Post by lordroel on Oct 22, 2024 15:05:34 GMT
Posted with permission of Matt Wiser over at HPCA: An Interesting Divert
Guru and Goalie have to divert after helping out on the Denver Siege Perimeter:
An Interesting Divert
30 April, 1987: Williams AFB, AZ: 1245 Hours Mountain War Time
In what had been a classroom used prewar by a T-37 squadron, Captain Matt “Guru” Wiser, the Executive Officer of the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron was having lunch, along with his WSO, his wingman, and her WSO. First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn was Guru's WSO, and she handed him a chicken sandwich. “Want another one?”
“No. I've had enough roadkill sandwiches from the Jarheads' mess people for one day.” Guru replied. The Marine air group to which the 335th had been attached since the war's early days had a reputation for good chow at breakfast and dinner. Lunch, though....a different story.
“Too bad they can't steal the chef from the Sheraton and at least give those guys some lessons,” Second Lieutenant Bryan “Preacher” Simmonds, said. He was WSO for Guru's wingman, First Lieutenant Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard.
Sweaty grinned at her WSO, who'd been studying for the priesthood when the war began. “Ready to violate one of the Ten Commandments?”
“In this case, I think the Good Lord would forgive,” Preacher said. He'd been having doubts about going on with his studies after the war, if he lived, and was thinking about making the Air Force a career-as a WSO, not as a Chaplain.
Then Captain Mark Ellis, the Operations Officer for the 335th, came in. “Guru, got a mission brief for you guys.”
“When, Mark?” Guru asked, taking a swig of lemonade.
“Ten minutes, so finish up,” Ellis said. Then he went to talk to the next flight.
The crews finished lunch, then First Lieutenant Darren Licon, the Squadron Intelligence Officer, came in. “Captain, here's your mission.”
“What's up for us?” Guru asked.
“Denver Siege Perimeter,” Licon said. “They need some more air today, and you guys are it. It's essentially on-call CAS. When you get there, talk to ABCCC will get you in touch with a FAC.” The ABCCC was an EC-130E airborne command post, and one of them was controlling the air activity in support of the defenders of Denver, which had been under siege since September, 1985. Though the noose around the city had been loosened considerably, the southern and eastern siege lines were still in place.
“So this could be anything,” Goalie said. “Troops, artillery, supply dumps.”
“That's about it,” Licon replied. “The air threat is mixed. Mostly it's MiG-21s and some -23s for air-to-air, but there's Su-17s or -22s, and Su-25s. And they're mixed: Soviet, Cuban, Nicaraguan, Libyan, Czechs, Poles, even some Angolans, of all people. Ground threats vary: there are SA-2s, SA-3s, plus the usual stuff at unit level-regiment to Army.”
“Okay, Darren,” Guru said. “Weather?”
“Partly Sunny, in the upper 60s, and winds variable.”
“Okay,” Sweaty nodded. “Bailout areas?”
“Anyplace in the Front Range, and anywhere away from the roads,” Licon said. “If you get into the mountains, that's Resistance territory, and they'll help you out.”
“I know from experience, Darren,” Guru replied. He remembered his five months with the Resistance down in Southern Colorado.
“Yes, sir,” Licon said. Guru had briefed the squadron on his experience, and everyone knew that was something he didn't want to repeat. “Other than that, Jolly Greens are active at night, and they'll come for you. As long as you're away from major enemy concentrations.”
“Divert fields?” Guru asked.
“Stay away from Stapleton International and Lowry AFB,” Licon replied. “Both are airlift-only at the moment.” The airlift in support of the besieged city had lightened up since the Army had partially lifted the siege the previous fall, but the three main airports in the Denver area were still dedicated to the airlift, which brought in food and medicine, and flew people out. “And Buckley ANG Base is still too exposed to enemy artillery fire.”
“So where do we divert if we have to?”
“Cheyenne Municipal, if you can. Otherwise, the only two fields that can take an F-4 that are open to you are either Aspen-Pitkin County or Walker Field in Grand Junction,” Licon said. “Eagle County Airport is open only to Army Aviation, Special Ops, or C-130s.”
“Okay, Darren. Ordnance loads?” Sweaty asked.
“Captain Wiser gets dumb bombs: six M-117s and six Mark-82s.” Licon said, glancing at the Frag order. That meant six 750-pound bombs and six five-hundred pound bombs.
“And what do I get?”
“Twelve Rockeye CBUs. Four AIM-9s and two AIM-7s, each airplane, with an ALQ-101 pod and full 20-mm.”
Guru and Sweaty looked at each other. “Looks good, Darren,” Guru said, and Sweaty nodded. “When do we launch?”
“Whenever you're ready, sir,” Licon said. “Your birds should be armed and fueled by now.”
“Fair enough,” Guru said. “Let's gear up, people. Meet me at 512.”
After the crews geared up, they met at the XO's plane for his final instructions. As promised, both aircraft were armed and ready to go. “Anything else, XO?” Preacher asked.
“Just that we go by call sign, not mission code, unless we're talking to AWACS or anyone else,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no He grabbed his helmet, “Okay, let's hit it.”
The crews did their walk-arounds, then mounted their aircraft. After the preflights in the cockpit, the pilots started their engines, and after warm-up, were cleared to taxi. After taxiing to the end of the runway, they held short of the runway so that the armorers could remove the weapon safety pins. After that, they were cleared to taxi for takeoff.
“Williams Tower, Camaro One-one with two, request clearance for takeoff.” Guru called.
“Camaro One-one, Tower. Cleared for takeoff. Winds are two-six-five at five.”
“Copy, Tower,” Guru replied. He released his brakes and applied throttle, and Sweaty did the same. Both F-4s rolled down the runway, then lifted into the air.
Over West Central Colorado, 1330 Hours Mountain War Time:
Camaro Flight was orbiting over Leadville, Colorado, one of the big Old West mining towns, and had topped up from a KC-10 further to the west, and were now waiting for AWACS in this area to tell them their services were needed. It didn't take long.
“Camaro One-one, Bandsaw,” the AWACS controller called.
“Bandsaw, Camaro One-one. Go,” Guru replied.
“Camaro One-one, contact Hillsboro Seven-one for tasking.”
“Copy that, Bandsaw, Hillsboro Seven-one, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro One-one, Hillsboro, We have tasking for you. Vector is Zero-six-zero. Contact Nail Six-two for further instructions.”
Guru nodded. “Copy that, Hillsboro.” He led Sweaty on the new course, and as they crossed the Front Range, a sense of deja vu came over him. It happened every time he and Goalie flew a strike into Colorado, and it brought back memories of his shootdown, and the time he and Tony Carpenter spent with the Resistance. And there were things he saw that, though he'd told the debriefer after a trek over the Rockies, he didn't talk about to anyone else. Not even Goalie.
The two F-4Es came down from the mountains and as they got into the Colorado prairie, their EW gear lit up. “Guru, Sweaty. Picking up search radars,” Sweaty called.
“Roger that,” Guru replied. It was time to call Nail Six-two. “Nail Six-two, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Nail Six-two. Say aircraft and ordnance please.”
“Nail, Camaro has two Foxtrot Four Echoes. One with Snakeye iron bombs and one with Rockeyes. Full load twenty-mike-mike,” Guru radioed back.
“Copy that and wait one,” the FAC told him.
“Don't have the gas to wait all day, fella,” Guru muttered over the intercom.
“You want to get out of here fast,” Goalie observed from the back seat. “Too many memories?”
“You could say that,” Guru said.
“Camaro, Nail. You have the Aurora Reservoir on your maps?” Nail called.
“That's affirm, Nail.” Guru replied.
“Copy. There's long-range artillery one mile north of the reservoir, firing on Buckley. Will mark target area with Willie Pete,” Nail said.
Guru and Sweaty looked up in their respective cockpits and saw an A-7 loitering overhead. With all the radars working, why hadn't he been shot at or splashed? Then they recalled previous strikes: this area was held by Category III Soviet and Soviet-allied forces, and their antiaircraft defenses near the front lines weren't as nasty as Cat I or II. But they could still be deadly under the right circumstances. “Roger that,” Guru replied.
The A-7K orbiting overhead dove, then fired two WP rockets to mark the target area. “That's your target area, Camaro.”
“Roger. Can give you one pass only,” Guru replied. “North to South.”
“Your call, Camaro,” Nail replied.
Guru led Sweaty around, then oriented them on the target. “Switches set?' He asked Goalie.
“Switches set. All in one pass,” she replied. “All set back here.”
“Copy,” Guru said. “Sweaty, on me. Camaro One-one in hot.” Guru then rolled in onto the target, which looked like dug-in artillery pieces. Your bad day, Ivan or Fidel, or whoever.
Down below, the gunners of the Libyan Army's 1457th Artillery Battalion were serving their M-46 130-mm guns, firing another series of concentrations against the Americans. This portion of the siege perimeter was in the hands of the Cuban, Mexican, Libyan, Angolan, and Czech forces, and some were more enthusiastic about their role in the war than others. Their battalion was supporting not only Libyans, but also Mexicans, and even if their shells didn't land on the intended target, they were making the lives of those in the American perimeter miserable. And to them, that counted as a victory.
The Libyan Captain in command of the battalion had a look around as his men served their guns. While they had stacked sandbags around the guns and set up camouflage netting, there were hardly any slit trenches nor personnel shelters. The defenders didn't have the guns to go around, and those they did have weren't used on counter-battery fire. Not that they could reach their position, anyway. Though there was a risk of air attack, his unit hadn't been attacked from the air, so why bother? Besides, he'd been told by his superiors that the Soviets and Cubans had air superiority in the area. Just as his deputy, a lieutenant, came in, there was a shout. “Aircraft alarm!”
As he rolled in, Guru spotted the guns. “Steady, steady....HACK!” he called as six Mark-82s and six M-117Rs came off the racks. He pulled up and called. “Lead's off safe.”
The Libyan Captain watched in horror as an F-4 came in from the north and released its bombs as it came overhead. While some of his men tried to take whatever cover they could, he just stood there. “Allah Akbar-” Then a five-hundred pound bomb exploded barely twenty feet from him....
“Good hits!” Goalie shouted. Though they'd have to look at the strike camera footage, it looked like their bombs had ripped apart several guns, and had also it some kind of command area. And a couple of ammo trucks had been blown apart for good measure.
“Two's in hot!” Sweaty called. She rolled in, and decided the ammo trucks were a good enough target. She laid her Rockeyes on the trucks, and as she pulled away, the CBU bomblets covered most of the battalion's ammo trucks and prime movers. And there were quite a few secondaries. “Two's off safe.”
“Copy, Two,” Guru said. “Nail, Camaro. We are Winchester.”
“Roger that, Camaro. I give you one hundred percent bombs on target. Thanks a lot, guys and gals, and have a nice day.'
“Will do, Nail,” Guru replied. He took his F-4 back down low and headed southwest, and Sweaty was right in trail behind him.
About a minute had passed when Sweaty called, “Guru, Break left!”
Guru responded instantly, and broke to the left, and rolled away. As he did, Goalie was looking around. “What?”
Sweaty lined it up in the pipper. “FOX TWO!” She called. And an AIM-9P came off one of the port missile rails, and tracked towards a helicopter. The Sidewinder flew straight and true, and smashed into a Libyan Air Force Mi-8 Hip. The Sidewinder's warhead tore off several rotor blades, and shrapnel flew into the two saddle fuel tanks, exploding the helo. Sweaty pulled up slightly and rolled to avoid the fireball and debris, and shouted“Splash!”
“Good kill, Sweaty,” Guru called.
“Better be,” she replied. “That's number three.”
Just as she rolled back, and came in to rejoin Guru, both F-4s were, unknown to them, approaching a sector manned by Mexicans. And the first hint of that was several vehicles on State Route 83, south of Parker. And they were BTR-152s escorting a supply convoy, and those BTRs had ZU-23s mounted on top. The crews saw the F-4s, and promptly opened fire, spraying 23-mm fire at the two aircraft.
“Flak coming up,” Goalie saw from the back seat.
“I see it,” Guru said. “Break!” And both F-4s broke away, Guru to the left, and Sweaty to the right. They avoided most of the tracer fire, but not all, for both Guru and Goalie felt two small thumps.
“Sweaty, we've been hit.”
“How bad, Lead?” Sweaty responded. “Coming back in.” She rolled her F-4 back in. “Can't see any smoke.”
“Everything seems okay,” Guru replied. “No warning lights, no nothing.”
“Hey,” Goalie called from the back seat. “Look at the TIESO mount.” The TIESO mount on the left side of the aircraft was a EO sensor used in conjunction with the Maverick missile. Now, a jagged hole was in the mount. “If that's all that was hit....”
Guru nodded, then checked his control panel. Everything looked normal, then he saw it. “Engine temp on Number one's a little too high. Not bad enough, but enough to worry.”
“Divert?” Goalie asked.
“Yeah. Bandsaw, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Bandsaw, go,” the controller replied.
“Bandsaw, we need to divert. Can you give us a vector to the nearest divert field?” Guru said. “And make it fast, fella.”
“Copy. Stand by.”
Guru frowned underneath his oxygen mask. “Can't wait all day.”
“Camaro,” the controller called after what seemed like forever, but was only about thirty seconds. “Your vector across the mountains is two-six-five. Nearest open divert field is Grand Junction.”
“Bandsaw, what about Aspen?” Guru replied.
“Camaro, they're cleaning up after an air strike. Grand Junction is your best bet.”
“Roger that,” Guru said. “Sweaty, on me.”
“Right on you, Lead.” his wingman said. And the two F-4s crossed the Rockies.
In his cockpit, Guru was checking the engine dials every few seconds, it seemed. The engine temp on the port engine had climbed some, but it wasn't high enough to shut down. Yet. After clearing the mountains, the two F-4s climbed to altitude and Guru had Sweaty come in beneath him to have a look.
“Anything?'
“No fluid, no nothing coming out,” Sweaty replied. “But there's a hole right beneath the port engine.”
In 512's back seat, Goalie grumbled. “Somebody got dammed lucky back there.”
“No skydiving into bad-guy land, this time,” Guru replied. “If we have to bail...”
“Beats the alternative,” Goalie said.
The two F-4s kept on heading west, and soon it was time to talk to Grand Junction. “Bandsaw, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Bandsaw, go.”
“Bandsaw, can you notify Grand Junction they have an F-4 coming in with battle damage?”
“Camaro, that's affirm. Do you need the equipment?” The controller asked. The “equipment” meant fire and rescue services.
“Negative, Bandsaw.”
“Copy that, and good luck, buddy.”
“Thanks, Bandsaw,” Guru replied. Then he called the Grand Junction tower. “Grand Junction Tower, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Grand Junction. We've been notified. Do you need the fire trucks?” Asked a tower operator.
“Negative, unless I declare an emergency,” Guru said. “Clear the field, fella. I'm coming in.”
“Roger, Camaro. Winds are two-seven three at five. Clear for landing on Runway two-nine. Field elevation four-nine-five-eight.”
Both Guru and Goalie got ready to put down, while Sweaty flew alongside. Guru put the gear down, and things looked okay. “Sweaty?”
“Both gears down,” she called. “Still no smoke.”
“Copy.” Guru said as he lined up on final. As he came in, he saw the fire trucks waiting, on the north end of Runway 22. Somebody thought “better safe than sorry,” he said to himself as he put the F-4 down. As he did, he hit the brakes and popped the drag chute. Sweaty saw him land, then she gunned her engines and pulled up. But instead of heading for a tanker and then back to Williams, she got into the traffic pattern.
The F-4 taxied off the runway, the fire trucks following, then Guru was met by a “Follow Me” truck, and he followed the truck until he got to an open area of the ramp, then he stopped and shut down. After popping the canopy, he and Goalie stood up as the fire crews arrived. He gave them a thumbs-up, but they still approached the aircraft with caution. Only when they saw no signs of fire did they begin to relax. As they did, Sweaty brought her plane in. After the firemen brought a crew ladder, Guru and Goalie got out and had a look at the aircraft.
“You guys okay?” One of the firemen asked.
“We're fine,” Goalie replied. “Need to see how the plane is, though.”
Guru got down and crawled underneath the aircraft. Sure enough, there was a small hole beneath the port J-79 engine. “One lucky shot.”
“Enough to hurt the engine?” Goalie asked.
“Enough to make me want to divert,” Guru said. “But I'm not flying back to Williams on that engine.”
Just then, Sweaty and Preacher forced their way through the firemen. “Comin' through,” she yelled.
Goalie had crept down to have a look for herself. “One round did that?”
“If it's still in the engine, yeah,” Guru said, getting back out from underneath the Phantom, and he found Sweaty and Preacher there. “You were right. One nice hole.”
“What now?” Sweaty asked. “Or let me guess: we need a Combat Repair Team.”
“And a new engine. I'm not flying back on that one,” Guru said.
Then a deuce-and-a-half pulled up, and an AF officer in a flight suit came over. “Who's the pilot?”
“Right here,” Guru said.
“Lee Kirby,” the officer said. He was a Captain, like Guru. “What happened?”
“Flak,” Guru replied. “One shot wrecked our TISEO, and the other? Put the hurt on my port J-79 engine. Can I make a phone call? I need to notify my base, and get a Combat Repair Team up here. With a new engine.”
“No problem, Captain Kirby said. “Get in.”
The four F-4 crewers got into the truck, and Kirby took them over to Base Operations. On the ride over, they noticed the place was busy, with Counter-SOF ops flying A-37s, OV-10s, even a couple of ex-warbird Skyraiders. That reminded them of a guy who'd flown a Warbird A-1E to Williams the second week of the war, to offer his services. Someway, somehow, they found some 20-mm guns that used to be on Skyraiders, got the weapons control to work again, and put on a desert camouflage paint job. The pilot, who'd flown A-1s in Vietnam before flying for the airlines, was reactivated as a Major, and was now flying his warbird in the Counter-SOF role. In addition to those folks, C-130s and even C-123s were on the ramp, along with a couple of HH-3 rescue choppers. Just another field supporting the war.
The deuce-and-a-half pulled up to base operations. “Captain, just go in there, and I'll be right outside,” Kirby said.
Guru nodded, and the four F-4 crewers went in. After he asked a sergeant, Guru led them to the main ops office, and asked another Captain for a phone. “Need to call Williams AFB.”
“No problem, Captain,” the officer, Captain Toby Wright, said. He made the call, and asked, “Which unit?”
“The 335th TFS,” Guru replied.
After telling the operator, Wright handed the receiver to Guru. “Here you go.”
After two rings, there was a pickup. “Captain Ellis, 335th TFS.”
“Mark, it's Guru. Put Colonel Rivers on,” Guru told the 335's Ops Officer.
“What? And where are you, man?”
“Grand Junction, Colorado, with an F-4 with a sick engine. And it happens to be mine. Sweaty's here with me as well. Before you ask, her bird's okay. But she put down anyway. Get Colonel Rivers.”
“Got you,” Ellis said.
While Guru was waiting for Rivers to come on the line, he saw Preacher striking up a conversation with a female First Lieutenant, while a Sergeant got coffee for Goalie and Sweaty. The sergeant then offered him a cup, and he gratefully accepted. “Thanks, Sergeant.”
Then a familiar voice came over the line. It was Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, the CO of the 335th. “XO, what's going on, and where are you?”
“Boss, I'm in Grand Junction, Colorado, and my bird has a sick J-79 engine, thanks to some flak damage. I need a Combat Repair Team up here, and they need to bring a new engine.”
“Okay, XO. Just stay calm. I'll put you on hold, while I get things rolling on that.” And Guru was then on hold. And while he was waiting, Goalie tapped him on the shoulder. “What?”
She pointed to an officer who looked like an AF version of Lt. Fuzz from the Beetle Bailey comic strip. “That.”
“Who are these officers out of uniform?' A pipsqueak-looking First Lieutenant said.
“Who's asking?” Guru said, seeing the pipsqueak and tapping his Captain's bars. “I've got two bars. You've got one. Beat it.”
The lieutenant looked at him. “I'm getting the CO,” he said. Then he left the room.
Goalie came over. “A junior version of Carson?” Major Frank Carson, or “The 335th's Frank Burns” as he was called, was the most despised officer in the squadron, infamous for blindly going by the book, even when wartime circumstances meant dropping parts of the book.
“Sure hope not,” Guru said, while Sweaty shook her head.
Then Colonel Rivers got back on the line. “XO, found a CRT, a new engine, and a C-130. Wheels up in a half-hour, and they should be there in two and a half hours. Best we can do.”
“Thanks, Colonel,” Guru said.
“I'll find you thorough Base Ops up there,” Rivers said. “Let me know when you're getting ready to leave.”
“Will do, Boss,” Guru said just as a slightly grey-haired AF Lieutenant Colonel came into the room. As everyone came to attention, and someone shouted “Ten-hut!”, Guru said, “Boss, I gotta go. I'll let you know when we're coming back.”
“I heard,” Rivers said. “Stay cool, XO.”
“Will do,” Guru replied. Then he handed the phone to one of the sergeants.
“Sir,” the pipsqueak-looking lieutenant said, coming out from behind the colonel. “This is what I've been trying to tell you. Transiting aircrew out of uniform!”
“I'll handle this.” the colonel said. “Captain,” he said to Guru. “That your sick F-4 out on the ramp?
“Yes, sir,” said Guru. “Took some flak south of Denver. Put a hole in one of my engines, and I didn't want to chance it getting back home.”
The colonel looked Guru and Goalie over. “You two crew?”
“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “Lieutenant Eichhorn's my GIB.”
“MiG kills?”
“Yes, sir. Five, including a MiG-29. But she was with me for only two.”
“Don't worry, Lieutenant. Your time will come,” the colonel said to Goalie.
“If you say so, sir,” she replied.
“And the other two are your wingmates? Asked the colonel.
“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded. “Lieutenant Blanchard is my wingie, and Lieutenant Simmonds is her GIB.”
“Any MiG kills?” The colonel wanted to know. He was looking Sweaty over.
“Sir, two. Including a MiG-29 with the Captain,” Sweaty said. “And a Hip just this afternoon.”
The Colonel nodded, then shot an icy look at the pipsqueak. “Lieutenant, I strongly suggest that you have a look at someone's rank insignia, or if they've got wings of any sort before you call them out-on anything! In my office, in five. Understood?”
The lieutenant wilted under the withering glare of his superior, said, “Yes, sir,” in a weak voice, then left the room.
“As you were, people,” the colonel said. He put out his hand to Guru. “Jim Osborne, Captain. F-100s out of Tuy Hoa in 1967-68, and F-4s for LINEBACKER I and II.”
“Captain Matt Wiser, sir. 335th TFS,” Guru said, shaking Osborne's hand. “Always a pleasure to meet a Vietnam vet.”
“The Air Force's Bastard Orphans, I see. Word's gotten around about you guys,” Osborne said. “I'd be back in the saddle myself, but a heart murmur....comes from dodging too many flying telephone poles in Pack Six.”
Guru nodded, while Sweaty said. “Sir, speaking from experience....”
Colonel Osborne nodded. “And you all have quite a bit of experience.” He looked the four F-4 crewers over. “I'd like to apologize for my subordinate's actions. He's been like this ever since he showed up here.”
Preacher nodded. “Sir, I was studying for the priesthood when the war began, and I can tell when someone's got something in their craw. What's with this fellow?”
Osborne looked at Preacher. “He washed out of basic flight, and he's been like this ever since.”
“Sir, that would do it to anyone,” Sweaty said.
“Colonel, if I may?” Guru asked.
“Captain?” Osborne asked.
“Sir, perhaps a transfer to a place where the climate might induce a change of attitude? Someplace like Loring, Goose Bay, or Gander?” Guru suggested.
“That's certainly possible,” Colonel Osborne noted. “Any other suggestions?”
“Sir,” Goalie spoke up. “We've got a few GIBs in the 335th who washed out of flight, but did pretty good at nav school. One's even the GIB for our CO. He may not have cut it as a pilot, but...”
Colonel Osborne looked at Goalie, then at Preacher, who nodded in the affirmative. “That's also a possibility....but his attitude when I see him back in my office will determine which one I take up.” Then Captain Kirby came in.”Captain, take these four officers over to the terminal. The cafe there is open, and the food's pretty good. If they need anything while they're here, give it to them, within reason. And Captain? If Kirby can't get what you need, call or ask to see me. I'll see what I can do.” Then Colonel Osborne left to return to his office.
“Just like our CO down at Williams,” Goalie said. “He's the kind of guy who takes care of his people, and you'd fly with him anywhere.”
Kirby smiled. “That he is, and word has it he wanted to retake a flight physical and get back in, but his wife said no.”
“And she who must be obeyed....” Preacher said.
“That's about it.” Kirby said. “Come on, I'll take you guys over to the terminal.”
As they left the ops office, they could hear shouting from Colonel Osborne's office. “Sounds like someone's getting torn a new hole,” Goalie said.
“He deserves it,” Kirby admitted. “He's been like this to everyone, base personnel, the counter-SOF guys, Special Ops aviation-AF or Army, transiting aircrew, C-130 guys flying into Denver, you name it.”
The F-4 crewers nodded, and as they got into the Deuce-and-a-half, Guru asked, “How's the food?”
“Not bad,” Kirby said. “Beef, not so much, but Deer, Elk, Chicken, Pork? They've got it.”
“Fair enough,” Guru said. “Let's go.”
Guru and Goalie have to divert after helping out on the Denver Siege Perimeter:
An Interesting Divert
30 April, 1987: Williams AFB, AZ: 1245 Hours Mountain War Time
In what had been a classroom used prewar by a T-37 squadron, Captain Matt “Guru” Wiser, the Executive Officer of the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron was having lunch, along with his WSO, his wingman, and her WSO. First Lieutenant Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn was Guru's WSO, and she handed him a chicken sandwich. “Want another one?”
“No. I've had enough roadkill sandwiches from the Jarheads' mess people for one day.” Guru replied. The Marine air group to which the 335th had been attached since the war's early days had a reputation for good chow at breakfast and dinner. Lunch, though....a different story.
“Too bad they can't steal the chef from the Sheraton and at least give those guys some lessons,” Second Lieutenant Bryan “Preacher” Simmonds, said. He was WSO for Guru's wingman, First Lieutenant Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard.
Sweaty grinned at her WSO, who'd been studying for the priesthood when the war began. “Ready to violate one of the Ten Commandments?”
“In this case, I think the Good Lord would forgive,” Preacher said. He'd been having doubts about going on with his studies after the war, if he lived, and was thinking about making the Air Force a career-as a WSO, not as a Chaplain.
Then Captain Mark Ellis, the Operations Officer for the 335th, came in. “Guru, got a mission brief for you guys.”
“When, Mark?” Guru asked, taking a swig of lemonade.
“Ten minutes, so finish up,” Ellis said. Then he went to talk to the next flight.
The crews finished lunch, then First Lieutenant Darren Licon, the Squadron Intelligence Officer, came in. “Captain, here's your mission.”
“What's up for us?” Guru asked.
“Denver Siege Perimeter,” Licon said. “They need some more air today, and you guys are it. It's essentially on-call CAS. When you get there, talk to ABCCC will get you in touch with a FAC.” The ABCCC was an EC-130E airborne command post, and one of them was controlling the air activity in support of the defenders of Denver, which had been under siege since September, 1985. Though the noose around the city had been loosened considerably, the southern and eastern siege lines were still in place.
“So this could be anything,” Goalie said. “Troops, artillery, supply dumps.”
“That's about it,” Licon replied. “The air threat is mixed. Mostly it's MiG-21s and some -23s for air-to-air, but there's Su-17s or -22s, and Su-25s. And they're mixed: Soviet, Cuban, Nicaraguan, Libyan, Czechs, Poles, even some Angolans, of all people. Ground threats vary: there are SA-2s, SA-3s, plus the usual stuff at unit level-regiment to Army.”
“Okay, Darren,” Guru said. “Weather?”
“Partly Sunny, in the upper 60s, and winds variable.”
“Okay,” Sweaty nodded. “Bailout areas?”
“Anyplace in the Front Range, and anywhere away from the roads,” Licon said. “If you get into the mountains, that's Resistance territory, and they'll help you out.”
“I know from experience, Darren,” Guru replied. He remembered his five months with the Resistance down in Southern Colorado.
“Yes, sir,” Licon said. Guru had briefed the squadron on his experience, and everyone knew that was something he didn't want to repeat. “Other than that, Jolly Greens are active at night, and they'll come for you. As long as you're away from major enemy concentrations.”
“Divert fields?” Guru asked.
“Stay away from Stapleton International and Lowry AFB,” Licon replied. “Both are airlift-only at the moment.” The airlift in support of the besieged city had lightened up since the Army had partially lifted the siege the previous fall, but the three main airports in the Denver area were still dedicated to the airlift, which brought in food and medicine, and flew people out. “And Buckley ANG Base is still too exposed to enemy artillery fire.”
“So where do we divert if we have to?”
“Cheyenne Municipal, if you can. Otherwise, the only two fields that can take an F-4 that are open to you are either Aspen-Pitkin County or Walker Field in Grand Junction,” Licon said. “Eagle County Airport is open only to Army Aviation, Special Ops, or C-130s.”
“Okay, Darren. Ordnance loads?” Sweaty asked.
“Captain Wiser gets dumb bombs: six M-117s and six Mark-82s.” Licon said, glancing at the Frag order. That meant six 750-pound bombs and six five-hundred pound bombs.
“And what do I get?”
“Twelve Rockeye CBUs. Four AIM-9s and two AIM-7s, each airplane, with an ALQ-101 pod and full 20-mm.”
Guru and Sweaty looked at each other. “Looks good, Darren,” Guru said, and Sweaty nodded. “When do we launch?”
“Whenever you're ready, sir,” Licon said. “Your birds should be armed and fueled by now.”
“Fair enough,” Guru said. “Let's gear up, people. Meet me at 512.”
After the crews geared up, they met at the XO's plane for his final instructions. As promised, both aircraft were armed and ready to go. “Anything else, XO?” Preacher asked.
“Just that we go by call sign, not mission code, unless we're talking to AWACS or anyone else,” Guru said. “Anything else?” Heads shook no He grabbed his helmet, “Okay, let's hit it.”
The crews did their walk-arounds, then mounted their aircraft. After the preflights in the cockpit, the pilots started their engines, and after warm-up, were cleared to taxi. After taxiing to the end of the runway, they held short of the runway so that the armorers could remove the weapon safety pins. After that, they were cleared to taxi for takeoff.
“Williams Tower, Camaro One-one with two, request clearance for takeoff.” Guru called.
“Camaro One-one, Tower. Cleared for takeoff. Winds are two-six-five at five.”
“Copy, Tower,” Guru replied. He released his brakes and applied throttle, and Sweaty did the same. Both F-4s rolled down the runway, then lifted into the air.
Over West Central Colorado, 1330 Hours Mountain War Time:
Camaro Flight was orbiting over Leadville, Colorado, one of the big Old West mining towns, and had topped up from a KC-10 further to the west, and were now waiting for AWACS in this area to tell them their services were needed. It didn't take long.
“Camaro One-one, Bandsaw,” the AWACS controller called.
“Bandsaw, Camaro One-one. Go,” Guru replied.
“Camaro One-one, contact Hillsboro Seven-one for tasking.”
“Copy that, Bandsaw, Hillsboro Seven-one, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro One-one, Hillsboro, We have tasking for you. Vector is Zero-six-zero. Contact Nail Six-two for further instructions.”
Guru nodded. “Copy that, Hillsboro.” He led Sweaty on the new course, and as they crossed the Front Range, a sense of deja vu came over him. It happened every time he and Goalie flew a strike into Colorado, and it brought back memories of his shootdown, and the time he and Tony Carpenter spent with the Resistance. And there were things he saw that, though he'd told the debriefer after a trek over the Rockies, he didn't talk about to anyone else. Not even Goalie.
The two F-4Es came down from the mountains and as they got into the Colorado prairie, their EW gear lit up. “Guru, Sweaty. Picking up search radars,” Sweaty called.
“Roger that,” Guru replied. It was time to call Nail Six-two. “Nail Six-two, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Nail Six-two. Say aircraft and ordnance please.”
“Nail, Camaro has two Foxtrot Four Echoes. One with Snakeye iron bombs and one with Rockeyes. Full load twenty-mike-mike,” Guru radioed back.
“Copy that and wait one,” the FAC told him.
“Don't have the gas to wait all day, fella,” Guru muttered over the intercom.
“You want to get out of here fast,” Goalie observed from the back seat. “Too many memories?”
“You could say that,” Guru said.
“Camaro, Nail. You have the Aurora Reservoir on your maps?” Nail called.
“That's affirm, Nail.” Guru replied.
“Copy. There's long-range artillery one mile north of the reservoir, firing on Buckley. Will mark target area with Willie Pete,” Nail said.
Guru and Sweaty looked up in their respective cockpits and saw an A-7 loitering overhead. With all the radars working, why hadn't he been shot at or splashed? Then they recalled previous strikes: this area was held by Category III Soviet and Soviet-allied forces, and their antiaircraft defenses near the front lines weren't as nasty as Cat I or II. But they could still be deadly under the right circumstances. “Roger that,” Guru replied.
The A-7K orbiting overhead dove, then fired two WP rockets to mark the target area. “That's your target area, Camaro.”
“Roger. Can give you one pass only,” Guru replied. “North to South.”
“Your call, Camaro,” Nail replied.
Guru led Sweaty around, then oriented them on the target. “Switches set?' He asked Goalie.
“Switches set. All in one pass,” she replied. “All set back here.”
“Copy,” Guru said. “Sweaty, on me. Camaro One-one in hot.” Guru then rolled in onto the target, which looked like dug-in artillery pieces. Your bad day, Ivan or Fidel, or whoever.
Down below, the gunners of the Libyan Army's 1457th Artillery Battalion were serving their M-46 130-mm guns, firing another series of concentrations against the Americans. This portion of the siege perimeter was in the hands of the Cuban, Mexican, Libyan, Angolan, and Czech forces, and some were more enthusiastic about their role in the war than others. Their battalion was supporting not only Libyans, but also Mexicans, and even if their shells didn't land on the intended target, they were making the lives of those in the American perimeter miserable. And to them, that counted as a victory.
The Libyan Captain in command of the battalion had a look around as his men served their guns. While they had stacked sandbags around the guns and set up camouflage netting, there were hardly any slit trenches nor personnel shelters. The defenders didn't have the guns to go around, and those they did have weren't used on counter-battery fire. Not that they could reach their position, anyway. Though there was a risk of air attack, his unit hadn't been attacked from the air, so why bother? Besides, he'd been told by his superiors that the Soviets and Cubans had air superiority in the area. Just as his deputy, a lieutenant, came in, there was a shout. “Aircraft alarm!”
As he rolled in, Guru spotted the guns. “Steady, steady....HACK!” he called as six Mark-82s and six M-117Rs came off the racks. He pulled up and called. “Lead's off safe.”
The Libyan Captain watched in horror as an F-4 came in from the north and released its bombs as it came overhead. While some of his men tried to take whatever cover they could, he just stood there. “Allah Akbar-” Then a five-hundred pound bomb exploded barely twenty feet from him....
“Good hits!” Goalie shouted. Though they'd have to look at the strike camera footage, it looked like their bombs had ripped apart several guns, and had also it some kind of command area. And a couple of ammo trucks had been blown apart for good measure.
“Two's in hot!” Sweaty called. She rolled in, and decided the ammo trucks were a good enough target. She laid her Rockeyes on the trucks, and as she pulled away, the CBU bomblets covered most of the battalion's ammo trucks and prime movers. And there were quite a few secondaries. “Two's off safe.”
“Copy, Two,” Guru said. “Nail, Camaro. We are Winchester.”
“Roger that, Camaro. I give you one hundred percent bombs on target. Thanks a lot, guys and gals, and have a nice day.'
“Will do, Nail,” Guru replied. He took his F-4 back down low and headed southwest, and Sweaty was right in trail behind him.
About a minute had passed when Sweaty called, “Guru, Break left!”
Guru responded instantly, and broke to the left, and rolled away. As he did, Goalie was looking around. “What?”
Sweaty lined it up in the pipper. “FOX TWO!” She called. And an AIM-9P came off one of the port missile rails, and tracked towards a helicopter. The Sidewinder flew straight and true, and smashed into a Libyan Air Force Mi-8 Hip. The Sidewinder's warhead tore off several rotor blades, and shrapnel flew into the two saddle fuel tanks, exploding the helo. Sweaty pulled up slightly and rolled to avoid the fireball and debris, and shouted“Splash!”
“Good kill, Sweaty,” Guru called.
“Better be,” she replied. “That's number three.”
Just as she rolled back, and came in to rejoin Guru, both F-4s were, unknown to them, approaching a sector manned by Mexicans. And the first hint of that was several vehicles on State Route 83, south of Parker. And they were BTR-152s escorting a supply convoy, and those BTRs had ZU-23s mounted on top. The crews saw the F-4s, and promptly opened fire, spraying 23-mm fire at the two aircraft.
“Flak coming up,” Goalie saw from the back seat.
“I see it,” Guru said. “Break!” And both F-4s broke away, Guru to the left, and Sweaty to the right. They avoided most of the tracer fire, but not all, for both Guru and Goalie felt two small thumps.
“Sweaty, we've been hit.”
“How bad, Lead?” Sweaty responded. “Coming back in.” She rolled her F-4 back in. “Can't see any smoke.”
“Everything seems okay,” Guru replied. “No warning lights, no nothing.”
“Hey,” Goalie called from the back seat. “Look at the TIESO mount.” The TIESO mount on the left side of the aircraft was a EO sensor used in conjunction with the Maverick missile. Now, a jagged hole was in the mount. “If that's all that was hit....”
Guru nodded, then checked his control panel. Everything looked normal, then he saw it. “Engine temp on Number one's a little too high. Not bad enough, but enough to worry.”
“Divert?” Goalie asked.
“Yeah. Bandsaw, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Bandsaw, go,” the controller replied.
“Bandsaw, we need to divert. Can you give us a vector to the nearest divert field?” Guru said. “And make it fast, fella.”
“Copy. Stand by.”
Guru frowned underneath his oxygen mask. “Can't wait all day.”
“Camaro,” the controller called after what seemed like forever, but was only about thirty seconds. “Your vector across the mountains is two-six-five. Nearest open divert field is Grand Junction.”
“Bandsaw, what about Aspen?” Guru replied.
“Camaro, they're cleaning up after an air strike. Grand Junction is your best bet.”
“Roger that,” Guru said. “Sweaty, on me.”
“Right on you, Lead.” his wingman said. And the two F-4s crossed the Rockies.
In his cockpit, Guru was checking the engine dials every few seconds, it seemed. The engine temp on the port engine had climbed some, but it wasn't high enough to shut down. Yet. After clearing the mountains, the two F-4s climbed to altitude and Guru had Sweaty come in beneath him to have a look.
“Anything?'
“No fluid, no nothing coming out,” Sweaty replied. “But there's a hole right beneath the port engine.”
In 512's back seat, Goalie grumbled. “Somebody got dammed lucky back there.”
“No skydiving into bad-guy land, this time,” Guru replied. “If we have to bail...”
“Beats the alternative,” Goalie said.
The two F-4s kept on heading west, and soon it was time to talk to Grand Junction. “Bandsaw, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Bandsaw, go.”
“Bandsaw, can you notify Grand Junction they have an F-4 coming in with battle damage?”
“Camaro, that's affirm. Do you need the equipment?” The controller asked. The “equipment” meant fire and rescue services.
“Negative, Bandsaw.”
“Copy that, and good luck, buddy.”
“Thanks, Bandsaw,” Guru replied. Then he called the Grand Junction tower. “Grand Junction Tower, Camaro One-one.”
“Camaro, Grand Junction. We've been notified. Do you need the fire trucks?” Asked a tower operator.
“Negative, unless I declare an emergency,” Guru said. “Clear the field, fella. I'm coming in.”
“Roger, Camaro. Winds are two-seven three at five. Clear for landing on Runway two-nine. Field elevation four-nine-five-eight.”
Both Guru and Goalie got ready to put down, while Sweaty flew alongside. Guru put the gear down, and things looked okay. “Sweaty?”
“Both gears down,” she called. “Still no smoke.”
“Copy.” Guru said as he lined up on final. As he came in, he saw the fire trucks waiting, on the north end of Runway 22. Somebody thought “better safe than sorry,” he said to himself as he put the F-4 down. As he did, he hit the brakes and popped the drag chute. Sweaty saw him land, then she gunned her engines and pulled up. But instead of heading for a tanker and then back to Williams, she got into the traffic pattern.
The F-4 taxied off the runway, the fire trucks following, then Guru was met by a “Follow Me” truck, and he followed the truck until he got to an open area of the ramp, then he stopped and shut down. After popping the canopy, he and Goalie stood up as the fire crews arrived. He gave them a thumbs-up, but they still approached the aircraft with caution. Only when they saw no signs of fire did they begin to relax. As they did, Sweaty brought her plane in. After the firemen brought a crew ladder, Guru and Goalie got out and had a look at the aircraft.
“You guys okay?” One of the firemen asked.
“We're fine,” Goalie replied. “Need to see how the plane is, though.”
Guru got down and crawled underneath the aircraft. Sure enough, there was a small hole beneath the port J-79 engine. “One lucky shot.”
“Enough to hurt the engine?” Goalie asked.
“Enough to make me want to divert,” Guru said. “But I'm not flying back to Williams on that engine.”
Just then, Sweaty and Preacher forced their way through the firemen. “Comin' through,” she yelled.
Goalie had crept down to have a look for herself. “One round did that?”
“If it's still in the engine, yeah,” Guru said, getting back out from underneath the Phantom, and he found Sweaty and Preacher there. “You were right. One nice hole.”
“What now?” Sweaty asked. “Or let me guess: we need a Combat Repair Team.”
“And a new engine. I'm not flying back on that one,” Guru said.
Then a deuce-and-a-half pulled up, and an AF officer in a flight suit came over. “Who's the pilot?”
“Right here,” Guru said.
“Lee Kirby,” the officer said. He was a Captain, like Guru. “What happened?”
“Flak,” Guru replied. “One shot wrecked our TISEO, and the other? Put the hurt on my port J-79 engine. Can I make a phone call? I need to notify my base, and get a Combat Repair Team up here. With a new engine.”
“No problem, Captain Kirby said. “Get in.”
The four F-4 crewers got into the truck, and Kirby took them over to Base Operations. On the ride over, they noticed the place was busy, with Counter-SOF ops flying A-37s, OV-10s, even a couple of ex-warbird Skyraiders. That reminded them of a guy who'd flown a Warbird A-1E to Williams the second week of the war, to offer his services. Someway, somehow, they found some 20-mm guns that used to be on Skyraiders, got the weapons control to work again, and put on a desert camouflage paint job. The pilot, who'd flown A-1s in Vietnam before flying for the airlines, was reactivated as a Major, and was now flying his warbird in the Counter-SOF role. In addition to those folks, C-130s and even C-123s were on the ramp, along with a couple of HH-3 rescue choppers. Just another field supporting the war.
The deuce-and-a-half pulled up to base operations. “Captain, just go in there, and I'll be right outside,” Kirby said.
Guru nodded, and the four F-4 crewers went in. After he asked a sergeant, Guru led them to the main ops office, and asked another Captain for a phone. “Need to call Williams AFB.”
“No problem, Captain,” the officer, Captain Toby Wright, said. He made the call, and asked, “Which unit?”
“The 335th TFS,” Guru replied.
After telling the operator, Wright handed the receiver to Guru. “Here you go.”
After two rings, there was a pickup. “Captain Ellis, 335th TFS.”
“Mark, it's Guru. Put Colonel Rivers on,” Guru told the 335's Ops Officer.
“What? And where are you, man?”
“Grand Junction, Colorado, with an F-4 with a sick engine. And it happens to be mine. Sweaty's here with me as well. Before you ask, her bird's okay. But she put down anyway. Get Colonel Rivers.”
“Got you,” Ellis said.
While Guru was waiting for Rivers to come on the line, he saw Preacher striking up a conversation with a female First Lieutenant, while a Sergeant got coffee for Goalie and Sweaty. The sergeant then offered him a cup, and he gratefully accepted. “Thanks, Sergeant.”
Then a familiar voice came over the line. It was Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, the CO of the 335th. “XO, what's going on, and where are you?”
“Boss, I'm in Grand Junction, Colorado, and my bird has a sick J-79 engine, thanks to some flak damage. I need a Combat Repair Team up here, and they need to bring a new engine.”
“Okay, XO. Just stay calm. I'll put you on hold, while I get things rolling on that.” And Guru was then on hold. And while he was waiting, Goalie tapped him on the shoulder. “What?”
She pointed to an officer who looked like an AF version of Lt. Fuzz from the Beetle Bailey comic strip. “That.”
“Who are these officers out of uniform?' A pipsqueak-looking First Lieutenant said.
“Who's asking?” Guru said, seeing the pipsqueak and tapping his Captain's bars. “I've got two bars. You've got one. Beat it.”
The lieutenant looked at him. “I'm getting the CO,” he said. Then he left the room.
Goalie came over. “A junior version of Carson?” Major Frank Carson, or “The 335th's Frank Burns” as he was called, was the most despised officer in the squadron, infamous for blindly going by the book, even when wartime circumstances meant dropping parts of the book.
“Sure hope not,” Guru said, while Sweaty shook her head.
Then Colonel Rivers got back on the line. “XO, found a CRT, a new engine, and a C-130. Wheels up in a half-hour, and they should be there in two and a half hours. Best we can do.”
“Thanks, Colonel,” Guru said.
“I'll find you thorough Base Ops up there,” Rivers said. “Let me know when you're getting ready to leave.”
“Will do, Boss,” Guru said just as a slightly grey-haired AF Lieutenant Colonel came into the room. As everyone came to attention, and someone shouted “Ten-hut!”, Guru said, “Boss, I gotta go. I'll let you know when we're coming back.”
“I heard,” Rivers said. “Stay cool, XO.”
“Will do,” Guru replied. Then he handed the phone to one of the sergeants.
“Sir,” the pipsqueak-looking lieutenant said, coming out from behind the colonel. “This is what I've been trying to tell you. Transiting aircrew out of uniform!”
“I'll handle this.” the colonel said. “Captain,” he said to Guru. “That your sick F-4 out on the ramp?
“Yes, sir,” said Guru. “Took some flak south of Denver. Put a hole in one of my engines, and I didn't want to chance it getting back home.”
The colonel looked Guru and Goalie over. “You two crew?”
“Yes, sir,” Guru said. “Lieutenant Eichhorn's my GIB.”
“MiG kills?”
“Yes, sir. Five, including a MiG-29. But she was with me for only two.”
“Don't worry, Lieutenant. Your time will come,” the colonel said to Goalie.
“If you say so, sir,” she replied.
“And the other two are your wingmates? Asked the colonel.
“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded. “Lieutenant Blanchard is my wingie, and Lieutenant Simmonds is her GIB.”
“Any MiG kills?” The colonel wanted to know. He was looking Sweaty over.
“Sir, two. Including a MiG-29 with the Captain,” Sweaty said. “And a Hip just this afternoon.”
The Colonel nodded, then shot an icy look at the pipsqueak. “Lieutenant, I strongly suggest that you have a look at someone's rank insignia, or if they've got wings of any sort before you call them out-on anything! In my office, in five. Understood?”
The lieutenant wilted under the withering glare of his superior, said, “Yes, sir,” in a weak voice, then left the room.
“As you were, people,” the colonel said. He put out his hand to Guru. “Jim Osborne, Captain. F-100s out of Tuy Hoa in 1967-68, and F-4s for LINEBACKER I and II.”
“Captain Matt Wiser, sir. 335th TFS,” Guru said, shaking Osborne's hand. “Always a pleasure to meet a Vietnam vet.”
“The Air Force's Bastard Orphans, I see. Word's gotten around about you guys,” Osborne said. “I'd be back in the saddle myself, but a heart murmur....comes from dodging too many flying telephone poles in Pack Six.”
Guru nodded, while Sweaty said. “Sir, speaking from experience....”
Colonel Osborne nodded. “And you all have quite a bit of experience.” He looked the four F-4 crewers over. “I'd like to apologize for my subordinate's actions. He's been like this ever since he showed up here.”
Preacher nodded. “Sir, I was studying for the priesthood when the war began, and I can tell when someone's got something in their craw. What's with this fellow?”
Osborne looked at Preacher. “He washed out of basic flight, and he's been like this ever since.”
“Sir, that would do it to anyone,” Sweaty said.
“Colonel, if I may?” Guru asked.
“Captain?” Osborne asked.
“Sir, perhaps a transfer to a place where the climate might induce a change of attitude? Someplace like Loring, Goose Bay, or Gander?” Guru suggested.
“That's certainly possible,” Colonel Osborne noted. “Any other suggestions?”
“Sir,” Goalie spoke up. “We've got a few GIBs in the 335th who washed out of flight, but did pretty good at nav school. One's even the GIB for our CO. He may not have cut it as a pilot, but...”
Colonel Osborne looked at Goalie, then at Preacher, who nodded in the affirmative. “That's also a possibility....but his attitude when I see him back in my office will determine which one I take up.” Then Captain Kirby came in.”Captain, take these four officers over to the terminal. The cafe there is open, and the food's pretty good. If they need anything while they're here, give it to them, within reason. And Captain? If Kirby can't get what you need, call or ask to see me. I'll see what I can do.” Then Colonel Osborne left to return to his office.
“Just like our CO down at Williams,” Goalie said. “He's the kind of guy who takes care of his people, and you'd fly with him anywhere.”
Kirby smiled. “That he is, and word has it he wanted to retake a flight physical and get back in, but his wife said no.”
“And she who must be obeyed....” Preacher said.
“That's about it.” Kirby said. “Come on, I'll take you guys over to the terminal.”
As they left the ops office, they could hear shouting from Colonel Osborne's office. “Sounds like someone's getting torn a new hole,” Goalie said.
“He deserves it,” Kirby admitted. “He's been like this to everyone, base personnel, the counter-SOF guys, Special Ops aviation-AF or Army, transiting aircrew, C-130 guys flying into Denver, you name it.”
The F-4 crewers nodded, and as they got into the Deuce-and-a-half, Guru asked, “How's the food?”
“Not bad,” Kirby said. “Beef, not so much, but Deer, Elk, Chicken, Pork? They've got it.”
“Fair enough,” Guru said. “Let's go.”