Semi-OT: Red Dawn fan fic

[Matt Wiser]

And the day keeps on going, and some collaborationists get what they deserve....



Over Central New Mexico, 1340 Hours:


Corvette Flight was orbiting just west of the Rio Grande, southwest of Alberquerque. With nervous Army air-defense units down below with HAWK and Patriot SAM batteries, everyone made sure their IFF was on, and that when they entered or left enemy territory, the safe-passage lanes were being used.
Then there was the sight down below, as the Army's 11th Airborne Division kept up the effort by helicopter, grounding down the defenders, who were half Soviet and half Nicaraguan. The latter had folded up pretty quick, but the Soviets had dug themselves into the northeastern part of the city, and had to be blasted out. It also meant that both Kirtland AFB and Alberquerque IAP were still not open for fixed-wing operations, let alone helicopters, because there were still shells landing near the runways, and the AF needed the RED HORSE teams to get in, assess the condition of the runways and ramp, before it could be opened, and the Army had to drive the Russians out of artillery range at least before that could happen.

Guru was looking down from 17,000 feet. “Man, that part of town's getting torn up.”

“Seen worse,” Goalie reminded her pilot. “Denver.”

“Yeah,” Guru said. “But a siege is different. Nobody going forward on either side. Today...”

Goalie smiled under her oxygen mask. “Lot different. Those guys down there don't want to give up.”

“Nowhere to go, and penned up against the Mountains,” Guru noted.

“Corvette Two-One, Aladdin,” the voice over the radio said. Aladdin was the call sign for an EC-130E Airborne Command Post (ABCCC). “We have tasking for you.”

“Aladdin, Corvette, “ Guru replied. “Go.”

“Corvette, we have a ground FAC along Highway 41, requesting CAS. Contact Covey Two-Six.”

“Copy, Aladdin. Covey Two-Six,” Guru replied. “Covey Two-Six, Corvette Two-One.”

“Corvette, Covey Two-Six.” Replied the FAC. “Say aircraft and type of ordnance?”

“Covey, we have four Foxtrot-Fours with a shake'n bake load.” Guru told the FAC.

“Roger, Corvette. Hostiles along the highway. Infantry and APCs. We are taking mortar fire.” The sound of an explosion came over the radio, clearly describing the FAC's situation.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Say surface-to-air threat.”

“Corvette, unknown Sierra Alpha threat,” the FAC responded.

“Roger that, Covey. Corvette Flight inbound.” Guru said. “Flight, lead. Follow me and let's go. Folks on the ground need some help.”

“Roger, Lead,” Sweaty called. And the flight of four Phantoms went in again into enemy territory. Though if things kept going the way they were, it wouldn't for long.

“Covey Two-Six, Corvette Lead. Say your posit.” Guru called, asking for the FAC's position.

“Corvette,” Covey replied. “Two miles north of Stanley on 41. We are on the east side. Bad guys to the west and along the road.”

“Copy,” Guru said. “Can you mark the target?”

“That's affirm,” Covey replied. “Will mark with Willie Pete.”

Down below, three puffs of White Phosphorous marked the target. And the F-4 crews could see them from their new altitude of 7,000 feet. “Have visual on Willie Pete,” Guru said. “How do you want it?' Shake first, or bake?”

“Corvette, Shake'em up first. Bad guys are Alpha Lima Alpha,” Covey replied. That meant ALA.

“Roger that,” Guru said. He did the switches himself. Centerline first. “Goalie, get set.”

“Ready back here,” Goalie replied. “Let's teach those scumbags a lesson.”

“Let's do it,” Guru agreed. “Flight, Lead. Follow me in. South to North.” Then he rolled in on the bomb run. “Lead in hot!”

“Lead, Two, right behind you,” Kara called.


Guru went down the chute, and lined up on the WP smoke. He pulled level at 700 feet AGL and released as he went over the WP smoke. “Lead's off target.”

Below, the ALA's 122nd Security Battalion was engaging what their commander called “bandits and counterrevolutionaries.” They had a KGB company with them, and not just to offer advice, but to “stiffen” their resolve. They had no air-defense weapons other than machine guns and a few Strela-2 (SA-7) missiles. And Guru's run had taken them by surprise as his F-4 flew over, then five-hundred pound bombs came off the aircraft, and exploded among the ALA troopers.

“Corvette, Covey,” the FAC called. “Good hits!”

“Copy, Covey,” Guru replied.

“Two's in hot!” Kara called, rolling in on her run. She had heard the target description, and these ALA scum fully deserved whatever came to them. Kara lined up on the northern WP smoke, releasing as she passed over. “Two off target.”

The ALA troopers had been caught by surprise, and a few of them saw Kara's F-4 rolling in. They took cover in a roadside ditch, but many of their comrade did not, or would not. The Mark-82s killed or wounded a number of ALA troopers, and flipped an old BTR-40 APC over.

“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She put her bombs to the west of the highway, and unknown to her, her aimpoint was where the mortar positions were. Sweaty saw the trucks as she leveled out, then released her bombs. “Three's off target.”

“Corvette,” Covey called. “Great hits! You got the mortars, fella.”

“You're welcome, buddy,” Sweaty replied.

“Four's in hot!” Hoser said. He came down onto the southern WP smoke, and the FAC-and the SF team he was with- watched as Hoser's bombs ripped into several of the ALA's vehicles, and tossed troopers' bodies like rags. “Four's off target.”

“Covey, Corvette Lead,” Guru called the FAC. “You want some barbeque time?” That meant napalm.

“Roger that,” the FAC replied. “Same target area.”

“Copy,” Guru replied. He came around for his second run. “Flight, Lead. Follow me and drop in trail.” Then he called Goalie. “Set us up.”

“Roger, Lead,” Sweaty replied.

:”You're set,” Goalie told her pilot. “Wing pylons armed.”

“Then let's fry these bastards,” Guru said with deadly seriousness. “Lead's in.”

Corvette Flight then came in trail, with Guru, Kara, Sweaty, and Hoser all in line. Each F-4 came over and released four BLU-27 napalm bombs, and many of the ALA (and some KGB) who had survived the first pass were incinerated by the second. And the strike took the fight out of the survivors, who began trickling away in both directions.

“Corvette, Covey,” the FAC called. “Good hits on target. Thanks, fellas.”

“Glad to be of help,” Guru called. And we gave those scum a taste of hell that's waiting for 'em, he thought. “Flight, form on me, and let's get out of here.”

Corvette Flight reformed and headed west, over the Sandias. They gave Alberquerque a wide berth, because not only were there helicopters in abundance, but also artillery shells, and a 155 shell in flight didn't care whether or not you were a friendly. The flight headed to the tanker track, and as they were waiting to refuel, heard something ominous over the radio. “Dodge Three-Two is down.”

“Oh, shit!' Guru said.

“Cory Hatcher and Bob Hall,” Goalie said. She knew Hall, he'd been in her WSO class at the RTU. Hatcher, though, was a new guy, and per squadron policy, had been teamed up with an experienced WSO.

“Dodge Three-Three, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS called. “Any chutes?”

“Negative,” Three-One replied. “Sierra Alpha one-one.” That meant the SA-11 Gadfly, and was usually bad news.

“Copy,” the AWACS controller said.

The tanker hookup was subdued, and there was hardly any banter as the flight returned to Williams. Two of their friends were gone, but there was nothing they could do about it. Fight now, mourn later, was the mantra, and there would be time later, if not that day, for them to mourn their lost friends.

After landing, their mood went from exuberant to quiet seriousness. Word had spread that a squadron plane was down, and that the crew hadn't gotten out. “Sir,” Sergeant Crowley said. “How'd it go?”

“Gave some ALA a shake'n bake,” Guru said as he got down from his aircraft. “Nothing wrong with the airplane, though.”

“That's good, Sir,” Crowley said. “Colonel's waiting by the Hummer.”

Nodding, Guru led the members of his flight to the Hummer they had been using in between flights as a rest area. “Colonel,” Guru said.

“I heard,” Colonel Rivers said. “Mike Engle and Joe Putnam called it in. They were near Las Vegas on I-25. First Cav found the crash site.”

“Only good thing about it,” Guru said. “They're not MIA.”

“Yeah. Doesn't make the letter-writing any easier, XO,” Rivers reminded him. “It's worse when both crew don't get out.”

“Was it like that for you when Tony Carpenter and I went down?” Guru asked.

“It was.” Rivers said. “Just hope this war gets over and done before you have to write any.”

“To be hoped for,” Guru said. “Anyway, this one went fine. Ground FAC wanted some ALA to go to hell and gone, and we sent them there.”

“Ground FAC?” Rivers asked, getting back into mission mode.

Guru and the other pilots nodded. “That deep, had to be SF,” Kara said.

Sweaty chimed in. “I'll go along with that.”

“Call sign?” Rivers asked. “I'll pass it along to Intel.”

“Covey Two-Six,” Guru said. “Had to be an ETAC.” That meant an Enlisted Tactical Air Controller.

“Don't forget about those STS guys,” Kara said. She was referring to the 24th Special Tactics Squadron, who were highly trained AF personnel who went in with SF teams to act as FACs if the mission called for it.

“Snake-eaters,” Hoser quipped.

“Be careful,” Guru reminded him. “Those 'snake-eaters' have brought quite a few guys out, so keep that in mind.”

“XO's right,” Rivers said. “Okay, ordnance will be here in a half-hour, and you guys go out as soon as they're done.”

“Where to this time?” Guru asked. “Uh...Sir?” Right now, he didn't care if he appeared to be insubordinate, because he was tired.

“Don't blame you at all, XO, if you're getting tired,” Rivers said. “You're headed to Estancia, south of Moriarty. Their Municipal Airport has some Soviet Hinds and Hips, and maybe even Su-25s, and we can't have that. The briefing packet has everything you need,” Rivers handed a packet of material to Guru. “Get something to eat, get some rest, because you're out again in an hour.”

“Got it,” Guru said.

“And good luck,” Rivers said as he went off to get ready for his next mission.

“You heard him,” Guru said.

And with that, the crews helped themselves to sandwiches and cold drinks. There was the usual griping about the “suggestion of meat” in some of them, but everyone had a good laugh about that. “At least it's not like one episode of M*A*S*H,” KT quipped.

“What do you mean?” Kara asked.

“Potter tells a friend, 'I had a hamburger last night that whinnied.', or something like that.”

“Remember the one where Hawkeye ordered ribs from Chicago?” Guru said. “The only thing Colonel Blake was upset with was that Hawk forgot to order the Cole Slaw.”

Goalie nodded. “Yeah, and there was another one where Hawkeye told a nurse how bad the food was: 'I wonder how the cook got off at Nuremberg.' Or the time when the whole camp came down with food poisoning?”

“Yeah, that was a good one, “ Guru said. “Winchester's doing laundry-which he thinks is beneath his stature, Hawkeye and BJ are lost, and a North Korean's trying to surrender to them, and follows them back to camp, and the only other staff members not sick are either Hot Lips or Father Mulchahy.”

Brainac laughed. “One of my favorites? When Frank Burns took a tank for a ride.”

“That's a hoot!” Kara said. “Potter puts his jeep out of its misery after Frank runs over it. He also took out the Swamp and the Nurses' Shower.”

Prewar memories, several of them knew. “Wonder if someone will do a show like that for this war?”
Hoser asked.

“Somebody in Hollyweird's probably got story ideas,” Guru said. “When this is over, it won't take long.”

Goalie nodded, then she pointed. “Speaking of Frank Burns...here comes Carson.”

The despised Major came over, and he didn't like what he was seeing. Ground crew clearly out of uniform, and aircrews going around with their flight suits half off. Some of the male crews had taken off their T-Shirts, while the women had done the same, leaving their sports bras on. “Aren't you going to do anything?” Carson asked Guru.

“About what, Frank?” Guru replied.

“The airmen out of uniform!”

“So what?” Guru shot back. “If you're expecting me to side with you on this, forget it. Anything to keep cool and comfortable on a day like this. In case you're in a dream world, it's 115 here on the ramp.” And to punctuate that, he poured a bottle of water over Goalie's head. She grinned, and smiled her thanks.

“I'm taking this to a higher authority,” Carson grumbled.

“Can't be Tanner, or the Chief of Staff,” Kara grinned.

“He'll probably call his Mom or Dad again,” said Sweaty, and everybody laughed, including some nearby ground crew, who overheard the conversation.

“Oh, phoney baloney,” Carson grumbled as he sulked off.

“Don't know if I've said this before,” Kara said. “But he's as bad as Tigh.”

“Colonel Tigh up at Kingsley Field?” Guru asked. “I saw him once, the day I requalified after coming back from the E&E. Grumpy, coarse, and an all-around asshole.”

“That's him,” Kara smiled. “And Carson would fit right in with him.”

“Tigh didn't have anything to do with WSOs,” Goalie nodded. “If you didn't have pilot's wings, he didn't want much to do with you.”

“I'll go along with that,” KT said. “Navs, he hardly had much to say. Other than when you passed, 'Congratulations.'”

Nodding, Guru opened the briefing packet, as he saw the ordnance people arrive with their munitions. Six 750-pound M-117 bombs and six Mark-82s again. “Okay,” he said as he laid out the materials on the hood of the Hummer. “Here we go.”

“Same drill as that other field this morning?” Sweaty asked.

“Yep,” Guru said. “We go east along the Chupadera Mesa, pick up State Route 42. Once we do that, turn north to U.S. 60. One minute after passing U.S. 60, turn west, and that will take us to Estancia.”

“One pass, as usual?” Kara asked.

“Correct,” Guru nodded. “Once we're clear, head for the mountains due west. Clear those, then head right for the Rio Grande. Make sure your IFF is on once you clear the mountains.”

“You know those Army SAM guys: 'shoot 'em down and let God sort them out.'” Hoser said.

“No shock there,” Guru said. “Now, the threat is a mix of guns, either ZU-23s or 37-mm, plus MANPADS. Though watch out; with their lines breaking, anything's possible. Including SA-6, -8, or -11.”

“No flak or SAM suppressors?” Kara wanted to know.

“Right on that. They're all busy, so we have to use speed, surprise, and our ECM pods,” Guru told everyone.

“So,” Sweaty commented. “One pass, get out due west, clear the mountains, and head for the river?”

“That's it,” Guru said.

Then Sergeant Crowley came over. “Sir, your birds are locked and cocked.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Hit the latrines, and get ready to fly.”

After htting the latrines, and getting ready, Guru called them around. “Any last-minute questions?”

“Yeah,” Kara asked. “How many more today?”

“Who knows? Two, maybe three,” Guru said. “Any others?” There were none. “Okay, let's hit it.”

The crews did their preflight walkarounds, then after mounting their aircraft, ran through their cockpit preflights. Then came engine start, and clearance to taxi. They held short of the runway to allow the armorers to pull the weapon safeties, then the F-4s taxied to the runway itself. The tower flashed a green light, giving the Crews clearance to take off. Then Corvette Flight rumbled down the runway in pairs, and lifted into the air.

Over Central New Mexico: 1520 Hours:


Corvette Flight's four F-4s were headed east over the Chupadra Mesa, and to everyone's surprise, the only radars so far coming up were friendly. “Where is Ivan?” Guru asked his GIB. (Guy-or in this case, Girl, In Back) “No MiGs since this morning.”

“Damned if I know,” Goalie said. “I'm not complaining, though.”

“Me neither,” Guru said. “How long to turn?”

“One minute,”

“Roger that,” Guru replied. He was swiveling his head left to right, keeping an eye out for any threats. That had been drummed into his head at the RTU before the war, and no one got complacent in a fighter cockpit if one expected to come back from a mission. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One. Any bogey dope?”

“Corvette, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “Negative bogeys.”

“Copy,” Guru replied.

“Stand by,” Goalie said. “And turn.”

Guru turned the F-4 to the northeast, headed for U.S. 60, and the others in the flight kept formation with him. “Time to the next turn point?”

“One minute thirty,” Goalie replied.

“Roger that,” Guru said. The four F-4s headed on, and as they approached U.S. 60, the crews noticed enemy traffic headed east, with some armor and APCs headed west. They blew over the road, and down below, the Cubans and Nicaraguans fleeing east were relieved that the four aircraft didn't attack them.

“And turn.” Goalie called as they reached the highway.

“Turning,” Guru said. They were now navigating by time and distance, classic dead reckoning, for there was no real landmark in this part of New Mexico, apart from a dry lakebed east of the target area.

“One minute, mark.”

“Mark, one minute,” Guru said. “Flight, lead. One minute to IP.”

“Two,” Kara.

“Three,” Sweaty.

“Four,” Hoser.

“Switches on, and set 'em up!” Guru called.

“You're set,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds.”

“Copy,” Guru said. “Get ready.”

“Now!” Goalie called. “IP and turn.”

“Flight, Lead,” Guru said. “Pull, and turn. One minute to target.”

Corvette flight turned on its attack run, pulling up to 2000 feet AGL.

“So far, so good,” Goalie said. “Thirty seconds.”

“Copy,” Guru said. Then he saw it. “Flight, Lead. Target in sight. Lead is in hot.” He then rolled in on his attack run.


At Estancia Municipal, the commander of the 45th Independent Helicopter Regiment was having a fit. His unit had been established a year prior to the war, and two years of combat had taken its toll. His unit nominally had three squadrons, two of Mi-24V (NATO designation Hind-E) gunships, and one of Mi-8MT transport helicopters. But now, due to enemy action and accidents, he was down to one squadron of Mi-24s and a half-dozen Mi-8s, and two of those were down for battle-damage repair. Furthermore, four Su-25s had landed at the field, due to their own base having had its runways bombed, and one of those planes had run off the runway. A maintenance section and a recovery vehicle were now trying to get the aircraft out, so that it could be repaired. As for defenses.....all he had at the base was a battery of ZU-23s that were Cuban-manned, along with the Strela missiles that his ground staff had been trained to use. Then he noticed someone pointing to the northeast. Smoke in the air, coming closer. He knew right away what it was. “Air Raid warning!” He shouted, then he jumped into a slit trench.

Guru lined up on where two Su-25s were parked, along with a pair of Hinds. “Steady, steady,” he said, almost to himself. “HACK!” And six each of retarded Mark-82s and M-117s came off his Phantom. Then he turned west, and called, “Lead off target,” doing a low-level flyover of the town of Estancia as he did so.

Guru's bombs landed amongst the two Su-25s and the two Mi-8s, and all four were blown apart. A couple of the Mark-82s landed among some supply trucks, adding to the general destruction, and one bomb wrecked the communications tent.

“Two in hot!” Starbuck called. Kara saw where Lead's bombs had landed, and decided to walk hers to the left. She picked out where four Mi-24s were parked, and lined them up in the pipper. “HACK!” Was the call as her bombs came off her aircraft, and she turned west, following Lead over the town. “Two off target.”

Kara's bombs ripped apart two of the Hinds, and wrecked the other two. Her bombs also took out several fuel trucks, exploding them in fireballs, and two of her bombs also holed the runway, which meant that the Mi-24s could not use rolling takeoffs, as well as grounding any remaining Su-25s.

“Three's in hot!” Called Sweaty. She laid down her bombs to the right of where Guru's had landed, and she saw another pair of Su-25s, surrounded by vehicles, as well as a Hip helicopter. Lining them up, she called “HACK!”, and released her bombs. As she pulled away, she noticed tracer fire coming up; 23-mm by the looks of it, but it was falling behind her aircraft. “Three off safe.”

Sweaty's load blew the Su-25s and the servicing vehicles apart, and one of the bombs landed right on top of the Hip, obliterating it. Several of her Mark-82s landed in the tent area where the base personnel lived, blasting the tents apart, while two bombs landed in the motor pool, turning it into a junkyard.

“Four in hot!” Hoser called. He saw the fireballs erupting from Sweaty's run, and decided to put his bombs on the runway. So he made his pass from due east to west, and laid down a perfect pattern, putting multiple holes in the runway, and drawing some fire from the 23-mm guns on the way out. Unknown to him, one of his Mark-82s landed at the west end of the runway, where the last Su-25 sat, with the retrieval crew trying to pull the aircraft from its tail-high position. Hoser's bomb solved their problem, blasting both the recovery vehicle and the aircraft. “Four off safe,” he called as he buzzed the town.

“Copy, Hoser,” Guru replied. “Flight, on me, and let's get the hell out of here.”

All four Phantoms joined up and headed west. They got over the mountains between Bosque Peak to the north and Capilla Peak to the south. When they got into the Rio Grande Valley, Guru called. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One, Corvette Flight across the fence.”

“Roger, Corvette Two-One,” the controller replied. “Do you need a vector to tankers?”

“Negative,” Guru replied. “We can make home plate.”

“Copy,” said the controller.

Once they cleared the valley, the F-4s climbed back to 12,000 feet, and headed for Williams. On the return flight, Goalie asked, “Where's the Soviet Air Force? Or the Cuban AF?”

“That,” Guru said. “Is a very good question.”


Alamogordo Regional Airport, New Mexico; 1550 Hours:


The SAF Colonel was practically in tears. Earlier that morning, his Regiment, the 190th Fighter Aviation Regiment (IAP), had three squadrons of MiG-23MF fighters. Now, he had at most, eight aircraft left in the whole regiment, and three of those were undergoing repair. He surveyed the wreckage around him, and thought, was it like this on the first day of the war against the Fascisti in 1941? He had good reason to think that.

That morning, at 0430, his men had been awakened by the sound of the alert siren going off, then explosions, as low-flying aircraft had bombed the runway. F-111s, he thought, but wasn't sure. His deputy commander had gotten the repair crews out, and they had started work on filling the bomb craters, when A-6s came over at 0600, laying down cluster munitions all around the ramp and the dispersal area, turning MiG-23s into burning wrecks as their fuel and ordnance exploded with the aircraft.

Finally, around midmorning, he had led a dozen surviving MiGs into the air, only to run into F-16s. Four of the MiG-23s were shot down, and two more damaged. After he landed, two more MiGs took off, but only one returned, as the flight had been jumped by F-5s, and though the wingman had returned with several 20-mm holes in his aircraft, he had not seen what happened to his flight leader, who had gone north, along the east side of the Sandias.

Then, that afternoon, several more A-6s had come in, again dropping cluster bombs, and adding to the misery of the repair crews. Now the runway was closed while explosives experts went around, marking the bomblets that hadn't gone off, and then a sharpshooter would go out with a rifle and shoot them until they detonated. Then his intelligence officer arrived.

“Comrade Colonel?”

“You told me this wouldn't happen! That most of their aircraft in this theater were sent to Kansas and Missouri! Now look at what they have done!”

“Comrade Colonel,” the intelligence man replied. “I was only passing what I received from higher.”

“I know, Comrade Major,” the colonel said. “Still, I have to blame someone. Any other news?”

“Nothing definite, but both Holloman and the Alamo Midway Airport have also been attacked and neutralized. Rumors are going around that American Rangers have seized the White Sands Space Harbor.”

“It won't be long until we get orders to leave,” the colonel replied. “Soon,the front will be in Texas.”

“I'm afraid so, Comrade Colonel,” replied the intelligence officer.

Several bomblets exploded off in the distance. Then a harried air force engineering officer came to the Colonel. “Comrade Colonel, the political officer-”

“What about our dear Party Comrade?” The Colonel asked.

“He's dead. The Zampolit was berating me and my men for not being energetic enough in clearing the area of munitions and debris, when a delayed-action bomblet exploded next to him.”

“No great loss,” the Colonel said. “People like him are what got us into this mess anyway. Get the runway operational as soon as possible.”

“Comrade Colonel.”