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Old 09-22-2018, 10:43 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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The RAF's first day of combat in Texas continues:



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


In his office, Major Wiser was sitting behind his desk, going over some paperwork that had come in while he was flying. One thing about having a good Exec, and Mark was a damned good one, he felt, was that the XO filtered out the wheat from the chaff, so that the CO could take care of what was really important. He took care of what was pending, then, his OUT box now full, sat back and turned up Shadoe Stevens' AM show on AFN. Steve Nicks' Stand Back had just finished when a knock at the door came. “Show yourself and come on in!”

His Exec, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss,” he said. “Got a couple of things for you, then I have a mission brief in ten.”

No rest for the weary or the wicked, the CO thought. “Okay, Mark, what's up?”

“First, Kerry Collins needs a signature. He's already signed it 'For the Ordnance Officer,' and that means Frank. But he needs yours as well.”

“What's he after?” Guru said as Ellis handed him the form. Then he looked at the XO. “AGM-65Ds?”

“I know, we've got three dozen already, but he thinks we can use some more. Especially for Scud hunts or for going after armor.”

“He wants three dozen more, I see,” the CO noted. “And we can sure use 'em.”

“They're mainly going to A-10s and A-7s,” Ellis pointed out.

“So?” Guru said. “We use 'em from time to time. And who around here gets tasked with said Scud hunts?”

Ellis chuckled. “We do, Boss. Just reminding you, though.”

“And that's a good Exec,” Guru told him. “I did that for Colonel Rivers enough times. What's the other thing?”

The XO handed Guru a sheet of paper. “For your information and not action. Two new pilots coming day after tomorrow.”

Major Wiser looked at the paper. “New guy fresh from Kingsley Field,” he said. “OTS via the University of Oregon,” With the war on, ROTC programs had become branches of the respective services' Officer Candidate Schools, just as in World War II. “And the second....” The CO paused, then smiled. “Well, Goalie's going to be happy.”

“Her friend Cassidy?” Ellis asked. Capt. Corinne Cassidy had ferried one of their two newest birds from Japan, and had shared her Day One story at the Club, and even General Olds had been impressed, blowing through a flock of Hip troop-carrier helicopters like a hawk onto a flock of pigeons. She had even knocked one down with jet wash.

“You got it. She and the new Lieutenant get here day after tomorrow, then Firefly and Rabbit can get a week's R&R in Vegas before reporting to Edwards.” The CO was referring to two pilots who had been chosen for the F-20 program by General Yeager during his team's visit. Now, those two could hand things over to their replacements, hop a C-141 for Nellis, and get a week to blow off steam. Then the real work of learning a new airplane began.

“Our loss is Yeager's gain,” Elils noted. “And that's it for now.”

“Where you going?” Guru asked.

“Down to the Libyans,” Ellis said. “Get to give those bastards a lesson about how they should've stayed home.”

“They never learn,” the CO observed. “And they put so much flak in the air as if the practice is going to be banned five minutes from then.”

“That they do, and I know, keep Firefly alive. Yeager'd probably come back and kick my ass himself for getting an F-20 recruit killed.”

Guru let out a grin. “He would. Just be careful, you hear? It's not that I'm worried about Don Van Loan taking over as Exec, it's me and Don having to break in Kara as Ops.” Then the CO let out a laugh.

“And we all know her attitude towards paperwork,” Ellis laughed back. “Not a problem. Hey, I heard you had MiG company this morning.”

Guru nodded. “Dave Golen and Flossy got MiG-23s, and Gledhill's element each got a MiG-29. First time they've run into Fulcrums, or so I understand. So be on guard, Mark. If we ran into 'em, you might have the same problem.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Ellis said. He glanced at the wall clock. “Time for my brief.”

“Good luck, Mark, and be careful out there,” the CO cautioned. “Remember: Do it to them before they can do it to you.”

“Always.”


After the Exec left, Major Wiser got up and stood by his office window. He listened to the rumble of jets, the whop-whop of choppers, and watched, arms folded in front of his chest. Then his reverie was interrupted by a knock on the office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself.”

It was Kara, his wingmate. “Boss, we've got a mission.” She handed her CO and Flight Lead a briefing packet.

“Goalie?”

“She's gone off to round up the others,” Kara reported. “And we get two of the Brits again on this one-but not the same crew we had this morning.”

Guru opened the packet. “Okay, Karen McKay and Ian Black-hey, didn't they tell us yesterday he got a MiG-29 kill in a Lightning?”

Kara nodded. “They did, and I'd like to know a little more about that myself. Shouldn't he be dead?”

“You're not the only one wondering about that,” the CO said. He took a breath, then nodded. “No rest for the weary or the wicked. Time to get back in the game.” Both left the office, headed for the fight's briefing room.

“What were you thinking?” Kara asked.

“It's been two weeks since we've lost somebody. Razor, remember?”

“Yeah, and you're thinking we're due to take a hit or two,” Kara said. She, too, had been wondering about that. So far, since Guru had taken over the squadron, their losses had been light, with two birds down and only one crewman KIA and the other three rescued. But there had been a couple of close calls the past few days.....

“I'd say we're overdue for somebody to take the big hit, and then I have a letter or two to write,” the CO said. “That's the lousiest thing you have to do in the military, so Colonel Rivers told me when I got the XO job.”

“Which they don't teach in OTS, I bet. And certainly not in ROTC.”

“And Goalie would say not at the Academy, either,” said Guru. “School of hard knocks again.”

Kara nodded agreement. “Ain't that the truth.”

Guru agreed. “Sure is.” They got to the briefing room, and Kara opened the door for her CO. Guru entered, followed by Kara, and found everyone there. His people were causal, but the four RAF crewers came to attention. “As you were, people. For the benefit of our British friends, this is a base at war. We're in a active war zone, and there's a time and place for the jumping up and down foolishness. This ain't it.”

Flight Lt. Karen McKay nodded. “Sorry, sir. I know you told us yesterday, but...”

“Habits die hard. Good one to have in the rear area, but not here. So gather 'round, people.”

“Where we headed this time?” Sweaty Blanchard asked.

“Coleman,” Guru replied. “I know, we flew past it this morning on the way to Brownwood, but this time, we're paying them a visit. The town isn't the target-but the municipal airport is.” He passed around copies of the FAA field diagram, and the RF-4C imagery. “We get to put that place out of action for a while.”

“Who's there?” Kara asked. Though she had a good idea already-she had helped put the packet together in her job as Assistant Ops Officer.

“Suspected HQ for an as-yet unidentified Army-level formation,” Guru replied. “Which means Army-level helo regiments, short-haul transports like An-24s or L-410s, and a possible Su-25 FOL.”

“Frogfoots?” Asked Hoser. “Haven't run into those in a while.”

“Then we can renew our acquaintance,” said Guru. “Okay, ingress. Tanker Track CHEVRON is west of Mineral Wells. We top up, then get down low. Lake Comfort south of the I-20 is our first visual checkpoint, then we go due south to Proctor Lake, which is our second. Cross U.S. 67-377, then State Route 36. Once we hit that road, turn right to a heading of two-four-zero. Next checkpoint is a town called Zephyr, on U.S. 84/183. We keep going until we hit the town of Winchell, on U.S. 377. Then we turn right on a two-zeven-zero heading until the town of Rockwood, on U.S. 283. Then we go north, parallel to the road to the town of Santa Anna. Not the Santa Ana who ordered no prisoners taken at the Alamo and ordered the Goliad Massacre back in 1836, mind.”

“You'd have to be crazy in Texas to name a town after him,” Goalie chuckled.

“Or have a death wish,” said Guru. “Five miles north of the town, at the F.M. 568/F.M. 126 intersection, there's a good-sized ranch pond. That's our pop-up point. The target will be to the northwest. Make your run, then get your asses north. And stay away from Abilene if you can help it. The Army's got Patriot and I-HAWK there for Dyess and Abilene Municipal Airport, and we'd be coming in out of the safe-transit lane.”

Karen McKay and her people looked at each other. Bermuda had no SAMs, so....”And what do these people operate under?” She asked.

“Simple,” Kara replied. “'Shoot them down and sort the wrecks out later.'”

“Ouch!” Flight Lt. Ian Black said. “Ever lose anyone to those clods?”

“Not yet,” said Guru. “But I'm dreading it.” He went on. “So, make your runs, do the usual post-strike jinking, and make sure your last jink takes you in a northeasterly direction.”

Heads nodded at that. “So, Boss, who gets what?” Sweaty asked.

Guru pulled out a photo from an SR-71 along with a prewar photo of the field. “Kara? You and I are on the same target area, pretty much. I'm taking the prewar ramp area and hangars to the north. You get the southern area Ivan's built.”

“I'll take 'em out,” Kara replied. “What's the ordnance load?”

“The same for everyone,” said the CO. “That's six Mark-82 Snakeyes on the inboard wing stations, and six M-117Rs on centerline. With the usual air-to-air load of four AIM-9Ps, two AIM-7Fs, full gun, two wing tanks, and ALQ-119s for leads, and ALQ-101s for the wingmen.”

“Sounds good,” Sweaty said. “What about us?” She meant her element.

“You get the runway,” Guru told her. “Put it out of action for a few hours, at least.”

Sweaty and Preacher nodded. “Done,” she said.

“Hoser?” Guru turned to Sweaty's wingman. He tapped the photos again. “There's a small pond east of the runway. South of the pond is the fuel dump. You and KT make it go away.”

“It will,” Hoser replied. “Only it'll go up.”

“Do it,” said Guru. “Karen? How are you guys fixed?”

Karen McKay nodded. “Four L-model Sidewinders, four Sky Flash, both wing tanks, and a SUU-23 gun pod.”

“Good,” Guru replied. “Because I want you on a TARCAP. Orbit just south of the target area, kill anyone airborne, and do nasty things to any party-crashers. The MiG threat is unchanged from this morning, by the way. So pay attention to the southwest. That's Goodfellow AFB near San Angelo, and the MiG-29s your boss tangled with this morning likely came from there.”

“Will do,” McKay replied.

“Defenses, Boss?” Brainiac asked.

“Coming to that,” the CO said. “This is a suspected Army-level formation, so expect SA-4s in and around the area, along with the usual guns and MANPADS. No 57-mm in the area, but the airport proper has 37-mm and ZU-23s, along with MANPADS. One the way out is a divison-sized unit, also unidentified, but they do have SA-8. Make a few 'Magnum' calls if you can, and that will frighten the SAMs off the air.”

McKay's GIB, Flight Lt. Chris Fryer, asked, “What's that call?”

Guru had a grin on his face. “It means someone just shot an antiradar missile,” he said. “The Weasels or Navy IRON HAND guys call that out when a HARM or Shrike's in the air. The SAM guys have to shut down their radars or eat Mr. HARM.”

“A little deception, then?”

“Something like that,” Goalie said.

“There is one radar nobody's been able to take care of yet,” Guru reminded them. “The Mainstays are active, and one of them had us this morning,” he told the RAF people. “If you pick up a SEARCH radar to the south, and it doesn't go away no matter what? It's one of those.”

McKay and her people looked at each other. “Anyone doing something about those?” She asked.

“Somebody better,” KT spat. She had been shot down once herself, and had no desire to repeat the experience.

“You're not the only one wanting that,” Guru said. “Okay, weather's unchanged, and so are bailout areas.” He looked at the RAF people. “You guys were told about those this morning?”

“We were, Guru,” McKay said.

“Good. Anything else?”

Flight Lt. Michael Barker, Black's GIB, asked, “How many more, Major?”

“After this one?” Guru said, and he saw not just Barker, but all the RAF crewers, nod. “We rest, get something to eat, then two more in the afternoon. Unless someone starts screaming for CAS, then we're at it until sunset.”

“Be glad you weren't here in the summer,” Kara added. “PRAIRIE FIRE in May, we had three straight days of seven missions those first three days,” she said. “And that was the start.”

“That it was,” Goalie said. “We had several times like that.”

“That we had,” said Guru. “Okay, that it?” Heads shook no. “All right: gear up and meet at 512's revetment.”

Guru gathered up his briefing materials and as he left the briefing room, handed them to an Ops NCO who was waiting outside. Then he went to the Men's Locker Room to gear up. When he came out, with his G-Suit and survival vest, and with his flight helmet and oxygen mask, he found Goalie waiting, as usual. “You ready?”

“If we get more MiGs?” She asked. “I'm more than ready.”

“So am I,” Guru replied. He had eight kills, and Goalie had five of those with him. But Kara had nine at the moment, and he wanted to even things up with his wingmate. They went outside, and found Dave Golen and Flossy, with their respective GIBs, Terry McAuliffe and Jang, talking things over. And Golen came over. “Dave.”

“Guru,” Golen said. “Too bad we're not coming with you.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Some town called Sidney, northwest of Comanche. Divisional fuel dump.”

“Which explains the two-ship,” Guru nodded. “Okay, you hit MiG trouble, holler. I'm still Rambler.”

“Cobra for us. You have more MiGs than you can handle?” Golen said. “Call us and we'll be there.”

Guru put out his hand, and Golen shook it. “Done,” the CO said. “Flossy? You take care of him, and remember: he's your older brother from another mother.”

Flossy nodded. “Will do, Boss,” she said.

“Those MiGs were frisky on that first one,” Guru reminded them. “Not likely to change.”

“No,” Golen said.

“Just remember that, all of you,” said the CO. “Terry, Jang?” He said to the GIBs. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Jang said. “First real fight for me today.”

“Won't be the last,” Goalie said.

“No,” Guru said firmly. “You all be careful, and have a good one.”

Golen nodded. “You too,”


Guru and Goalie then walked down the dispersal to 512's revetment, where they found the rest of the flight waiting. “All right, gather 'round.” It was time for his final instructions.

“Usual on the radio?” Hoser asked.

“It is,” Guru said. “And for our RAF friends?” He nodded at Karen McKay and her people. “Mission code to AWACS and other parties. Call signs between us.”

“Got you,” McKay replied.

“One last thing: if you see basketball-sized tracers? That's ZSU-30 and those are bad news all around. Two 30-mm guns and eight SA-19 SAMs. None of our EW gear has been tweaked yet to pick up their radars, so if you see those tracers? Abort.”

“Got you,” McKay said, and heads nodded all around. Those things were really bad news.

“Anything else?” The CO asked. Heads shook no. “All right. Get this one done, then we can get some chow, they turn the birds around, and we get ready for another one.”

Kara nodded. “As usual.”

“Unless someone hollers for CAS,” Hoser spat. He and KT had been shot down doing a CAS, and he, like the others, preferred to leave that to the A-10s and A-7s.

“There is that,” Guru said. “All right, if that's it, let's go.” He clapped his hands. “Meet up at ten grand overhead. Time to hit it.”

The crews headed for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and 512. Sergeant Crowley was waiting, as usual, with the ground crew. “Major, Lieutenant,” he said, snapping a salute. “Five-twelve's ready to rock.”

Pilot and GIB returned it, and Guru said, “Thanks, Sarge.” He and Goalie did their walk-around, and finding nothing wrong, he signed for the aircraft. Then they mounted 512 and got strapped in, followed by the preflight cockpit check.

As they went through the checklist, Goalie asked. “You going to ask Black about killing a Fulcrum with a Lightning?”

“When we get back,” Guru said. “And FYI, Kara wants to know as well. He should be dead, because that's like going up against Fulcrums in an F-106. Arnie?” He meant the ARN-101 DMAS system.

Goalie shuddered when she heard that. “Not sure I want to know. Arnie's all set, and so is the INS. Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom. Check yours.”

“Armed as well. Preflight check complete and ready for engine start.”

Guru then gave a thumbs-up to his Crew Chief, who gave him the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then both, J-79 engines were running and warming up. Then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Rambler Flight with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower,” the tower controller replied at once. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-three-Charlie. Hold prior to the Active, and you are number three in line.”

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

Guru taxied 512 out of the revetment, and after clearing it, Crowley snapped the CO's bird a perfect salute. Pilot and GIB returned it, then taxied towards the runway in question, as the other aircraft in the flight followed. When they got to the holding area, there was another 335th flight-and Guru recognized the XO's tail number ahead of them, and number one was a four-ship of Marine F/A-18s.

The Marines went, then Mark Ellis' flight taxied onto the runway. Rambler Flight taxied into the holding area, and the armorers removed the weapon safeties. After the XO's flight took off, it was Rambler's turn. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Rambler Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are calm,” the controller called back.

Guru taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520. A final cockpit check found everything ready, and both Guru and Goalie took a look at 520 in their Five O'clock. Kara and Brainiac gave them a thumbs-up, and they returned it. Then it was time.

“Ready?” Guru asked his GIB.

“All squared away back here,” Goalie replied. “Time to go make some Russians burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“It is that,” Guru agreed. “Tower, Rambler Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

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

“Canopy coming down,” said Guru. He pulled his canopy down and locked it, and Goalie did the same. A quick glance at 520 showed Kara and Brainiac had done the same. “And time to go.” He firewalled the throttles, released the brakes, and 512 rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with him. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, followed by the two RAF F-4Js. The flight met up at FL 100, then headed south for their tankers.
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