View Single Post
  #15  
Old 12-18-2014, 06:24 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
Registered User
 
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Auberry, CA
Posts: 1,002
Default

And the next one....the first day of the war, from the 335th's POV:


The First Day


Prologue: Nellis Air Force Base, NV: 30 August, 1985, 1430 Hours Pacific Daylight Time:



First Lieutenant Matt Wiser climbed down from his F-4E Phantom, having arrived at the sprawling Nellis AFB for his first Red Flag exercise. His unit, the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron, had arrived that day from Seymour-Johnson AFB in North Carolina, and this was his first time at Red Flag, or any other major exercise for that matter. He'd been in the squadron all of six months, and was still relatively fresh out of F-4 training. One thing he was glad to have, was that his Squadron CO, Lt. Col. Mark Johnson, had taken him under his wing, and he was the CO's wingman. Colonel Johnson felt that it was his job not just to be CO, but to be a mentor to those just out of the RTU, and having Guru (Wiser's call sign) be his wingmate illustrated that.

Now, after climbing down from his F-4, tail number 515, he shook hands with his WSO, First Lieutenant Tony Carpenter. Tony, though, was an experienced WSO with a year in the cockpit, and as was usual in the AF, had been paired up with a pilot fresh from the RTU. So far, the pilot from California and the WSO from rural Oregon had hit it off, and were planning on enjoying the weekend in Vegas before the Red Flag got going. Then Sergeant Kyle Calhoun, 515's crew chief, came over. “Sir, anything I need to know?”

“She's going good, Sergeant,” Guru said. “515's working like a champ.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Then Colonel Johnson and his WSO, Maj. Bryan Calhoun, came over. “Guru, how do you like Nellis?”

“Hot, sir.” Guru said, and Tony echoed that.

“That it is,” Johnson said. “Come on in, get cooled off, and we'll get the lowdown.”


A few minutes later, the crews from the 335th were in the largest briefing room anyone in the squadron had been in, apart from the Academy grads. “This is kinda familiar,” Tony said to his pilot.

“What do you mean by that?” Guru replied.

“The Academy. A couple of the lecture halls are this big.”

Guru nodded as a one-star general came into the room. “TEN-HUT!”

Everyone snapped to attention as the general came into the room. Brig. Gen. Ken Shoemaker commanded the Fighter Weapons School, and supervised the Red Flag program. “Take your seats, gentlemen.”

Everyone found a place to sit as Shoemaker started to talk.

“Okay, first of all, welcome to Red Flag 9-85. For the next two weeks, beginning on Tuesday, you all will be put through the wringer when it comes to air combat. Air-to-air or air-to-ground, it doesn't matter. By the time your units are all through, you will have gained the experience needed to fly, fight, and survive if and when the balloon goes up.

“Statistically, most combat losses occur prior to the tenth combat mission. This exercise will give you the experience, without live ordnance, of those first ten missions. Keep in mind, that you will be flying against the best pilots in the Air Force, who are the Aggressors. They fly according to Soviet doctrine, and don't be surprised if they see you before you see them.

“Now, you'll have a flying day tomorrow, for orientation. Normally, in a combat zone, you wouldn't get that chance, but this is an exercise, and those rules apply. Before you all get billeted, one other thing: if you go off base, and chances are, all of you will, base security has been ramped up a notch. We're at Threatcon BRAVO for the time being. So expect some delays as you come and go from the base. Questions?”

'Sir,” Colonel Johnson raised his hand. “This have anything to do with China and the Far East?”

“Good question. This is just for this base only. Something's going on, and it's an ongoing investigation. It might be China, but then again, with everything that's going on south of the border....just keep in mind that this will likely blow over. That's what I've been told, anyway,” General Shoemaker said. “Anything else?” There were the usual questions about billeting, and the other usual things that went on with an exercise, then Shoemaker said, “All right, that's it. Good luck, and play safe.”


After going to the Las Vegas Hilton, where the squadron had been billeted, along with the 58th TFS from Eglin AFB, Guru and Tony went down to one of the hotel's restaurants for dinner. Most were out of the price range of a couple of Air Force First Lieutenants, but they a causal cafe to sit down and eat. After ordering their meals, Guru took out a copy of a Vegas newspaper he'd picked up in the hotel lobby, The Las Vegas Journal, and as he started to read, he whistled.

“What?” Tony asked.

“Chinese call for UN to discuss Soviet troop buildup in Far East.” Guru said, reading from the headline.

“Let me see...” Tony asked, and Guru handed him the front page. “Whoa...this looks serious. 'Chinese sources claim there are now eighty Soviet divisions in the Soviet Far East, and the Chinese Government has demanded an explanation from the Soviet Union. All requests have been denied.' Wouldn't surprise me, the two Communist giants going at each other.”

“Yeah, and North Korea is a friend of Ivan,” Guru pointed out. “If they go south when the Russians move....”

“We're at war,” Tony finished. “You up for a TransPac?”

“If you drive F-4s, it has to happen sometime,” Guru said, remembering one of his RTU instructors.

Then Colonel Johnson came in, and he was looking tired. “Wondered if I'd find some guys from the squadron here.”

“Well, Boss,” Guru said. “Most of the other eateries here are a bit above our pay grade.”

“Or dress code,” Tony added.

“There is that,” the CO said. “I'm waiting for the XO, we've got some things to talk about, and you guys will find out tomorrow, with everyone else.”

“As usual,” Guru deadpanned. “Big fish talk, little fish circle around and wait.”

Johnson smiled. “You're catching on fast, Lieutenant. Anyway, they had a briefing for all squadron commanders. Not just those here for the Flag, but the tenant units as well. Want to know why the base security got stepped up?”

“The thought had occurred to us,” Carpenter said, just as the waitress brought their dinner salads.

“Well, the story is that some guy whose parents were Russian emigres either tried to get into the Air Force and got turned down, or got kicked out of the Air Force, flipped out, made threats against the base, and well...nobody's taking any chances.”

“Great, some wacko with a grudge against the Air Force,” Guru said as he attacked his salad. “FBI out looking for this nut?”

“LVPD and FBI,” Johnson said. “So....now you know what's up. Just smile, grin and bear it, and hopefully soon, they'll catch this nut and they can stand down.”

“Everyone on base will be glad to hear that, Boss,” Tony said.

Guru nodded. “Even better still: they caught this bastard.”

Colonel Johnson nodded back. “That's the best of all.” Then he saw the XO appear at the entrance to the restaurant. “Looks like the XO's here. See you two tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, 0800.”

“We'll be there,” Guru said.


Nellis AFB, NV, 0630 Hours Pacific Daylight Time, 4 September, 1985:


Lieutenants Matt Wiser and Tony Carpenter were in their rented Camaro, in a line of cars waiting to enter Nellis Air Force Base. They had risen early, eaten at the hotel, and knowing that there was a good chance security was still on alert, the both of them decided to go ahead and head to the base. Now, looking out the left window, Wiser saw a long line of cars on Craig Road waiting to enter the base. He and Tony had driven up Las Vegas Boulevard, avoiding I-15, and were in a long line as well. And both of them noticed Clark County Sheriff's Deputies and Nevada Highway Patrol officers assisting with traffic, since they were outside the city limits of Las Vegas. “How long have we been here?” Guru asked.

Tony looked at his watch. “Since 5:50.”

“God, with this much security, you'd think the President was coming.”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. He went back to the morning's Las Vegas Review, which they'd picked up at the hotel along with the Los Angeles Times. “Says here they did find that wacko.”

“Oh?” Guru asked.

“Yeah. He crashed off of U.S. 93 near Henderson. They found him, dead, along with an AK-47 and 5,000 rounds of ammo.”

“Anything else, like, say, a note?” Guru asked. “Nuts like that always leave something to say 'The world sucks, It sucks to be me, so I'm lashing out.' Or something like that.”

Tony scanned the story. “Nope.”

“Great,” Guru cursed. “If this guy's dead, why all the security?”

“Maybe he's got friends?” Tony asked.

The line moved and as the Camaro got to the main gate, Guru and Tony noticed the AF Security Police waiting. They rolled down the windows and got ready to show their ID cards.

“Sirs, could you step out of the vehicle, please?” One of the airmen asked. Instead of the spit-and-polish of dress uniforms, they were in fatigues, and had M-16s slung over their shoulders.

Guru and Tony got out of the car and both were quickly padded down by SP s. After that, they were allowed to show their ID, and the car was given the mirror treatment, and a military working dog sniffed the vehicle. Everything was checked, and only after the dog was through did the SP airman hand the ID cards back to the two officers. “Here you go, sirs,”

“What's this about? Didn't they catch that loony last night?” Tony asked.

'Sir, all I know is what they told us: keep this up for another day or so. Not until the FBI and OSI give the all-clear.” OSI meant the Office of Special Investigations, the Air Force's criminal-investigation and counterintelligence arm.

The two F-4 crewers shrugged, got into their car, and headed into the base. After a few minutes, they found the building where their squadron was being housed for the duration of the exercise. After they parked, they found several of their squadron mates sitting around, waiting. “Look who the cat dragged in,” Capt. Morgan Donahue, who was one of the squadron's ordnance officers (every pilot and WSO had a secondary ground job besides flying) quipped.

'And good morning to you too,” Tony said. “Sir.”

“Let me guess? You guys still grumpy about being in that traffic jam?”

“You could say that,” Guru said as he got his bag out of the car. They then went inside and found the ops office. Both of them worked for Major Keith Pollard, the Operations Officer. He wasn't there, so they left their bags on their desks. As they got ready to go back outside, Colonel Johnson came in.

“Nice to see my wing crew in early,” Johnson said.

“Yes, sir,” Guru and Tony nodded.

“Major Pollard in?”

“No sir,” Guru replied. “Chances are, he's stuck in traffic.”

“Like almost everybody,” Colonel Johnson said. “You guys eat yet?”

“Yes, sir. We ate before coming here,” Tony said.

“Come on. It's going to be a busy day, and you'll be glad you had the extra food.”



Officer's Open Mess, Nellis AFB, NV: 0710 Hours Pacific Daylight Time:


“So, how was your weekend?” Colonel Johnson asked Guru and Tony.

“Celebrated my birthday Friday,” Lieutenant Wiser said. “One of the restaurants in the hotel is a steakhouse, and they had a steak and lobster tail dinner.”

“Steak and shrimp for me,” Tony said. “It was a little expensive, but since he paid, it was worth it.”

“Always good to have someone else pay for a dinner like that,” Maj. Brian Calhoun, Johnson's WSO, said.

“It is that,” Tony grinned. “Other than that, we wasted a little money in the slot machines.”

“Only a little, Boss,” Guru added.

Colonel Johnson nodded as he skimmed the Las Vegas Journal. This was a later edition than the one that had come out earlier in the morning. “See this? 'China Claims Soviets Plan Attack?'”

“We saw it, Colonel,” Guru said. “One thing I learned as a History Major....”

“And that is,” Johnson asked in between bites of his omelet.

“One of Eisenhower's prima donnas said this: 'There are only two rules of war, One, Never invade Russia. Two: Never invade China.'”

“Who said that?” Tony asked.

“Montgomery,” Guru said, then he took a swig of coffee.

Capt. Donahue spoke up. “Well, Colonel, if the two Communist giants go after each other, what do we do?”

“Sit back and watch, Captain,” Johnson nodded.

“That'd be great...” Guru nodded. Just after he said that, there was a large BOOM.

“What the hell was that?” Several people asked all at once.

“Construction blasting?” Colonel Johnson asked. “At this time of morning?”

Then there was another explosion, and what sounded like firecrackers off in the distance.

“Maybe that nut had friends,” someone said.

Then another Colonel, who'd been in Southeast Asia, yelled, “That's small arms fire! And this base is under attack!”

General Shoemaker came running in, half out of breath. “People, I'm only going to say this once: we are at war. The Soviets have attacked Alaska, there's Soviet and Cuban armor crossing the border from Tijuana all the way to the Gulf, and there's Soviet airborne in Colorado and New Mexico. Right now, your planes are being armed with what's available. Get to the border, and any armor headed north? Kill it. Man your aircraft!”

The mess emptied as aircrews and other officers headed to their posts or to get suited up. Colonel Johnson, Guru, and the others from the 335th ran like hell to their spaces, and frantically got suited up. “Ever think you'd go to war?” Tony asked.

“In Korea, or maybe Europe,” Guru said as he put on his G-suit and grabbed his helmet and oxygen mask.

On the way out, they literally ran into their squadron's supply officer, Maj. Paul Whitaker. He was a former WSO who'd been grounded due to a heart murmur, and he was wondering what was going on.
“What's going on?”

“Paul,” Colonel Johnson said as he went out the door. “Triple-order everything you can think of.”

“What the hell's happened?”

“Ivan and Fidel just crossed the border. So we're at war. Tell the supply sergeants to, uh, get whatever we need, by hook or crook.”

Whitaker understood; he'd been a F-4 WSO in 1972 during LINEBACKER I and II. “Gotcha, Colonel. Go get some.”

“Let's go, people!” Johnson yelled as the crews ran for their aircraft.

Guru and Tony ran for 515, “their” aircraft, while others intended to take the first armed and fueled aircraft they came to. As they ran, they saw two F-16s from the 474th TFW, the combat unit stationed at Nellis, take to the air. As they got to 515, they found their crew chief staring dumbfounded as ordnance people loaded a full drum of 20-mm ammunition for the F-4's Vulcan cannon, and loaded a pair of TER racks with three Mark-82 500-pound bombs apiece on the inner wing stations. “Sergeant,” Guru said as they reached the plane.

“Sir, what's going on?” Sergeant Calhoun asked in his Georgia drawl.

“Remember all those folks who said the Russians might come across the Rio Grande?” Tony said.

Calhoun nodded. “Yes, sir....”

“They were right,” Guru said. “Got the starter cart?”

“All set, sir. But.. what, we're at war?”

“We are. Get ready for engine start,” Guru said as he climbed the crew ladder and got into the pilot's seat.

Then Calhoun's training kicked in, and he helped both Guru and Tony get strapped into their seats. The two crewers ran through what both thought was their fastest preflight ever, then they got the “start engines” hand signal from their crew chief. Both J-79 engines came to life, one after the other. As the engines warmed up, Colonel Johnson's voice came over the radio. “Okay, people, go in flights of four. Get to the border, find armor headed north, and kill it. Watch for MiGs, watch for SAMs, and watch for power lines if you get down low. Remember your training, stick to your wingmen, and we'll get through this. Go by call signs on the radio. Let's go.”

With that, Johnson's plane began to taxi, and Guru was right behind him. As they taxied, the crews noticed several more F-16 two-ships, and a couple of F-15s-presumably from the visiting 58th TFS, take to the air. They held short of the runway so that the armorers could pull of the weapon safety pins, and as they waited, the crews saw a strange sight: the Catholic Chaplain, standing next to the armorers, and he was giving the departing crews the sign of the Cross, and a absolution as they taxied onto the runway. “You Catholic?” Tony asked as he saw Guru snap a salute to the Chaplain.

“No, technically Episcopalian, but devout Agnostic. But today? We may need all the help we can get,” Guru observed as he taxied onto the runway, in the wing position to Colonel Johnson.

As they taxied, they saw a couple of helicopters orbiting. One was a UH-1N from the base, and another looked to be a civilian news chopper. Then, all of a sudden, a white smoke trail came from just north of the base, and the news chopper's tail came off as it was struck.

It tumbled to the ground in flames and exploded on impact “Oh, God...” Guru said. “Boss-”

“I saw it,” the CO responded. “All Chiefs, this is Lead. Grail, Grail, Grail. Combat takeoffs, no matter what.”

Before anyone could respond, the tower flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Let's go!” Johnson shouted, and he released his brakes and rolled down the runway. Guru followed, and both Phantoms rumbled into the air. And as they pulled up and away, toward Lake Mead, they saw another missile trail reach out towards them, but it missed. Then the UH-1 hovered over the launch area, and sprayed it with machine-gun fire.

After takeoff, the two Phantoms were joined by another pair, plus two F-16s and two F-15s. Colonel Johnson called the element leaders, and found out he was senior. “All right, follow us to the border. Kill any MiGs that get too close to us.”

“Copy that,” the F-15 leader, a brand-new Captain who had just graduated to element lead, said.” Let's go.”

“What are we waiting for?” the F-16 lead called.

The eight-ship then turned and headed into Arizona.


Over Arizona, 0810 Hours:



As the eight-ship headed south, towards the Phoenix area, everyone was either scanning the sky, or in the WSOs' case, watching their radar scopes. So far, everything they had picked up was civilian, but no one was taking any chances, because either the F-15s or F-16s went to ID the contacts.


A few minutes later, they approached the Phoenix area, and gave the airspace around Luke AFB a wide berth. The crews could see F-15s taking off, and several civilian airliners coming in to the traffic pattern for Sky Harbor IAP. So far, there were no signs of any enemy aircraft, but that could easily change. “Tony, try using that AM receiver on your radio. See if you can pick up anything,” Guru said.

“Gotcha,” Tony replied. He fiddled with the tuner, while Guru stayed on the squadron's own channel.

As they skirted Phoenix, the crews saw several civilian airliners landing. Evidently the FAA had ordered all civilian aircraft to land at the nearest airport, and a nationwide ground stop. That had only happened twice, during exercises in the 1960s. Now, the fighter crews saw a number of airliners, from commuter types to a 747, orbiting and waiting to land. And there were some F-15s circling above them. They also noticed a departure: a Arizona ANG KC-135 was getting airborne.

“Either SAC scrambled them or those guys took off on their own,” Tony called on the intercom.

“Yeah,” Guru said. “Anything on the radio?”

“Uh, got a station from Phoenix. They're telling people to stay off the streets, leave them clear for police, emergency vehicles, and the National Guard.”

“What you'd expect,' Guru said as they headed past Sky Harbor Airport. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, nobody can get in touch with either New York or D.C.,”

“What?”

“That's what the man said. And he was talking to a guy from their sister station in El Paso. That guy said there were Cuban tanks and troops in Downtown El Paso.”

Guru shook his head at the thought. “Lead, Guru.”

“Lead here, Go,” the CO replied.

“Boss, anything about that tanker?”

“Roger that. He came up on GUARD and offered to pass fuel to anybody who needed it.” Johnson said. “He also asked if we'd heard about Omaha.”

“What about it?”

“Flight, Lead. Omaha's gone. They took a nuke, a big one. Same thing for Kansas City.”

Mother of God....Tony thought. His old Academy roommate was from K.C., though the guy was now stationed in Hawaii, he did have family still there. “Boss, anything about D.C.? Or New York?”

“He didn't say,” the CO said. “Tuscon dead ahead. Watch for Hogs and SLUFs.” SLUFs meant A-7 Corsairs, and the Arizona ANG at Tuscon flew two squadrons. One a deployable squadron, the other handed RTU duty for the A-7 force, which was all ANG. The Hogs were the A-10s, and chances were, they'd be headed to wherever the armor threat was showing itself. And several A-10s were seen headed south, as well as a number of A-7s. “Follow I-19, people. That's where they're coming up. I'd bet money on it.”

The eight-ship headed south, and as they did so, activity began to pick up on their EW systems. “Lead, Surfer.” That was Capt. Sean “Surfer” Boyer, flying as Three. “Got a six coming up.” Surfer's call meant an SA-6 missile radar was up.

“Got it, Surfer,” the CO replied.

A call came in on GUARD: armor at Rio Rico, north of Nogales on I-19. “Boss, Guru. Looks like we've got a target.”

“Copy that. Eagles and Vipers, any MiGs come to the party, break 'em up. Rhinos, we got work to do.”

Both F-15 and F-16 leaders acknowledged, and the F-4s, who were called Rhinos on the radio, dropped down low. As they did, more SAM radars came up. “Got another six, and an eight,” Surfer called. Another SA-6 was up, and an SA-8 was there as well.

“And no Weasels,” Tony said to Guru. “Remember what they told you about the Israelis in '73?”

“Yeah. Same drill,” Guru said. That meant a low-altitude ingress, a quick pop-up to release the bombs, and get out low again. He looked ahead and saw A-7s and A-10s working Interstate 19, and Colonel Johnson led them past that strike area, and spotted some vehicles backed up on the freeway. Tanks and APCs by the look of them.

“Flight, Lead. One pass, south to north. Go in low, pop up, make your run, and get out. If you're hit, try Davis-Monthan or Tuscon International. Time to do what they pay us for.”

“Two copies,” Guru

“Three,” Surfer.

“Four, roger,” Capt. Keith “Yogi” Santelli.

“All right, let's go. Lead's in hot!” And Colonel Johnson led the 335th on its first attack mission of the war.


Down below, a Cuban motor-rifle battalion commander was having a fit. Though the initial push through Nogales had gone according to plan, the Mexicans had taken the lead, as they were exuberant about reclaiming what they felt had been stolen from them in the Mexican War back in 1846-48. But now, they were stopping every so often to loot, and hopes of a swift advance to Tuscon and seizing the Davis-Monthan air base complex were starting to fade, especially with the Americans' having reacted quickly, and the skies were now full of American aircraft. Suddenly, his political officer pointed to the southwest. “AIRCRAFT!”

Colonel Johnson made his pop-up, and rolled in on the target. He dropped his bombs, and got back low, calling, “Lead's off safe.”

Guru went in just as his leader made his pop-up. “Two's in!” He called, “Switches set?” Guru asked his backseater.

“All set,” Tony replied.

Guru grinned beneath his oxygen mask. He lined up several APCs in his pipper, then released his bombs. ”Two off target.” He pulled up after the bomb run, and headed north.

Unknown to him, the Cuban battalion commander was picking himself up after Colonel Johnson's run. A couple of BTR-70s had been ripped apart by bomb hits, and a few others had been flipped on their sides by near-misses. The Cuban Major was shouting orders to get trapped men out of their vehicles when Guru's plane flashed over. He never saw the Mark-82 that exploded near him......

Guru banked his F-4 around, trying to stay below 300 feet. “Well?”

“SHACK!” Tony called. “There's a few fireballs.”

“Three's in!” Surfer called. His F-4 was the first to draw fire, but he manged to drop his bombs into several T-55 tanks in the southbound lane, exploding a couple, and flipping another. “Three's off.”

“Four's in,” Yogi called. He put his bombs onto some more APCs, and he pulled away.

Guru was watching, as he turned his F-4 to the west to break an SA-6 trying to lock him up. Then he saw the missile track Yogi's F-4. The SA-6 blended with the Phantom and the plane fireballed. As it tumbled out of the sky, end over end and trailing fire, Guru and Tony saw the cockpit area had been blown off. “Oh, my God...” Guru said.

“Lead, Three,” Surfer called. “Yogi's down. No chutes.”

“I saw it, Three. Nothing we can do for them. Let's get the hell out of here,” Colonel Johnson called.

Oh, man, Guru thought. He'd had a RTU classmate die in a crash, but that was an accident in peacetime. Now, two friends, Yogi and Burner, his WSO, were gone. Just like that. Suck it up, Guru, he thought to himself. Won't be the last, he knew. “Right with you, Lead.”

“Copy, “ the CO replied. “Vipers, Eagles, on me. RTB, now.”

“Roger that,” the F-15 leader called. “We're all Winchester. Got several MiGs.”

“Sort it out later,” Johnson said as another F-4 flight came in. It was the Exec's. “Glad you guys could make the party. Free strike. Anything moving north that's painted green is a target.”

“Gotcha, Boss.”

“Watch for SAMs. We lost Yogi.”

“Will do.”

The lead flight formed up and headed north. The F-15s and F-16s joined on them, though when they got to where the KC-135 was, they found three tankers. And one was filling up an F-15, with his wingie waiting his turn. The two Vipers from Nellis broke off to get a drink for themselves, while the F-4s and F-15s headed back towards Nellis.

As they headed north, Tony kept fiddling with the radio. “Guru...radio says D.C.'s gone.”

“What?” Guru was incredulous when he heard that. “You sure?”

“Yeah. They're on the line with a station in Richmond, Virginia. They can see the mushroom cloud.”

“God almighty...”

“And New York....there's another fireball and cloud there.”

“Lead, Two...” Guru called.

“I heard, Two. Fight now, mourn later,” Colonel Johnson replied. “Everybody got that?”

“Two copies,” Guru replied.

“Roger, Lead,” Surfer said.

The crews were subdued as they headed back to Nellis. Losing Yogi was bad enough, but hearing that four of America's cities had been nuked? It was almost too much. But they had a job to do, and like the CO said. Fight now. Mourn the dead later.

When they got back to Nellis, they found that instead of chaos, there was organized chaos. They had to wait in the pattern while the runway was cleared; a FedEx DC-8 had put down there instead of McCarran International due to McCarran's pattern being full of aircraft trying to land, and the DC-8 was out of fuel. Then they were able to come in and land. As the F-4s taxied in, they noticed aircraft being loaded with weapons. And this time, they were going out fully loaded. F-4s, F-15s, F-16s, and F-111s from the 525th TFS from Cannon-they had come for the Flag, only now, they were going out to try and save their home base, as there was a tide of armor headed into New Mexico and West Texas, and all of it headed north. There were also some RF-4s there, from the Nebraska Guard at Lincoln, and they were no doubt in a foul mood. For once, Guru bet, they wished they had fighters instead of recon birds.

After they taxied to their area on the ramp, and shut down, the crews got ready to get out of their aircraft, but the crew chiefs told them no. “Hot refuel and rearm, sir,” Guru's crew chief told him. A fueling crew went right to work, and topped up the internal tanks and the two wing tanks. Then the ordnance crews came, with a dozen Mark-82s: six on a MER rack, and six on two TER racks. Plus two AIM-9s and two AIM-7s.

There was some more good news: this time they would have F-4Gs. Two Weasel Phantoms would meet them northwest of Phoenix, and give them the SAM-suppression stuff they needed. The same two F-15s would come with the Rhinos, and two more that had just landed would join them. Fully armed this time.

When the hot refuel and rearm was finished, Colonel Johnson came back up. “People, we've got mission codes. We're now Chevy flight. And we're going back to the border.”

“When?” Surfer called back.

“When they release us,” the CO replied.

They had been on the ground a half-hour when they got the call to start engines. The aircraft taxied to the end of the runway, and again, they saw the Chaplain giving departing aircraft the sign of the cross. “He's busy,” Guru observed.

“His job,” Tony noted. “Ready?”

“No, but let's get it over with,” Guru replied.

Then the tower gave them the green light, and the flight rumbled down the runway on their second mission, and it was only midmorning.
__________________
Treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect, but always have a plan to kill them.

Old USMC Adage
Reply With Quote