”

“Not a one,” Goalie acknowledged. She, too, had her eyes out of the cockpit, for having two pairs of eyes in the aircraft had been a lifesaver more than once.

“Good. Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats.” Guru said as he called the AWACS.

The controller replied at once. “Warlock, Rambler. Threat bearing One-nine-five for forty. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-four-zero for fifty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-eight-zero for sixty. Low, going away. Fourth threat bearing Two-five-zero for seventy. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Warlock. Any bogey dope?”

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

“Copy that, Warlock.”

Goalie whistled. “More Fulcrums? And whose MiG-21s are those?”

“Probably East Germans,” Guru replied. “How far?”

“To the turn? One minute forty-five seconds.”

“Roger that.”


The strike flight kept on going, and as it overflew the town of Fairy, more a spot on the map than a town, they actually drew fire. The town was between a ridge and a hill, and from the top of the ridge, some Cubans manning a battery of ZPU-2 14.5-mm guns opened fire. None of the aircraft were hit, and the strike flight continued on its way.

Once clear of the ground fire, Guru asked, “How long to turn?”

“Just under a minute,” Goalie replied. “Fifteen miles.”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. Then he saw the Mainstay's strobe get brighter. “Flight, Lead. Music on,” he called as he turned a switch. That was to turn on their ECM Pods.

“Copy that, Lead,” Kara replied, as did the others.

“Highway 281 coming up,” said Goalie.

The flight overflew the highway, and much to the disappointment of the crews, there was no traffic. If they had been on an armed reconnaissance....

“Lamkin coming in when?” Guru asked.

Goalie checked her map, then replied, “Five miles.”

“Got it.”

“Coming up on the turn,” Goalie said. “In five, four, three, two, one.....MARK!”

Guru made the turn, bringing 512 onto a northerly heading, and headed for Alexander and State Route 6. “One minute to pop-up?”

“One minute,” Goalie confirmed. “Set'em up?”

“Good girl,” said Guru. “Do it.”

“Roger that,” she replied. “Everything in one go.” She worked the armament control panel, setting up the ordnance. “All set back here, and thirty seconds to go.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, and stand by.”

“Roger,” Kara called back, and the others did the same.

“Fifteen seconds,” Goalie said.

“Stand by....” Guru called. “And...PULL!” He pulled back on the stick, and as 512 climbed, Guru looked out in both directions, and was able to ID the target area. “Flight, Lead. Target's in sight. Time to go to work.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara called.

“TARCAP going,” Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill called.

“All set back here,” Goalie advised.

“Then let's do it,” Guru said, rolling 512 in on the bomb run.


At the repair yard, an East German Colonel was not a happy man. He was in charge of what, prewar, had been the Army-level tank repair workshop for the NVA's 3rd Army, and had been with the Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg from the beginning. At first, supplies had been plentiful, and the Army had gotten what they needed, no matter what. Now, though, they were back in Texas, after having gone as far north as Southern Nebraska the previous year, then had been in Kansas back in April and May. Though the Kampfgruppe had not been at Wichita, he'd heard plenty about that armored clash-the largest ever, surpassing even Kursk, and then the American offensive that had followed. The retreat south had been a bitter one, and now, with both sides exhausted, it looked like things would stablize for the winter. The Colonel dreaded, though, what would happen come Spring, and the way things were going, it would be the Amis who would attack first.

At least things here were quiet, the Colonel said to himself. The ranch had been bombed-out during the initial invasion, and the occupants had fled. The ranch house was a wreck, as was the barn, but some of the men, who came from farming collectives back home, were able to fix both up to a degree, and the ranch house doubled as a headquarters as well as quarters for the senior officers. The barn was for the NCOs and enlisted, though when the Colonel inspected it, he swore that the lingering barnyard smell was something no amount of disinfectants could get rid of, and the medical officer agreed with him. Not to mention that the building was still a bit airy, as the shortage of materials meant that large holes in walls could only be filled in with tarps, and the same thing went for the ranch house. Maybe he and the rest of the men would be better off in tents, but having some intact spaces in both, with semi-intact roofs, was better than a damp tent any day.

Now, though, the mechanics were busy. T-55s, T-72s, and BMPs were under repair, and when parts were unavailable, the mechanics resorted to cannibalization. Hopefully, the parts to restore the stripped hulks would be available, but the Colonel had been told by Army Headquarters that the naval situation was serious, and getting worse. However, the Political Officer, who was at the same briefing, reassurred him-and the other officers, that these setbacks were temporary, and that come Spring, the Socialist forces would be on the move north again. Among themselves, the Colonel and the other commanders felt that they would believe that when they saw it.

Now, the Colonel was going to have a talk with his deputy, when the anti-aircraft guns began swinging south, then the 23-mm guns began firing. The Colonel had been under air attack more than once, and he knew what was coming. “AIR RAID ALARM!” He shouted, then ran for a slit trench.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as he took 512 onto the bomb run. As he rolled in, he saw that the gunners down there had been alert, for the tracers started coming up almost immediately. Guru ignored the tracers, and picked out some of the vehicles in the repair yard. You'll do, he thought as tanks and trucks-the latter being mobile workshops in all likelihood-grew larger in his pipper. The CO also noticed the barn and ranch house looked intact-and he swore to himself. The photos were a few days old, and somebody had fixed them up. Well, if he knew his people, that would change. Guru lined up the vehicles in his pipper, and got ready. “Steady...And..Steady.....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, releasing his six Mark-82s and six M-117Rs onto the East Germans below. Right after bomb release, he pulled up and away, applying power and jinking as he did so. Then he made his call. “Lead's off target.”

“Dammt!” The Colonel said as Guru's F-4 came in. He saw the F-4 release its bombs, and then he ducked as the bombs went off. Right in the middle of the yard, he knew. The Colonel counted a dozen explosions, plus a couple of sympathetic detonations that followed. He stuck his head outside the trench, and saw that a bomb had landed close to the barn, shredding it. Cursing, he started to get up, then saw the anti-aircraft guns swinging back south, and firing. He knew what that meant, and got back into the trench.


“SHACK!” Goalie yelled in 512's back seat. “Got a couple of secondaries.”

“How big?” Guru asked as he jinked right, then left. These chumps didn't have much in the way of air defense, not like some of the day's previous customers.

“Medium, best guess,” she replied.

Guru shook his head. Why couldn't they have gotten an ammo or fuel dump? He then did another jink to the right, as an SA-7 type missile flew by on the left. Then he set course north, intending to bypass Stephenville.


Kara was next as she rolled 520 in on her bomb run. “Two's in!” She called, then as she came down on the target, Kara saw the CO's run, and the bombs tearing up part of the repair yard. She saw the secondaries, then lined up a collection of what looked to be intact tanks east of the barn. You'll do, she thought. Selecting them as her target, Kara concentrated on her bomb run, ignoring the 23-mm tracers coming up, and even a couple of SA-7s that failed to guide. Glad they weren't all-aspect capable, Kara lined up the tanks in her pipper. “And...And....NOW!” She hit the pickle button, sending her bombs down onto the target. Kara then pulled up and away, jinking as she did so and applying power. Then she made the call. “Two's off target.”


“Mother of...” the Colonel muttered as Kara's F-4 came in on its run. He didn't look up and see the bombs come off, but he heard the explosions, and several sympathetic detonations. That told him what had been hit, namely, the tank park where newly-repaired tanks were awaiting shipment from the facility. Shaking his head, the Colonel wondered what else could go wrong this afternoon, when he heard the anti-aircraft gunners firing again. Knowing what that meant, he kept his head down.


“GOOD HITS!” Brainiac's shout came over 520's intercom. “And there's secondaries!”

“How many?” Kara asked as she jinked right, then left, to avoid flak. The tracers fell short, but somone shot an SA-7 that flew over the aircraft.

“Several.”

Hearing that, Kara grinned beneath her oxygen mask. “They'll do,” she said as she picked up the CO's smoke trail, then had eyeballs on his aircraft. She then joined up with Guru in Combat Spread.


It was Sweaty's turn next. “Three's in hot!” Was her call as she took her bird down on its bomb run. She saw Kara pulling away, as well as the secondaries she left behind, and decided to add to that. Sweaty picked out part of the repair area that the CO hadn't hit, and selected it as her target. Nice day to die, Franz, Sweaty thought as she came in on her run. She, too, had flak coming up, and a couple of SA-7 shots, but she ignored them as she approached bomb release. “No way...” she said out loud. “And....Steady...And...And...NOW!” Sweaty hit the pickle button, and another dozen bombs came off the racks, and onto the East Germans below. She then pulled up and away, applying power as she did, and began jinking to avoid flak. Once clear, Sweaty made the call. “Three's off target.”


The Colonel was huddled in the trench, but he glanced skyward to see Sweaty's plane come in. He watched, this time with morbid curiosity, as the bombs came off the aircraft, and they landed in the repair area. A dozen explosions followed, accompanied by two or three sympathetic explosions, and the Colonel knew that many of his mechanics were likely casualties, and their equipment wrecked. Shaking his head, he started to get out of the trench when someone pulled him back in. Then he heard the anti-aircraft guns continue firing. It wasn't over yet.


“SHACK!” Preacher called from Sweaty's back seat. “And we've got some secondaries.”

“What kind?” Sweaty wanted to know as she jinked right, then left again, then back right.

“Not really big, but good enough.”

“Take what we get,” replied Sweaty as she jinked again, and an SA-7 flew down the left side of her aircraft. She then turned north, and picked up the CO and Kara.


“Four's in!” Hoser called as he came down on his run. He saw his element lead's run, and the explosions Sweaty left in her wake, and with all the smoke and flame, his view of the target was obscured, but he came in anyway. Hoser spotted the barn, and decided to walk his bombs across the barn and hopefully, some would land in the repair area and add to the carnage already left by his flight mates. He, too, had flak coming up, and also a couple of SA-7s, but he ignored it as he kept up with the bomb run. “No way,” he thought. Hoser centered the barn in his pipper, and as it grew closer, he mutterd, “Steady...Steady...And....HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and his dozen bombs came off the racks, adding to the destruction below already inflicted. Hoser then pulled up and away, and as he did, applied power and began jinking. Only when clear did he make his call. “Four's off target.”


The Colonel ducked again in the trench, and as he did, he heard Hoser's F-4 make its run. To him, the combination of the roar of the jets, the anti-aircraft fire, the occasional WHOOSH of a missile-a shoulder-fired one, being launched, men shouting and screaming, and the bombs going off were very deafening. He looked at a young Lieutenant in the trench, and the young man was cowering with fear. This must be his first time, the Colonel thought, and knew that one's introduction to combat-in whatever form, was often tough. Then the bombs went off, and there were several sympathetic detonations after that. He stood up, taking off his peaked cap, and shook his head. The ranch house looked like a colander, while the barn had been blown apart, and there were several fires burning in the repair area, and the medics were running around, trying to render aid to those who needed it, and ignoring those beyond help. More engines sounded, and he froze as two more F-4s came overhead, but didn't attack. Was that a reconnaissance flight? He grabbed one of his officers who had followed him out of the trench. “Find my vehicle and radio. Get them over here, and I need to inform Army Headquarters of this.”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel!” The officer, another Lieutenant, said, then he ran off in the direction of the Colonel's UAZ-469 jeep.

The Colonel started giving orders, and his Political Officer came over. The man was covered in dust, and bleeding from having taken shrapnel to the shoulder. “Comrade Colonel....Is it always like this?” The man was new, and to the Colonel, had likely never been under air attack before.

“It could be worse. We could be dead,” the Colonel deadpanned. “Come, let's get you medical attention, and I need to get this madhouse back into some kind of order.”


“BULLSEYE!” KT shouted from Hoser's back seat.

“Secondaries?” Hoser asked as he jinked right, then left, then right again. He, too, had an SA-7 type missile fly past, this time to the right.

“Several,” KT replied.

“Better than none,” Hoser said as he picked up a visual on Sweaty, and formed up on her.


“All in and out,” Guru said. “Time to fly for ourselves,” he added. “Rambler One-five and one-six, get your asses down and clear.”

“Roger, lead,” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson replied. “On the way.” Both RAF F-4Js got down from their TARCAP and followed the strike birds north.

“Two, with me?” Guru called to Starbuck.

“Right with you, Boss,” Kara replied.

A quick glance showed 520 right with Guru in Combat Spread. “Good to see you,” he said. “Sweaty?”

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

“Stephenville on the right,” Goalie said. Their egress course to the north was still about a mile west of Stephenville, and the East German Army-level headquarters. And its SA-4 SAMs.

“Got it,” Guru said. “Watch for SAMs, people!” They were well within SA-4 range, and the East German division to their west had SA-6s.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied.

“Warlock, Rambler Lead. Say threats?” Guru called the AWACS.

“Rambler, Warlock,” the controller replied. “ Four Bandits bearing Two-four-zero for thirty. Medium, closing. Four additional Bandits bearing Two-three-five for forty-five. Medium, closing.”

“Warlock, do you have bogey dope?”

“Affirmative, Rambler. Closest Bandits are Fishbeds. Bandtis at Two-three-five are Floggers.”

“Copy that,” replied Guru. He took 512 down to 400 Feet AGL. “Can you arrange a reception committee?”

“Can do, Rambler,” the controller replied. “Rustler and Cowboy, this is Warlock. We have a friendly strike group approaching the fence and need cover. Vector is One-nine-five.”

“Roger, Warlock,” Rustler Lead replied.

“Cowboy Lead copies,” the second flight responded.

“One minute to the Fence,” Goalie advised.

In the front seat, Guru nodded. He checked his EW display. Only the Mainstay's radar was showing. Both the MiG-21 and MiG-23 radars had a lot of trouble in picking out low-flying targets, though the ML version of the MiG-23 did have some limited Look-down/Shoot-down capability, or so Intel said. Guru was hoping they wouldn't find out the hard way.

Guru then swore, then he broke left, and Kara broke right without being told. A chopper had suddenly appeared, and it looked like an Mi-2. Where did he come from?

In One-five, Paul Jackson saw the lead break, and then Sweaty and Hoser did as well to avoid a possible midair. He saw things differently, armed his SUU-23 gun pod, lined up the chopper in his sight, and squeezed the trigger for a one-second burst. 180 rounds of 20-mm API and HEI tore into the little helo, which fireballed. “Splash one helo!”

“Good kill, Five,” Guru replied.

“Thirty seconds,” said Goalie. “Eight miles to the fence.”

“Got it,” said Guru. “Watching the radar?”

“It's clear,” she said. “Where'd that helo come from?”

“Good question.”

“Rambler, Warlock,” the AWACS called. “Bandits now bearing Two-one-zero for fifteen. Medium, closing.”

“Blue Bandits?” Guru replied. That was the old Vietnam slang for MiG-21s.

“Confirmed Blue Bandits,” said the controller. “Wait one...Blue Bandits now turning. Now two-one-five for twenty and going away. Floggers also turning away.”

“Copy that, Warlock,” Guru said. “Goalie, time to the Fence?”

Goalie said, “Fifteen seconds. Coming up....now.”

The twin concrete ribbons of I-20 appeared, and the freeway was busy with Army traffic. At least no one shot at them, but the I-HAWK battery at the Brazos River Bridge was notorious for lighting friendlies up on radar, even if friendly IFF was being transmitted. The air-defense pukes had a feeling of “shoot them down and let God sort them out,” much to the disgust of many an aircrew in the area.

Guru checked his EW display. The Mainstay signal finally dropped off, and the SEARCH warning light went dark. “Flight, Lead. Music off, and IFF on, out.”

Rambler Flight climbed to altitude, and made for their post-strike refueling. After tanking, they headed back to Sheppard, where, as it turned out, they were the last ones in. After landing, the flight taxied to their dispersals, and after popping their canopies, Jackson and Gledhill held up a finger to signal a kill. That got a lot of applause from the ground crews who were watching, and a smile on the faces of the news crew, who were filming as Rambler Flight came in.

“That'll make the newsies' day,” Guru noted.

“Have to explain the saying, 'a kill's a kill',” Goalie said. “They may be disappointed it was a helo.”

“Depends on who was in that helo,” Guru reminded her.

“It does,” Goalie noted. Sometimes Generals flew in Mi-2s instead of being driven around, she knew.

The flight taxied to their revetments, and Guru taxied 512 into its revetment. After getting the “Stop” signal, then the “Shut down” from Sergeant Crowley, the Crew Chief, both pilot and GIB went through the post-flight checklist, while the ground crew placed the wheel chocks and deployed the crew ladder. Then Guru and Goalie took off their helmets, and climbed down from the aircraft. “Four and done,” Guru said.

“Now we eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow, they may not separate us from the rest of the airplane,” Goalie nodded.

“Down, girl,” Guru said. “We debrief first. Got to make the Intel folks happy.”

“Forgot about that,” Goalie replied as they went through with a post-flight walk-around.

Sergeant Crowley came up with a bottle of water for both crew. “Major, Lieutenant? How's my bird?” To Crowley, as well as every other crew chief, the crew merely “borrowed” the aircraft. The crew chief, though, “owned” it.

“She's still truckin', Sergeant,” Guru said as he took the offered bottle of water. He downed about half, then added, “Whatever you're doing? Don't change a damned thing.”

“And we made some East Germans' have a last day, period,” Goalie added.

“Shit hot!” Crowley beamed. “Uh...sir. Pardon my French.”

The CO laughed. “Sarge, you can use that kind of French whenever we get back from a strike,” Guru told his Crew Chief. “Now, get her prepped and ready for the morning. And get yourselves some chow when you can.”

“Yes, sir!' The Crew Chief beamed, then told the ground crew. “All right, you heard the Major. Let's get this bird ready for the morning.”

Guru and Goalie then headed for the revetment's entrance, and when they got there, Kara and Brainiac were there, waiting. “Kara,” Guru said. “How'd it go with you?”

“Tore up some tanks waiting to be shipped out, and saw you tear up part of the repair yard,” replied Kara. “Now where'd that chopper come from?”

“Boss, I'd like to know that myself,” Sweaty said as she, Preacher, Hoser, and KT came over. “We almost had a midair.”

Brainiac nodded. “Join the club.”

“Looked like a Hoplite,” Hoser said. “Mi-2.”

“It was,” Paul Jackson said as he and Dave Gledhill, along with Susan Napier and Razor Wilkinson, came to the revetment. “Took a hundred and eighty rounds, though.”

“Overkill?” KT asked.

“No such thing,” Kara reminded everyone.

Heads nodded at that, then Sweaty asked, “Who'd be on that kind of chopper?”

“Good question,” Guru admitted. “Maybe a courier.”

“Or a General?” Dave Gledhill asked.

“Could be,” Preacher nodded.

“Come on,” Guru said as he put on his bush hat. “Let's get the debrief done, and make the Intel folks happy. Then we all need to check our desks, and then we can hit the club.”

Heads nodded. “About time,” KT said.

“Yeah. And Dave?” Guru told Dave Gledhill. “You and Paul can celebrate a kill, and most of your people have made it to ten missions.”

“Most of them,” Gledhill admitted. The RAF had started out with nine F-4Js and twelve crews. Now they had eight birds and eleven crews.

“Rest'll come soon enough,” the CO said. “Come on: let's make the Intel folks earn their pay, make any armchair warrior feel they're relevant, then blow off steam.”

With that, the crews headed back to the squadron office, to get their debriefing started.
__________________
Treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect, but always have a plan to kill them.

Old USMC Adage
Reply With Quote