lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Oct 22, 2024 15:09:17 GMT
Posted with permission of Matt Wiser over at HPCA: PRAIRIE FIRE: Day OneThe Big day finally comes; PRAIRIE FIRE...from the 335th's POV: Light the (Prairie) FireWilliams AFB, AZ, 14 May, 1987; 1725 Hours Mountain War Time: Captain Matt “Guru” Wiser of the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron taxied his F-4E Phantom into its dispersal area. He and his flight had flown four missions that day, including one up to the Denver Siege Perimeter. Though there would be light enough for another forty-five minutes or so, this was the last flight of the day. After shutting down, he and his WSO, First Lieutenant Lisa Eichhorn, climbed down from the aircraft, bone tired and ready to get something to eat, and maybe have a beer in the Officer's Club, before going to their billet at the Mesa Sheraton, getting some sleep, and then going out the next morning and doing it all over again. His crew chief, Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, was waiting for him. “Sergeant.” “Sir,” Crowley said. “Word from Colonel Rivers, all aircrew meeting in the main briefing room. Now, Sir.” The members of his flight looked at each other. His wingmate, Captain Kara “Starbuck” Thrace and her back-seater, Captain Judd Brewster, just rolled their eyes. Then the second element came over; First Lieutenant Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard and her back-seater Second Lieutenant Bryan Simmonds, along with First Lieutenant Nathan West and his back-seater Second Lieutenant Kathryn Thompson. “What's going on?” Sweaty asked. “Your guess is as good as mine,” Guru said. “Let's go.” The four crews headed on over to the squadron building, which had housed a T-37 training squadron prewar, and they went right to the main briefing room, not even bothering to get out of their G-Suits and harnesses. When they got there, they discovered the room was packed, and the CO, Lt. Col. Dean Rivers had a scowl on his face. Guru nodded to Maj. David Golen, who was an Israeli AF observer visiting the squadron. “Ever seen anything like this?” “Once. The Yom Kippur War, on the first day, and then the day we crossed the Canal,” Golen said. He'd been a brand-new Second Lieutenant in 1973, and had nailed three MiGs during that war, and had a couple more in F-16s during the Bekaa Valley Turkey Shoot in 1982. “Well, now that everyone's here,” Colonel Rivers said. “Especially the Exec,” nodding in Guru's direction. “Got some bad news for all of you: the twelve-hour rule is in effect, as of now. Curfew for you guys is at 2000. Wake-up is at 0300, and first wheels up tomorrow morning is at 0430.” “What?” Starbuck said, and Guru echoed her. In fact, almost everyone was. The buzz in the room was palpable. “Don't bother eating breakfast at billeting, because you'll eat here in the morning. The maintenance and ordnance folks will be up all night, getting your birds tweaked, and then armed,” Rivers continued. “I can't tell you guys any more than that, and this comes from Tenth Air Force. Any questions?” “Colonel,” Guru's hand shot up. “What's this all about? Wasn't like this in the early days.” “Can't tell you, XO,” Rivers said. Captain Wiser was the Executive Officer of the 335th. “Any other questions?” Rivers asked. He surveyed the room, then nodded. “All right. Get on over to the Sheraton, have a good dinner, get a good night's sleep, and see you in the morning. 0330.” “Guru, what's going on?” Lieutenant Eichhorn, call sign Goalie, asked. “Something's up.” “Yeah,” Guru said. “Go on ahead and get the debrief going. I'm going to see what this is all about.” He then went down to see Colonel Rivers. “Sir. Can we talk?” “My office,” Rivers said. And the two officers went to the CO's office. “Close the door, XO.” After Guru did so, he asked “Permission to speak freely, Sir?” “Always, Guru,” Rivers said. “Say whatever's on your mind.” “Sir, I'm your Exec. If something's going on, I need to know about it. Especially if something happens to you,” Guru told his CO. “I know, Guru, I know,” replied the CO. “I don't like it any more than you do, but this came from the top. Tenth Air Force. And General Tanner didn't like this either.” And when General Tanner didn't like something, Guru knew, it had to be important. “Sir, does this have anything to do with Wichita? Or that conference you went to last week?” “Maybe. That's all I can tell you. If anything happens to me, I'm putting together a packet with everything you need. Ross will give it to you,” the CO said. Master Sergeant Michael Ross was the squadron's senior NCO. And no one was more highly respected in the squadron than he was. The man was old enough to be the father of nearly everybody in the unit, and the enlisted airmen looked up to him as a father figure. Guru nodded. “Yes, Sir.” “Anything else?” Rivers asked. “No, Sir.” “All right; get debriefed, get something to eat, and have a good night's sleep. It'll be a busy day tomorrow.” “Yes, Sir,” Guru said. “Dismissed,” Rivers nodded, and Guru saluted and headed out of the office. He then headed over to the locker room, got out of his harness and G-Suit, then went to the old classroom that his flight used for briefings and debriefings. “Well?” Goalie asked as he entered. “No joy,” Guru told his flight. “Whatever's going on, we won't know until after the first sortie.” “What?” Kara and Sweaty asked at once. “They're holding this close to the chest. This might have something to do with Wichita, but Rivers wouldn't tell me any more than that.” Sweaty looked at her flight lead. “Guru, you're the XO. Shouldn't you know what's going on?” “That's what I told him,” Guru replied. “He told me this comes from the top, and that's higher than General Tanner. Whatever this is, security's super-tight.” Heads nodded at that. Something was up. And whatever it was, it was important. “So when do we know?” Kara asked. “When we come back from the first sortie.” Guru said. “Let's get the debrief done, something to eat, then get back to the Sheraton. Won't be long until 0300.” Sheraton Mesa Resort: 0300 Mountain War Time, 15 May 1987: The phone rang in between the two beds. Each bed's occupant reached for the phone, but only one grabbed the handle. “Yeah?” “This is your 3:00 AM wake-up call,” the voice on the other end said. “Thank you,” Guru said as he hung up. He quickly got out of bed, and quickly got dressed. Captain Don Van Loan, his roommate, got up as well. “Won't be long until we know what this is all about.” 'Yeah,” Van Loan, the assistant Ops Officer, said. Both quickly shaved and brushed their teeth, then headed on out, and the hall was filled with 335th and Marine aircrews who were all headed to the base. When they left the lobby of the hotel, the buses were there, waiting. The crews got onto the buses, then were bused to the base. When they got off, they noticed there was a large amount of activity, as promised, to get the first birds off by 0430. And everyone noticed the various squadron commanders there, waiting for their people. Guru noticed Colonel Rivers. “Boss.” “Guru,” the CO said. “You guys all have fifteen minutes to eat. Then get dressed to fly, hit your briefs, then man your aircraft. First wheels up at 0430.” “You heard him,” Guru told the 335th crews. Then they all filed into a Marine operated mess tent. He turned to Goalie. “When's the last time you ate in a chow line?” “Been a while. The Academy, I think,” Goalie said. Nodding, Guru picked up a tray and silverware. He looked at the young Marine cooks. “All right, what have you guys got here?” “Here you go, Sir,” a Marine PFC replied, taking lids off of food trays. “Lovely,” Guru said. “Steak and scrambled eggs.” He took a steak, some scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, toast, and coffee. “The condemned got fed a hearty meal,” Goalie quipped as she got her meal, then sat down with her pilot. “Clear the way! Dead people walking coming through,” Kara said, and the 335th people had a good laugh at that. But they couldn't linger, for they had to be in their briefing rooms shortly. The aircrew ate quickly, then all of them, Air Force and Marine, headed to their respective squadrons to be briefed. When the 335th's officers arrived, they were told to get ready to fly, and report to their flight briefing rooms. And when Guru and the members of his flight arrived, they found two Marine officers, both aviators, waiting. “You guys flying with us?” Guru asked. “That's right,” the senior one, Capt. Jerry Singleton, said, introducing his wingmate, First Lt. Cory Abbott. “We're your SAM and flak suppressors.” After introductions, Guru opened the briefing packet. “Great.” “What?” Kara asked. “Moriarty, along I-40. Target is just south of the town. A mix of command vehicles and dugouts.” “What about 'em?” Sweaty asked. Guru looked at everyone. “HQ, Soviet 13th Army.” The room was silent for a minute. “What the hell?” Kara asked. “Someone's gone nuts.” “Tell me about it,” Guru said. “SA-2 and SA-3 nearby, plus at least one 57-mm battery, and watch for ZU-23s as well. They have a guard battalion around the HQ, so MANPADS will be there as well.” “So how do we do this?” Goalie asked. “We don't have much in the way of laser bombs, so what are we carrying?” “Lead element has a dozen Mark-82s, each airplane,” Guru replied. “Second element has Mark-20 Rockeyes to rip them up afterwards. We go in, low and fast, make a turn and do our run from West to East. Pop-up at thirty seconds to target, drop our ordnance, and get gone. One pass and haul ass.” “Sounds good to me,” Sweaty said. “Usual air-to-air load?” “Yep,” Guru replied. “Four AIM-9s-and we get Ps now, by the way, and two AIM-7Es. Usual ALQ-101 in a forwards Sparrow well and a full load of 20-mm.” He looked around. “Okay, SAM-supporession,” he said, turning to the two Marines. “I want the SA-3 site hit with HARM, and the 57 site hit as well. Then CBU what's left.” “Got it,” Captain Singleton replied. “Bailout areas are anyplace where there isn't a road. Stay with a cripple as long as you can. If you can hit the river, best of all” Guru said, and everyone nodded. Then there was a knock on the door. “Come on in and show yourself!” In came First Lieutenant Darren Licon, the Squadron Intelligence Officer. “Guru, got something from the Boss.” “What is it?” “Stay away from the Albuquerque area is what he's telling everyone.” Licon said. “And before you ask, he told me to tell you that you'll see why when sunrise comes.” The aircrews looked at each other. “Lovely,” Nathan West said. “Thanks, Darren,” Guru said. He turned to the aircrews. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. “Let's hit it.” Over occupied New Mexico, 0525 Hours Mountain War Time, 15 May 1987: The six-ship flight was headed due east, and as they did so, the crews could see the first rays of dawn beginning to break. They were going in a little higher than usual, since the F-4s normally didn't fly night strikes, and when they had left Williams it was still pitch dark. In the lead F-4, Guru was concentrating on flying the aircraft while Goalie handled the navigation. “Approaching Highway 285, Guru. Turn point in one minute.” “Copy,” Guru said. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One,” he said. “Any threats?” “Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS controller called back. “Negative.” “Roger,” Guru said. “Turn point.... Now!” Goalie called. Guru turned the F-4 due north. Their next turn point would be I-40. Ivan was using the Interstate as a Main Supply Route, and they'd flown strikes against supply dumps and truck parks along the freeway more than once. But they had been directed not to hit any bridges on the freeway. None at all. “How long to turn?” “One minute,” Goalie replied. “Copy.” “And turn.” Guru put the aircraft into a left turn, and in the predawn twilight, picked up the twin ribbons of interstate highway. So far, it looked like I-40 was quiet. Not for long, he thought. You guys are getting a big wake-up call this morning....”Pop up?” “One minute.” “Corvette Flight, Lead. Switches on, radars on. Time to go to work.” “We're hot,” Goalie called. “Stand by... and now! Pop up!” Guru pulled up to 1500 feet AGL and he saw the town. And just to the south, there it was. All the revetments built to shelter vehicles made the target stick out like a sore thumb. He then called the two Marines. “Rattlers, go to work.” “Roger that!” Captain Singleton called. Both Hornets climbed further, and picked out the SA-3 site. Singleton put his HARM missile on it, and the SA-3, which had just gone from search to fire-control mode, suddenly went off the air as the HARM exploded the radar. Then the Marine element lead rolled in, and put his two Rockeye CBUs onto the SAM site, putting it out of action. Just as the Hornet lead went in, Lieutenant Abbott rolled in on the 57-mm site. Their radar was not up, so he simply dropped his CBUs on the flak battery, ripping it apart. Then it was time for the F-4s to go in. “Lead's in hot!” Guru called. He picked up the center of the HQ area, where a number of command vehicles were all clustered together, and all of them had antennae very prominently displayed. He lined one of them in his pipper, then hit the pickle button. “HACK!” And a dozen Mark-82 five-hundred pound bombs came off his aircraft. “Lead off safe.” His bombs landed in the middle of the target area, and several command vehicles exploded, or were tipped over by near-misses. A number of Soviet soldiers whose vehicles had not been hit tried to start their engines, but it was too late... “Two in hot!” Kara called. She laid down her bombs just to the south of where Guru had put his, One of her bombs happened to hit the HQ's portable generator, while another bomb landed on top of a bunker where several of the Army's staff officers were sleeping. The bunkers were built to protect against insurgent rocket or mortar attacks. Not a five-hundred pound bomb landing right on top of it....”Two's off safe.” “Three in hot!” Sweaty yelled. She and West had a dozen CBUs, and she decided to put hers right where Guru had laid his bombs. A dozen Rockeyes came off her bird, and each CBU had 247 bomblets, ideal for ripping up armored vehicles or anything else they touched. A number of vehicles that had survived Guru's bombs were hit by the bomblets, and they fireballed. “Three's off safe.” “Four in hot!” West said. He laid down his CBUs on where Kara had laid her bombs, and as he dropped, he noticed some flak, probably 23-mm, coming up. It was too little, too late. And like his element lead, several vehicles were hit by his CBUs, and they fireballed as well, and also caught a number of personnel out in the open, killing and wounding many. He easily outran the flak, and called, “Four off safe.” “Copy that. Form on me, music on, and let's get the hell out of here,” Guru called. That call told everyone to turn on their jamming pods, and the four F-4s did so. The two Hornets formed up on the Phantoms, and everyone headed to the southwest. The strike birds picked up their safe-passage lane, so that the Army pukes who handled the HAWK and Patriot SAM batteries wouldn't shoot them out of the sky. As they headed out, they all noticed something as they approached the Rio Grande. Flashes all along and behind the river. Artillery fire. And to the north, at Albuquerque's southern outskirts, it looked like something from Apocalypse Now, as the sky was full of Huey and Chinook helicopters. “What the?” Kara called over the radio. “Wouldn't want to be there right now,” Sweaty replied. “That sky's full of choppers. And above the choppers, it's full of shells.” “Roger that!” Guru said. “Crossing the fence.” That meant the Rio Grande. And as they did, the crews saw Army vehicles crossing the river. “Go Army...” “This is big, Guru!” Goalie said over the intercom. “Think this is it?” He nodded. “Maybe.” Then it was time to call the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Flight across the fence.” “Copy,” the controller replied. “Do you need a vector to the tankers?” “Roger that,” Guru replied. The AWACS controller vectored them to the tanker track over the Continental Divide, and to the fighter crews, it was crowded airspace. Lots of tankers orbiting, whether KC-135s, KC-10s, or Marine KC-130s. And it seemed that there were fighters or attack birds all over, either pulling away from the tankers and headed in, or, like they were, coming out. And as usual, battle-damaged aircraft went to the head of the line, but this morning, there were only a couple. The Hornets drank from a KC-130, while the F-4s went to a KC-10 to refuel. Then they headed back to Williams. They came into the pattern and then landed, and as they taxied to their respective dispersal areas, the crews noticed a second wave was getting ready to go. It was 0615. Guru taxied to his revetment and shut down. After he popped his canopy, he asked Goalie. “Now we'll find out what's going on.” “Yeah,” Goalie said as the ground crew put the crew ladders in place. Guru and Goalie climbed down from 512, then did a quick postflight inspection. Then he turned to Sergeant Crowley. “Pull the strike camera film and send it off.” As he said that, he noticed the ordnance crews bringing CBUs to 512, and the other three birds in the flight. “What the?” “Guru,” Goalie tapped him on the shoulder. “Colonel Rivers and Licon coming.” The CO and the SIO came over. “How'd it go?” Rivers asked. “This debrief will be out here. Because as soon as you're all turned around, you're going back out.” “What?” Kara asked. “Sir, if you don't mind my saying this, but what's going on?” “Now that the first wave is back, I can finally tell you guys. This is it. Operation PRAIRIE FIRE. Ivan impaled himself at Wichita, thanks to Schwartzkopf, and now, we're going to push them back. You guys probably saw the Army crossing the Rio Grande.” When he saw them nod, Rivers continued. “And they're not stopping until the Texas line at least.” “About time,” Guru said. “So, the mission?” “How'd it go?” Licon asked. “No SAMs.” Guru said. “Flak?” “Only as I was coming in,” Nathan said. “The Marines did their job. No heavy flak, and no SAMs.” “BDA?” Licon wanted to know. “We hit the target area, and there were a few secondaries,” Kara said. “I saw some from Guru's bombs.” “And some from yours,” Sweaty added. “You'll probably need the strike footage.” “I'll have it developed ASAP,” Rivers said. “That strike was a high-priority one.” “Yes, Sir,” Guru agreed. “Now what?” “Get yourselves something to drink, hit the latrine, because in twenty minutes, you're going back out.” “Sir?” Guru asked. Nothing like this had happened much since the early days. “You're on-call CAS. Check in with III Corps' ALO, and they'll direct you to a FAC. We'll be doing this all morning, and likely all day as well,” Rivers said. “Good luck.” He then headed off with Licon to debrief another arriving flight. “Like the early days?” Kara asked. “I've heard horror stories about those.” “Yeah,” Guru said. “Five missions a day for the first four days. Total confusion, just find armor headed north and strike.” He shook his head at the memory. And he'd seen photos of I-19 north of Nogales, where the 335th, along with the A-10s from Davis-Monthan, had turned the interstate into a junkyard of Mexican and Cuban armor, shattered soft-skinned vehicles, and dead and maimed men. “Better do what the Boss said,” Sweaty nodded. Heads nodded in agreement, and they all went to do their business and get something to drink. When they came back, the crews noticed the ordnance guys hard at work. And there were numerous AF and Marine aircraft coming in and taking off. Then, fifteen minutes later, Sergeant Crowley came over to Guru. “Sir, you're ready to rock.” “Here we go,” Kara said, getting off a parked Hummer. Guru nodded. One thing he had noticed: no one had gotten out of their G-Suits. “Okay, this'll be short. Go by call sign, not mission code on the radio, unless you're with a FAC or an AWACS.” He saw his flight nod. “Anything else?” “How about applying for frequent-flier miles?” Sweaty joked. And the others laughed. “I'll take it up with the CO,” Guru laughed. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. He grabbed his flight helmet. “Time to go. Let's hit it.” Five minutes later, the flight was taxiing to the runway, and then they launched. And this was the second mission of the day, and it was only 0705....... |
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Oct 22, 2024 15:10:08 GMT
PRAIRIE FIRE: Day One Part II: more strikes,Kara gets her second MiG, and a snotty Major everyone hates rears his head...
Over Western New Mexico, 0815 Hours:
The flight of four F-4s was orbiting about twenty miles west of Los Lunas, on the Rio Grande. They had checked in with the Air Force Air Liaison Officer with III Corps, and had been told to wait. Guru had told the man, “We ain't got the gas to stay up here all day, fella.” But they had been told to wait. Then a call came for them.
“Corvette Two-One, Bulldog Zero-One. Contact Nail 36 for tasking,” the ALO called.
“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Nail Three-Six, Corvette Two-One, how copy?”
“Corvette Two-One, Nail Three-Six. Come on in. Tasking near Edgewood on I-40.”
“Roger that,” Guru called. “Flight, Lead. Let's go to work.” And the four Phantoms headed northeast. To everyone's surprise, their RWRs were not showing any enemy SAM or fighter radars. Something was going right, though down below, the crews could see the ground forces-in this area it was the 5th Marine Division, pushing east. As the flight cleared the Sandias, Guru noticed an A-7 orbiting. Only this one was a two-seat A-7K, now being used as a FAC platform. “Nail Three-Six, Corvette Two-One. Coming in from southwest.”
“Roger, Corvette and I see you,” the FAC called. With those smoky J-79 engines, one could see an F-4 approaching before one actually had eyeballs on the airplane.
“Roger,” Guru replied. “What's the target?”
“Armor headed south on Route 344, north of the Interstate. Tanks and Bravo-Tango-Romeos. Time to make these go away, son.” the FAC replied.
“By the sound of his voice,” Goalie said from the rear cockpit. “He's a Vietnam vet.”
“Not to mention calling me 'son',” Guru quipped. “Copy, Nail. Want to make the run northeast to southwest.”
“Your call, Corvette.”
Guru nodded. “Flight, Lead. Follow me in. Northeast to Southwest. One pass only. If you have hung ordnance, don't go around for another try.”
“Copy, Lead,” Starbuck called.
“Roger.” Sweaty.
“Copy that,” “Hoser” West.
Guru led the F-4s on their maneuver, and he watched as Nail made a run and fired a couple of rockets. The WP that resulted from the rocket impact clearly showed the target.
“Anything north of the Willie Pete is yours, Corvette.” Nail replied.
“Copy. Say threat.”
“Corvette, negative radar SAMs, but Sierra Alpha-Nines, and Shilkas.” And to prove his point, the A-7 dodged a hail of 23-mm fire coming from below.
“Copy,” Guru replied. “Set it up. Everything in one pass.”
“Got it,” Goalie said. “You're hot.
“Flight, follow me in. Lead's in hot.” And with that, Guru rolled in on the armor, still in road march.
Down below, the Soviet battalion commander was shouting at his company commanders on the radio in his command BTR.” First, there had been this no-notice order to form up and join the rest of the regiment, which was somewhere south of what the locals called 'I-40'. Second, as the battalion moved south, there had been some sniping, and some RPGs shot at their vehicles, knocking out a couple of BTR-70s and blowing the tread off a T-72. And now, this solo aircraft, which had been lurking, out of SAM range, and even daring his antiaircraft vehicles to shoot at it. Then his political officer tapped him on the shoulder. “What is it, Comrade...”
“AIRCRAFT!” The Zampolit shouted, pointing to the northeast.
“Mother of...” the Soviet Major muttered, as the lead F-4 came in and cluster bombs came off the racks.
“Gotcha!” Guru yelled as he laid his Rockeyes just north of the WP smoke. “Lead off target.”
“Two's in hot!” Kara called, seeing Guru's CBUs find targets and explode several. She picked out the trailing vehicles and selected them. Again, Rockeyes came off an F-4, and she pulled out. “Two off target.”
“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called as Kara pulled off. She decided on the middle of the column, and saw several vehicles explode as Kara's CBUs went off, and there were burning vehicles where Guru had dropped his. Steady, steady, she told herself. “HACK!” A dozen Mark-20 Rockeyes came off her aircraft.
“Disperse! Get off the road!” The battalion commander was shouting. The road ahead was blocked with burning vehicles after the first two aircraft had made their runs, Then he heard another aircraft coming in, and he was cursing his driver. “Move it, you gutless...” Then his BTR took hits, exploding around him.
“Three's off target,” Sweaty called.
“Four's in hot,” Hoser said. He simply made his run in between where Guru and Sweaty had dropped theirs, Again, CBUs came off an F-4, and he pulled up after release. “Four's off target.”
“Nail, Corvette,” Guru called. “How'd we do?”
“Corvette, Nail Three-Six. I give you one-hundred percent bombs on target. Grade Point Average Four decimal Zero. Have a nice day.”
“Roger that and thank you,” Guru replied. “Flight, let's get out of here.”
“Copy, Lead,” Kara calmly replied. Then she shouted. “LEAD! BREAK RIGHT!”
Guru broke hard right, then he saw a MiG-23 overshoot him. Then he heard Kara shouting.
“FOX TWO!” And an AIM-9P came off her Phantom, streaking like a spear into the MiG's tailpipe. The missile exploded, then the MiG became a fireball. There was no chute. “Splash!”
“Good kill, Two!' Sweaty shouted.
Guru frowned underneath his oxygen mask. Where had that MiG come from? If Kara hadn't been on the ball...”Nice shootin', Starbuck,” He called. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One.”
“Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace, go.” the controller responded.
“Crystal Palace, we just had a Flogger jump us. Where the hell did he come from?”
“Corvette, We had him about ten seconds before someone called 'Splash.'”
“Thanks a lot, buddy. He almost splashed one of us.” Guru replied, not bothering to tell the AWACS knothead he'd been the one who'd almost become someone's scalp.
“Roger, Corvette. Do you need a vector to the tanker track?”
“Copy.”
The controller vectored the flight to the tankers, and just like the previous mission, the tanker circuit was busy. After refueling, they headed back to Williams. When they landed, the flight taxied back to their dispersal area, and just like the morning, someone was waiting for them. Only this time, it was just Licon. After Guru popped his canopy, he and Goalie shook hands, glad to be alive. If Kara hadn't been on the ball...
“How'd it go, Sir?” Licon asked as Guru and Goalie got out of the aircraft.
“Air to ground was fine,” Guru said. “Turned a battalion into a company on Highway 344.”
“FAC directed?” Licon asked as the other crews arrived.
“Yeah. Nail Three-Six was his call sign.” Guru said. “He gave us a four-point-zero.”
Nodding, Licon said, “Good, Sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah, Kara got a MiG-23 that nearly got me. Where did he come from?”
“He was hugging the mountains, saw you, and rolled in behind you,” Kara said. “He was too close, though, to try an Aphid shot,. Looked like he was trying to line you up for guns.”
“Good shooting, though,” Goalie said. “Otherwise, it was skydiving time.”
“That's two for Kara, now?” Guru asked.
“It is, Sir,” Licon said. “How many eyeballs on the kill?”
“Three pairs, not couting Kara and Brainaic,” Guru said.
Licon looked at Sweaty and Hoser, and all four crew members nodded. “And you, Sir?”
“I broke right, rolled out, and saw the missile fly up the MiG's tailpipe.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Licon said. “I'll write that up as a confirmed kill, and note the location. Maybe we can find a wreck later on.”
“Thanks, Darren,” Guru said. “Where's the CO?”
“He went out about a half-hour ago with a four-ship. Carson's with him.”
“Good. That asshole's not around, and where the boss can keep an eye on him,” Kara said.
“Seconded,” Sweaty chimed in.
Then the crews saw the ordnance people bringing five-hundred and seven hundred and fifty-pound bombs to their aircraft, along with Capt. Mark Ellis, the Ops Officer. “This one comes for the Marines. Mountainair Municipal Airport, just north of U.S. 60. The Cubans have helos based there, either Hips or Hinds.”
“Let me guess; they want them gone,” Goalie said.
“Right on that,” Ellis replied. “So we got the mission, because Marine air is busy with CAS for the jarheads.”
“Since we don't have a choice, we'll take it,” Guru said. “How long?”
“As soon as you're turned around,” Ellis said. “Sandwiches and drinks in the Hummer, hit the latrine, and get ready to go ASAP,” Ellis said. “Have a good run.” He then headed off to see the next returning flight.
Nodding, the crews went to the Hummer while the ground crew and the ordnance guys went to work. “What's the sandwiches?” Sweaty asked.
Hoser checked the box. “Chicken, Ham, Turkey, Club, and something brown that just sits there.”
Goalie checked the ice chest. “Sodas, bottled water, tea, and Gatorade.”
“Coffee in a gallon thermos,” Guru said. He helped himself to a cup. He was still full from breakfast, and didn't want to chance himself on what some called “Roadkill sandwiches” from the Marines' mess tent.
“I'd like to know,” Kara said, in between bites of a chicken sandwich, “Who wasn't on the ball with that MiG?”
“That's the sixty-four thousand-dollar question,” Goalie nodded. “He must've come up from down south.”
Sweaty nodded as well. “Want to bet his GCI got taken out, and he was just looking for a target?”
“Since he didn't bail out,” Brainac said, “we'll never know.”
Sergeant Crowley then came over. “Captain,” he said to Guru. “Your birds are ready to go.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He went over to a portable latrine-of which a number had been placed on the ramp area, and did his business there. Then he gathered his flight around the Hummer, and checked the materials Ellis had left for them. “All right....we'll come in south of Manzano Peak, pick up Route 55, and come in on the target. One run only, people! North to South. Go past the town, pick up the Chupaedra Mesa again, then turn west for the Rio Grande and I-25.”
“Threat?” Kara asked.
“Says here the only defenses are guns. ZU-23s and the quad ZPUs,” Guru said. “But everybody there likely has access to SA-7s, so watch it. No flak or SAM suppressors on this one: we're it.” Guru told his flight. “Any other questions?”
“No questions,” a voice said. “Just wishing you good luck.”
Guru turned and there was Dave Golen, their IDF observer. “Dave, this all bringing back memories?”
“Yes,” Golen said. “First day of the Yom Kippur War. But with one difference.”
“What's that?” Sweaty asked as she grabbed her helmet.
“You're winning.” Golen said. He put out his hand, and everyone shook it. “I wish I could join you.”
“Talk to Rivers when he gets back,” Guru said. “We had an IDF exchange officer go home a couple months ago: he had fifty-seven missions and a couple of MiGs on his belt when he left.”
“I will,” Golen said. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, Dave,” Guru said. “Any other questions?” He asked his flight. Heads shook no. “All right, time to hit it.”
The crews went to their birds, and after a quick walkaround, they strapped themselves into their mounts. Their flight instructors would have been apoplectic at how rushed the preflight routine was, but on a day like today, no choice. They started engines, let them warm up, then they taxied to the runway, and after the tower showed them the green light, the four F-4s rolled down the runway and into the air.
Over New Mexico: 0950 Hours:
Corvette Flight headed into enemy territory, and as they crossed the Sandias south of Manzano Peak, their RWR receivers were clear. Either the EW effort was working, or so many radars had been knocked out, and gaps torn in the ComBloc air defense net. “How long to Route 55?” Guru called.
“One minute,” Goalie replied. “Stand by to turn.”
“Roger that.” Guru then called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One. Say threat?”
“Corvette Two-One, Negative threat.”
“Copy.”
“Stand by....and turn!” Goalie called.
Guru put the F-4 into a turn, and the rest of the flight followed. “One minute thirty to pop-up?”
“Roger that,” Goalie said.
“Flight, Lead. Pick up your visual scanning. Don't want to be caught like last time,”
“Copy, Lead,” Sweaty called.
“Stand by...” Goalie said. “Now!”
Guru put the F-4 into a climb, and as he did, he could see the Mountainair Municipal Airport off to his right. “Target in sight. Lead is in hot.” He banked right, and began to roll in on the target.
“Switches set,” Goalie said. “We're hot.”
Down below, the Cuban Air Force's 261st Helicopter Squadron was trying to get their Mi-25 Hinds and Mi-8 Hips airborne. Several of each had already been shot down, and despite the skies being full of American aircraft, the ground forces needed their support. So far, the field hadn't been bombed yet, but the base commander knew his time would come. Apart from the armorers and maintenance personnel, the base commander had every available man digging slit trenches and foxholes, or improving already existing facilities, because sooner or later, the Americans would strike his field. He was distracted by a rumble off to the west. This time of day, he knew it wasn't desert thunder-he'd been exposed to enough of that the last year and a half. No, it was artillery fire. And it was coming closer.
“Steady, steady...” Guru called. He could see several helos and a couple An-2 transports on what passed for a parking area on this dirt field. Nice try, Fidel....and....”HACK!” He hit the pickle button, and six five-hundred pound and six seven-hundred and fifty pound bombs came off the aircraft. “Lead off target.”
There had been no warning. The first indication the Cubans had that their field was under attack was Guru's Phantom flying past, and then that Phantom laid a dozen bombs across the runway and the improvised parking area. Two Hips, a Hind, and one of the An-2s fireballed as bombs exploded on and around them.
“Madre Dios...,” the base commander said as one of his officers pulled him into a trench.
“Two's in hot!” Kara called. She rolled in on the western side of the field, and saw an An-2 trying to take off. She didn't have time to arm her 20-mm gun, but instead focused on the bomb run. “HACK!” She called, and walked her bombs across the runway, blasting holes in it, and also landing a bomb on a ZPU gun emplacement, whose gunners died not even knowing they were under attack. “Two off target.”
“Three's in hot,” Sweaty called. She selected the center of the runway, and saw two Hips siting next to it, still intact. She came in and smoothly walked her bombs across the center of the dirt runway, and exploded both Hips, as a five-hundred pound bomb landed between the two helos. “Three's off safe,” she called as Two-Three pulled away from the target, and right over the town of Mountainair.
“Four in hot,” Hoser called. He saw that the field had been smacked by the first three, but saw one area that hadn't been affected: a parking area south of the field for fuel trucks. Since there was no fuel storage here, even before the war, all fuel for the helicopters-and the occasional visiting An-2 or An-26, had to be delivered by fuel trucks. So Hoser made a turn before rolling in, coming in from due east, and walking his bombs along the south side of the runway. Several fuel trucks exploded, and a couple bombs landed in a tent area south of the runway. As he pulled out, he saw an An-2, to his surprise, take off and pull away to the east. You are one lucky SOB, he thought as he called. “Four off target.”
“Roger that,” Guru said. “Form on me, music on, and let's get the hell out of here.”
All four F-4s joined up and they headed right for the Rio Grande. As they headed west, all of the crews noticed Marine F-4s and A-4s overhead in abundance, providing CAS to the Marines on the ground. They even heard a Marine FAC simply stack aircraft up from 5,000 up to 25,000 feet, and telling newly arriving aircraft, “Get in line at 25,000 and wait your turn.”
“Guru, Sweaty. Glad that ain't us?” Sweaty called her flight leader.
“Roger that!” Guru replied. “Crossing the fence.”
“Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace. We show you across the fence. Do you need a vector to the tankers?”
“Negative, Crystal Palace,” Guru replied. “Not this time.”
“Roger, Corvette. Maintain Two-Seven-Zero until state line.”
“Copy,” Guru replied.
Once they reached the Arizona-New Mexico state line, they were then able to head to Williams. After coming into the pattern, they had to wait as several flights of both AF and Marine aircraft took off, then the flight was able to land. After taxiing to their dispersal area, the crews got out, relieved that this one had gone off almost like a training mission. “Good one, Guru,” Goalie said.
“If they were all like that...” Guru said. “Take 'em while we can.”
“Hey, did anyone see an An-2 on the runway?” Kara asked as they walked back to the Hummer.
“Yeah,” Hoser said. “He took off just as I was pulling away. He's lucky.”
Sweaty nodded. “Those things can land anywhere. He probably found a strip someplace to the east.”
Guru nodded as Sergeant Crowely came up. “Sergeant.”
“Sir. Anything we need to know?” He was asking about maintenance issues.
“No, not yet. Pull the strike camera footage, and..” Guru stopped. He saw the ordnance crews coming with a mixed CBU and dumb bomb load. “Well....I know what we're carrying.”
“Yes, sir. Be ready in thirty minutes,” Crowley said.
“Okay, Sergeant,” Guru said. Then he noticed Colonel Rivers and the SIO waiting. “Sir.”
“How'd things go, XO?” Rivers asked.
“This one was as close to a milk run as we'll probably get. No Triple-A, no SAMs, no nothing.”
“BDA?”The SIO, Licon, asked.
“I'm claiming a couple of helos on the ground,” Guru said. “Put a few holes in the runway and the parking area. Calling that an airport is an overstatement, though.”
“Same here,” Sweaty added. “You'll have to check our strike camera footage, though.”
“Roger that,” said Kara. “Put mine on the runway, and maybe a bomb or two on a flak site.”
“Hoser?” Licon asked.
“Fuel dump,” West replied. “Made that go away.”
“Thanks, all of you,” Licon said. “BDA should be available later today. Recon's been active all morning, and don't be surprised if you see a high flier.”
“U-2s?” Goalie asked.
“Maybe,” Licon said. “Thanks again,” and then the SIO went off to receive another incoming flight.
“Let me guess,” said Sweaty. “SR-71s?”
“Maybe,” Rivers said. “Don't be surprised if they did show.”
Guru nodded. He noticed the maintenance folks and the ordnance people working. Many of the men were either wearing sleeveless T-Shirts or were going bare-chested, while the women in those crews were in the same sleeveless T-Shirts or were in sports bras. “If Carson saw those, he'd go ballistic.”
“No kidding,” Rivers said. “So far, nothing yet.”
“Give him time,” Kara nodded.
Guru nodded, then he saw the object of their discussion coming towards the group. “Uh-oh... Speak of the devil.”
Major Frank Carson came over. He was easily the most despised officer in the squadron, and that opinion was shared by everyone else in the unit, both officers and enlisted. An Academy grad, he was notorious for blindly enforcing every rule and regulation, even when those made no sense. Throw in his distaste for officers who were not Academy grads, or Academy grads who were “one of the boys” after hours, female aircrew, and just about how the 335th was run, and it added up to trouble. “Colonel,” he said, giving a perfect Academy salute. “Are you going to do anything about the airmen who are out of uniform on the ramp?”
“No,” Rivers said. “Other than telling the NCOs to have plenty of sunscreen handy. It's a hot day, in case you haven't noticed.”
“Sir!” Carson wailed.
“In case you haven't noticed, Major,” Rivers said. “We're at war. And right now, I don't give a damn how the ramp crews are dressed. If it keeps them comfortable while they're doing their jobs? I could care less.”
“Sir....You don't understand!”
“No, Major, you don't. Unlike you, I know what parts of the book to keep and what to throw away. Now get ready to go out again in fifteen. You're my number three again.”
“Yes, Sir....,” grumbled the Major.
“And Major? If you write anyone up for a uniform violation who's working on the ramp, I'll put it right where it belongs,” Rivers nodded.
“Very good, Sir!”
“In the office shredder,” Rivers said, seeing Carson's face deflate. “Now get ready to go out.”
“Yes, Sir.,” Carson saluted and headed to his own aircraft in a fit of the sulks.
“Now that's out of the way,” Rivers said. “Here's where you guys are headed.” He pulled out a TPC chart of Central New Mexico. “Right here...” Rivers pointed to a town called White Lakes, north of I-40 on U.S. 285.
“What's the target, Sir?” Guru asked.
“Supply dump and truck park. Right now their whole front in this part of New Mexico is coming apart, and III Corps is going forward a lot faster than they thought,” Rivers said. “Keep up the pressure, and don't give 'em time to regroup.”
“And if we don't find the dump? It could be empty by the time we get there.”
“Look for any military traffic on either 285 or State Highway 41. Stay away from I-40. The Army wants it intact,” Rivers said.
“Understood,” Guru said. “Sir, what's the threat?”
“Threat is mainly MANPADS and light flak-mainly ZU-23s. The SA-3 site at Clines Corners is down-the Weasels got there this morning,” The CO said.
“Good to hear, Boss,” Guru said. “Oh, Dave Golen's probably looking for you. I think he wants some stick time.”
“General Tanner sent something in case he wanted some,” Rivers said. “ID, dog tags, insignia, all of it. If he gets shot down, as far as everyone's concerned, he's one of us.”
'Yes, Sir.” Guru said.
“Okay, get something to eat, hit the latrine, because you're headed out as soon as you're turned around,” Rivers said.”And one other thing: good luck.”
“Thanks, Boss,” Guru said.
Colonel Rivers nodded as he headed off to get ready for his next flight.
Kara nodded as she got a Gatorade from the cooler. “Why hasn't he kicked Carson out?”
“Like it or not, he's qualified,” Guru said. “We still need warm bodies, even if he did barely qualify.”
“In the air, he could get somebody killed-or himself,” Sweaty pointed out. “Who qualified him?”
“Not sure,” Guru admitted. “I'll check his file.” As squadron Exec, he could do that. He went to the cooler and got a bottle of water. “What's the temperature?”
“Air or ramp?” Goalie asked. She had gotten out of the top half of her flight suit, as had Kara, Sweaty, and “KT” Thornton, and everyone else, for that matter. All had their T-Shirts and sports bras on, of course, but the sweat made sure that didn't help hide things. Much.
“Either one,” he said as he downed some water.
“How does 92 degrees sound? Or here on the ramp, it's probably 105.”
“Ugh,” Kara said as she picked at another sandwich. “Stay away from the brown stuff.”
“Why?” Sweaty's WSO, Preacher Simmonds, asked.
“One of those just moved.”
“Don't be surprised if somebody got a BLT from those jarheads and the tomato looked back at you.” Goalie said as she chomped down on a turkey sandwich, and the crews laughed.
Guru had just finished his water and a turkey sandwich when Sergeant Crowley came over. “Sir, all four birds are ready to go.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” Guru said. He turned to his flight. “Take care of any business at the latrine, then we'll brief and launch.”
After everyone had come back from the latrine, and back into their flight suits and G-Suits, Guru gave his brief. “I'll keep this short. We're looking for a supply dump and truck park, north of I-40 on 285. The local SA-3 site is down, so we're good on that score. If the dump and park are empty, we look for military traffic on either 285 or Highway 41. Stay away from I-40, like the Boss said.”
“They want a Cannonball Run to the Texas State Line, and the freeway's the best way to do it,” Kara nodded.
“Right on that,” Guru said. “Any other questions?” There were none. “All right; let's go.” He picked up his helmet and went to his mount, 512, with Goalie right behind him. After a quick walkaround, they mounted their aircraft and ran through the preflight, and ran up their J-79 engines. After receiving permission to taxi, they taxied to the end of the runway, where the armorers pulled off the weapon safety pins. Once that was done, the F-4s taxied onto the runway, where the tower flashed a green light, and all four rumbled down the runway and into the air.
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Oct 22, 2024 15:11:21 GMT
The day keeps on going...
Over East-Central New Mexico; 1130 Hours:
Corvette Flight was once again over familiar territory, having flown numerous strikes into this part of New Mexico. Only this time, they were at 10,000 feet, and not having to worry about SAM activity, for both the EW and SEAD effort had paid off, and the ComBloc's air defense network in this area had been taken apart. Now the aircrews were looking for the truck park and supply dump that they had been tasked to hit. “Anything?” Guru asked Goalie, who was scanning the ground below with binoculars.
“Nothing yet. This might be a wild-goose chase,” she replied.
“Wouldn't surprise me if these guys just pulled up and left,” Guru said.
“Guru, Sweaty,” was the call over his radio. “We've got something.”
“Where?” Guru asked.
“Eleven O’clock low,” came the reply. “Look for the truck tracks.”
“Got it!” Goalie said.
“I see it,” replied Guru. “One pass: CBUs only. See if we can find the supply dump.”
“Copy,” Sweaty replied.
“Two, on me,” Guru called, and he saw Starbuck coming into formation in a right echelon. “One pass, east to west.”
“Roger that,” Kara replied.
“Copy, two,” said Guru. “Set us up: wing stations have the CBUs.”
“Got it,” Goalie replied, stowing the binoculars. She worked the armament switches. “You're set.”
“Time to go,” Guru said. “Lead's in hot!” He turned and rolled down the chute, lining up on the truck tracks below.
Below, the truck drivers and their MVD escorts were deciding what to do. Some of the truck drivers' destinations were now rumored to be in enemy hands, and the last thing the drivers-most of whom had been in the military twenty or twenty-five years earlier-wanted to do was keep going and run into the Americans. Others, including their MVD escorts, wanted to keep going, and at least find someone in authority to get further instructions from. They were still arguing with each other when an MVD lieutenant pointed skyward.
“Steady, steady,” Guru called, “HACK!” He hit the pickle button and six Rockeye CBUs came off the wing stations. He pulled up and leveled off, glad to have no return fire. “Lead off target.”
Six Rockeye CBUs have 1,482 bomblets. Guru's run effectively covered most of the truck park with the bomblets, and some of the trucks had fuel or ammunition as cargo....
“Two in hot!” Kara called. She saw the secondary explosions on the ground, as well as Guru's plane as it pulled up and away, rolling off to the right. “HACK!” She called, placing her CBUs to the right of her lead's, and careful to keep any of the bomblets away from the road. Even though they hadn't been told to avoid hitting 285, the chances were pretty good that friendlies might be coming down this road soon, and so....”Two's off target.”
“Three's in!” Sweaty called. She rolled in and laid her CBUs between Guru's and Kara's, and she noted that Kara's had also caused some secondary explosions. “Three's off target,” she said as she pulled up and away.
“Four in hot!” Hoser said. He wanted to lay his Rockeyes just to the south of where Guru had put his, and as he went in, he noticed some tracers coming up. Someone down there was shooting back. Mentally, he changed his mission from “attack” to “post-strike flak suppression.” Hoser centered his pipper on the tracers and released, calling, “Four off target.”
Down below, some of the MVD troops were firing back at the attacking aircraft. Though most of them had AKMs, they also had a BTR-152 and a DshK machine gun, and two of the MVD were manning the gun. Then Hoser's F-4 flew over them, and they saw the CBUs open, then hell came down on them as the bomblets detonated, killing and wounding many, and exploding the BTR as well (it being an open-topped vehicle, several bomblets landed inside the track....).
“Good work, Four,” Guru called. “You got secondaries.”
“Thanks, Lead,” Hoser replied.
“Guru, Starbuck. You want to go back and use the '82s?” Kara called her flight leader.
“Negative,” Guru replied. “Let's check out Highway 41. Maybe we can find something there.” He didn't want to go back to 285, because all they had found was the truck park, and no sign of the supply dump.
Back at the remains of the truck park, the survivors picked themselves up, and were deciding what to do. The highway known as “Interstate 40” was only a few kilometers away, and there was a traffic-control point there, one that many had passed through. Maybe they could get some help, or maybe a ride back to their units. Some were hesitant, but exploding trucks and delayed-action bomblets going off as well convinced them that staying around wasn't a good idea.
Up above, the four Phantoms regrouped and headed west. The crews knew the next major north-south road was State Route 41, and with this push on, that road was likely to be jammed with enemy traffic, either reinforcements headed to the front, or those trying to get away. Guru decided to call the AWACS and see if there was not only any threat in the area, but if a FAC or two were working nearby. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One.”
“Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace. Go ahead,” the controller replied.
“Crystal Palace, say bogey dope.”
“Corvette Two-One, Crystal Palace, negative bogeys.”
“Copy that. Any Nails working the area?” Guru asked. Nail was the usual FAC call sign.
“Stand by,” the controller said. After a few seconds, the controller returned. “Corvette, contact either Nail Three-One or Nail Three-Seven.”
“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Say closest?”
“Corvette, Crystal Palace, Nail Three-Seven is closest your posit.”
“Copy,” Guru replied. “Nail Three-Seven, Corvette Two-One with four Foxtrot Fours, inbound from the east.”
“Roger, Corvette, say type of ordnance?” The FAC called.
“Nail, Corvette. Six Mark-eight-twos and full guns each airplane.”
“Copy that. Route Four-One is full. Anything moving there is a target. Free strike,” the FAC replied.
Guru looked ahead and saw an A-7 orbiting. “Roger, Nail. Say ground threat?”
“Corvette, triple-A is the only threat, apart from MANPADS. No heavy stuff.”
Hearing that, Goalie called her pilot on the intercom. “Somebody must've took out the SA-2 south of here.”
“Not complaining about that,” Guru said. “Roger, Nail.”
Corvette Flight came in, and they could see the road was full of traffic. What looked like rear-echelon types headed south, and some armor headed north, towards U.S. 285. “Lead, Sweaty. How do you want it?”
“One pass, northeast to southwest,” Guru said. “Follow me in.”
“Copy,” Sweaty replied.
“Starbuck, Lead. On me.”
“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied.
“Flight, Lead, Let's go to work.” Guru called over the radio. Then he told Goalie, “Switches set.”
“Copy,” she said. “Centerline set. You're hot.”
“Roger,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead's in hot!” He then rolled in on the attack run.
Below, on Highway 41, it was a traffic jam. The Soviet traffic regulators were trying to sort out the rear-services vehicles, who had been ordered to head for Interstate 40 and proceed east from the reinforcements headed in both directions. Tanks and APCs from one division were headed north to block the Americans coming from that direction, while an independent Motor-Rifle Regiment was headed south, to try and shore up the Cubans, who were being torn apart by the U.S. Marines. No one seemed to be paying attention to the sky, and that would prove to be a big mistake.
“Steady, steady,” Guru said to himself as he lined the pipper up on a crossroads. It looked like a small county road was intersecting with the state highway. Oh, well...your bad day, Ivan. “HACK!” He pushed the pickle button, and six Mark-82s came off the centerline rack. “Lead off target.”
Guru's bombs landed right on a traffic control point, and the bombs tore apart several trucks and flipped a BTR-70 over, as well as killing and wounding a number of the truck drivers and traffic regulators. No one even heard the F-4 come in. Then a trucker pointed east. A second plane was coming in...
“Two's in!” Was the call from Starbuck. She put her bombs just to the south of Guru's, and as she pulled away and rolled, she and Brainac saw secondary explosions. Somebody had something that went boom....”Two off target.”
Kara's bombs had landed on several supply trucks belonging to the motor-rifle regiment, and in particular, the artillery battalion. Her Mark-82s set off 122-mm artillery ammo, and there were several large secondaries as a result.
Now it was Sweaty's turn. “Three rolling in hot!” She called as she rolled in. Sweaty saw the explosions down below, and she put her bombs to the north of that. Her bombs landed on some armor headed north, and flipped a T-62 and tore apart several BMPs. But this time, as she pulled out, she saw an SA-7 or -14 coming up. “Three off, with a SAM at Seven O'clock.”
Just north of where Sweaty had dropped her bombs, several BMPs had pulled off the highway, and their infantry had deployed. One of them had an Strela-3 (SA-14) launcher, and he locked up the F-4 and fired.
“Preacher, dump some flares,” Sweaty said as she pulled into a tight turn.
“Gotcha,” he replied, pumping out a number of flares, and trying to see the missile.
“Sweaty, Starbuck,” Kara called. “SAM just hit a flare.”
“Copy,” Sweaty said.
“Four's in hot!” Hoser called. He had seen where the SAM had been launched from, and decided that nobody shoots at his element leader and gets away with it. He rolled in, and saw the dissipating smoke trail, and lined it up in his pipper. “HACK!” He called as he dropped his bombs.
Hoser's bombs landed in the middle of the BMPs, tossing several like toys, and killing or wounding most of the infantrymen around the vehicles. Unlike his element leader, he drew no fire as he pulled out.
“Four's off target,” Hoser called.
“Roger that,” Guru called. “Form on me. One pass is all we get.”
“Still got guns,” Kara reminded her flight leader.
“Not with those Grails around,” Guru said. Grails meant MANPADS to any aircrew.
“Copy,” Kara replied.
“Nail, Corvette, we are Winchester and headed out,” Guru called the FAC.
“Copy, Corvette,” the FAC replied. “Good bombs on target.”
Corvette Flight reformed and headed west. As they cleared the Sandia Mountains north of Albuquerque, they saw the sky over the city full of helicopters, and to their north, I-25 was full of American armor. Both sights were deeply satisfying to the aircrews. As they crossed the Rio Grande, Guru called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Corvette Two-One crossing the fence.”
“Copy, Corvette,” the controller replied. “Do you need a vector to the tankers?”
“Roger, Crystal Palace.”
The controller gave the flight a vector to the tanker track over the Continental Divide. This time, they hooked up with a KC-135, and the tankers were just as busy as they had been in the early morning. After refueling, they headed back to Williams, and after waiting a few minutes for outbound traffic to leave, they came in and landed. As they taxied in, the crews saw several Marine A-6s preparing to go out, and they were loaded with laser-guided bombs. There was a term going around those who used LGBs, and that was “tank plinking.” “Looks like the Jarheads are going to plink some tanks,” Goalie commented.
“Wish we could do that more often,” Guru said. Their squadron only had two Pave Spike Pods, and two Pave Tack pods, though several crews were qualified to use both types of pods. Both Guru and Goalie could count on one hand the number of times they'd flown a laser bomb mission.
The flight taxied in to their dispersal area, and shut down. Guru popped his canopy, and let out a big sigh. He checked his watch. “Four missions and it's already 1230.”
“How many more?” Goalie asked as she popped her canopy.
“However many they tell us,” Guru said as the ground crew brought the crew ladders. “Thanks, guys.”
“How'd it go, Sir?” Sergeant Crowley asked as both Guru and Goalie climbed down.
“Ripped up a truck park, and ripped up some armor,” Guru replied. “What's up next?”
Crowley nodded at his pilot. “Ordnance guys will be here in fifteen minutes, Sir. They need a break.”
“They, you guys, and everybody else,” Goalie said.
“Yes, Ma'am,” Crowley said.
“Nothing wrong with the bird, Sergeant,” Guru said as they did a postflight walk around. “No holes that we can see.”
“Thanks, Sir,” Crowley said. “They brought some more stuff for the cooler and more coffee.”
“All right, Sergeant,” Guru said. He headed to the Hummer, and found Mark Ellis and Darren Licion waiting. “Guys.”
Ellis put out his hand. “How'd it go, Guru?”
“Not bad,” Guru replied as the rest of the flight came over. “Tore up the truck park, but there was no sign of the supply depot.”
“What?” Licon asked, clearly surprised. “It was on the photos, clear as day.”
“Probably a dummy,” Sweaty chimed in. “Not the first time somebody got fooled that way.”
“I'll go along with that,” Kara added. “But the truck park....lots of secondaries there.”
“I'll check the strike footage,” Licon said. “What else?”
“We hit traffic on Route 41,” Guru added. “Lots of armor and trucks. Tanks, APCs, supply vehicles, that sort of thing.”
“FAC directed?” Licon wanted to know.
“You got it. Nail Three-Seven was his call sign.”
“Okay, I'll find out from him, and look at the strike footage,” Licon said. “Any threats?”
“Sweaty had a SA-7 shot at her,” Hoser said. “I put my stuff down on those guys.”
“Close call?” Mark Ellis asked.
“No, it went after a flare,” Kara said. “I don't think Sweaty even saw it.”
“We didn't,” Sweaty confirmed. “But the flares did their job.”
“Okay, I'll check with the FAC, and go over your strike footage,” Licon said. “Thanks, guys.” He then went off to debrief another returning flight.
“What's next, Mark?” Guru asked.
“On-call CAS again, but not until 1400. You guys deserve a break,” Ellis said. “Rivers said so.”
“He here?” Guru asked, reaching for the cooler and a bottle of water.
“No, he went out ten minutes ago,” Ellis said. “And Dave Golen was flying with him.”
“Carson with the Boss?”
“Yep,” Ellis said. “With Golen as element lead. Carson's number two to Dave.”
“Let's hope Frank learns something from him,” Guru said. “Though I doubt it.”
“Right on that,” Ellis said. “Oh, don't go into the squadron's building. The power's out, and thus the A/C.”
“What happened?” Sweaty asked. “Sabotage?”
Ellis shook his head. “Still checking. Power company says a transformer blew, but the FBI and OSI are out, making sure.”
“With this push on,” Kara said, “some sleeper agent must've decided to go active.”
“Probably,” Ellis admitted. “They still don't know yet.”
“Okay, Mark,” Guru said. “If anyone needs to see me, send 'em over this way.”
“Gotcha,” said Ellis.
While they were waiting for their birds to be turned around, the crews helped themselves to some more cool drinks, and the Marine mess people came around with some hot meals for lunch. “Captain, want something hot?” A Marine Mess Sergeant asked. “Hot steak and cheese sandwiches, burgers and fries, or fried chicken?”
The crews had lunch while sitting under a tarp that someone had strung up from the Hummer to a tie-down position. And to Guru's relief, no one asked about squadron business, only what they'd seen and done. So a lot of swapping stories, and comparing notes went on, and while that was going on, the turnaround process began. So far, the 335th had not lost any aircraft or crews, but since they had half a day to go, that could easily change. About halfway through the break, Colonel Rivers' flight landed. After he debriefed, Rivers and Dave Golen came over. “Guru,” Rivers said.
“Boss,” Guru replied. “How's it going?”
“Well, First Cav is in Santa Fe, and they're headed for Highways 285, and 84 if they can. They want to get to I-40 and pocket what's left of Albuquerque's defenders.”
“Then who's in Albuquerque?” Kara asked.
“That's 23rd ID and the 11th Airborne. Fifth Marine Division to the south, and the rest of Sixth Army. The Rio Grande line just collapsed, and the ComBloc is headed east. And we're right behind 'em,” Rivers said.
“Good to hear, Sir,” Goalie said. “What's going on to the north?”
“Denver's relieved, and the whole ComBloc line in Colorado's starting to come apart. Not as fast as here, but...” Rivers said.
“Yeah,” Guru said. “Boss, we still got half a day to go.”
“Right on that,” Rivers nodded. He noticed the ordnance crews bringing ordnance to Guru's flight. “And you guys are going first.”
Guru and his flight noticed the ordnance. Napalm tanks and Mark-82s with fuze extenders. The old Vietnam “Shake and bake” load. “Barbeque time,” he observed.
“Yep,” Rivers said. He turned to Dave Golen. “Look familiar?”
“Like the Yom Kippur War, as I said to the Captain, but with a difference,” Golen remarked.
“What's that?”
“You're winning.”
“Can't argue with that,” Kara quipped.
Master Sergeant Michael Ross, the squadron's senior NCO, came over. “Colonel,” he said to Rivers. “The power's back on. Along with the A/C.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” Rivers said. “Now to see if Carson left anything on my desk.”
“If he did, Boss, may I suggest making good on that promise?” Guru asked. He was barely concealing his loathing for the overzealous Major.
“You may, Guru,” Rivers said. “And I'll make good on it.” He shook Guru's hand. “Good luck on the next one.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
Rivers then shook hands with the rest of the flight, and headed back to the squadron offices with Ross. Golen stayed, since he had his one mission for the day, and watched as the ordnance crews finished. “Your people are starting to slow down,” he observed.
“They were working when we got here,” Goalie said. “No wonder.”
Sergeant Crowley came over. “Captain Wiser, the birds are locked and cocked. Ready to go.”
Guru nodded. “Thanks.” He finished a bottle of water, then turned to the flight. “Hit the latrines, then come back here.”
Everyone headed off, did their business at the portable latrines, then came back to the Hummer. “What's next?” Sweaty asked.
“On-call CAS,” Guru replied. “Call AWACS, and they tell us which FAC to go to.”
“Great,” Hoser said. “No way to know where?”
“Nope,” Guru replied. “North or south, wherever the controller sends us.”
“Lovely,” Kara spat.
“I'd rather go and bust up an airfield-like Cannon or Holloman, but not our call,” Guru reminded everyone. “Anything else?” Heads shook no. He picked up his helmet. “Let's hit it.”
The crews headed to their aircraft, and though the walkaround was normal, the preflight in the cockpit was one that their flight instructors would have had fits over. After engine start, the tower cleared them to taxi, then the flight taxied to the runway. There, the armorers removed the safety pins on the weapons. After taxiing onto the runway, the tower flashed a green light, and the F-4s rumbled down the runway and into the air.
Over Central New Mexico, 1340 Hours:
Corvette Flight was orbiting just west of the Rio Grande, southwest of Albuquerque. 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 Albuquerque 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 Albuquerque 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.
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Oct 22, 2024 15:11:58 GMT
The afternoon progresses...
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.”
Near Williams AFB, AZ; 1600 Hours:
Corvette Flight was approaching the base, and Guru called for landing instructions. This time, the pattern was clear, and the flight was cleared for landing. After they landed, the flight taxied over to their dispersal area, and shut down. As he climbed down from the cockpit, Guru told Goalie, “Good one.”
“I'll take it,” she replied. “What happened to those SAMs the brief told us about?”
“Maybe the Weasels got there ahead of us?” Kara said as she came over. “Or they got jammed off the air?”
Guru nodded. “Whatever happened, I'm happy with it.” Then they walked over to the Hummer, where Colonel Rivers and Lieutenant Licon were waiting. “Boss.”
“How'd it go?” Colonel Rivers asked.
“Hardly any flak, and no SAM activity,” Guru said.
“How about the bombing?”
Just as Rivers asked that, Sweaty and Preacher came over, with Hoser and KT not far behind, though Hoser was limping, favoring his right ankle. “Sir.”
“What happened to you?” Rivers asked.
“Twisted my ankle getting down from the crew ladder,” Hoser said. “I'm fine.”
“Not until Doc Waters has a look. Consider yourself grounded for the rest of the day. Now, how was the strike?”
“Tore that place up pretty good,” Guru said. “Intel was right about Su-25s; they had several there.”
“Choppers?” Licon asked. “Intel said Hips and Hinds.”
“They were there,” Sweaty said. “We took out most of them.”
“I'll check the strike footage and see what we get. BDA from other sources should be available tomorrow,” Licon said. “Any surface-to-air activity?”
“Except for light flak?” Kara asked, seeing the intel officer nod. “I didn't see any.”
“Me neither,” Guru said, and Goalie nodded. “Then again, we were first in and out.”
“No MANPADS that I could see,” Hoser said.
KT nodded. “I'll confirm that.”
“Okay,” Licon said. “I'll pass that all up the line. Thanks, everybody.” Then the intel headed on to debrief another flight.
“Good run,” Rivers said to everyone. “Now,” he said, pointing to Hoser. “As for you....” He pulled from a flight suit pocket a walkie-talkie. “Doc, come over to 512's dispersal.”
“On the way,” a voice responded.
“Colonel...” Hoser said. “I can manage.”
“Not if you have to eject,” Rivers said firmly. “No flying until Doc has a look and clears you. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hoser replied, though none too happily.
A Dodge Crew-Cab pickup came over to the Hummer, and both Doc Waters and one of his medics came over. “You asked for me, Colonel?” Doc asked.
“Hoser twisted his ankle getting out of his plane,” Rivers said. “Take him and check him out.”
“Come on, Lieutenant,” Doc said. “No more flying today, and maybe tomorrow as well.”
“Okay, Doc.” Hoser said. He walked to the truck, but he was clearly favoring his right ankle.
Watching that, KT said, “That leaves me without a pilot.”
Rivers nodded. “Any suggestions, XO?” He asked Guru.
“Haven't seen him in the air,” Guru said. “But this might be a good time to find out. How about Dave Golen?”
“Done. I'll send him over here,” Rivers said. “Anything you want to know about him?”
“Only one thing,” Guru said. “Any problems flying with KT, or flying as Sweaty's wingman? The IDF doesn't allow female aircrew..”
“I don't think he'll have any,” Rivers said. “I'll get him over here. You're going out again in forty-five minutes. This will be your last one of the day.”
“What's the mission?”
“CAS. On-call again,” said Rivers. “You know the drill. I'll get Dave over here, and you guys can hash it out.”
“Roger that, Boss,” Guru said.
“Good luck,” Rivers nodded, then he headed off to the squadron offices.
After Rivers left, the crews grabbed some more food from the cooler, and found that more drinks had been added to the ice chest. Bottled water and iced tea were preferred, as no one wanted to have gas from a Coke or Pepsi while in the air. While they ate and drank, Dave Golen came over in a USAF flight suit, and with helmet and G-Suit. “Guru,” he said.
“Dave,” Guru said, remembering the Israeli habit of calling officers by their first names. “You know everybody?”
“I do, and nice to be flying with you,” Golen said. He shook hands with KT, and said, “A pleasure to be flying with you.”
“Thanks, Major,” KT replied. “Hope you don't mind a girl in back, instead of a guy.”
“Not at all,” Golen replied.
Guru nodded. “Good, Dave, because you're flying as Sweaty's wingman.”
“Experience leads,” Golen nodded. “Just as we do it.”
“Actually,” Goalie said. “Just as Robin Olds did it in Southeast Asia.”
“I see...the legendary Robin Olds has a continuing legacy.”
Both Guru and Kara nodded. “He does,” Kara replied with an evil-looking grin.
Golen nodded himself. “So, then. What's the mission?”
“CAS, on call,” Guru said. “We check in with AWACS and they pass us on to a C-130 ABCCC, then they hand us off to a FAC.”
“Understood. Anything else I should know?”
“Only this: unless the FAC asks for it, one pass only.” Guru said. “We learned that the hard way.”
Golen nodded. It was the same thing in the Israeli AF. “Ordnance?”
“To be determined,” Goalie said. “They bring us whatever's available.”
The crews were talking and trying to stay cool when the ordnance crew arrived. This time, the crews noticed the load before the arming process began. All CBUs, and they were Rockeyes. “Looks like we may be going after armor,” Sweaty observed.
“We'll know, only when we get there,” Guru said.
It took twenty minutes to arm the flight. Then Sergeant Crowley came over to the Hummer. “Captain,” he said to Guru. “Birds are locked and cocked.”
“All right,” Guru said. “Hit the latrine, and then get ready to fly.”
After the crews did their business there, they gathered at the Hummer again. “Where to this time?” Kara asked.
“AWACS or ABCCC tells us,” Guru said. He turned to Golen. “Any special questions?”
Golen shook his head. “None.”
“Good, Dave. Just follow Sweaty's lead, and you'll be fine.” Guru said. He turned to the rest of the flight. “Any other questions?”
“This our last one, right?” Sweaty asked.
“It should be,” Guru nodded. “Anything else?” There wasn't. He grabbed his helmet. “Let's hit it.”
The crews went to their aircraft, and did a quick walk-around, then got into their planes. The cockpit preflights were rushed once again, and then it came time for engine start. After run-up, it was time to taxi. As usual, once they got to the runway, the armorers pulled off the arming pins, then the flight was cleared to taxi onto the runway. The tower again flashed a green light, and the flight took off by elements, rumbling down the runway and into the air.
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Oct 22, 2024 15:12:28 GMT
Last one for the day:
Over Central New Mexico: 1705 Hours:
Corvette Flight had come in just north of Albuquerque, and after checking in with AWACS, had been told to wait. They were high enough that, as they orbited, could see the Northeastern part of Albuquerque rapidly turning into a mini-Stalingrad, as the Soviet defenders made their last stand. Penned up against the Sandia Mountains, with no way out now that I-40 was under American control, and so they were fighting it out, with the 11th Airborne and parts of the 23rd ID having a real fight on their hands, while two brigades from the 23rd were pushing east along I-40. With all the artillery in the air, fixed-wing aircraft were staying clear, and even the Army helicopters from both divisions were keeping south of I-40 and west of I-25.
“One thing,” Guru said to Goalie on the intercom. “When the Russians run out of ammo...”
“They surrender,” she replied. “They're not the Japanese from World War II, or the North Koreans up in Canada.”
“Yeah,” Guru said. Then the C-130 ABCCC came on the line.
“Corvette Flight, Hillsboro,” the controller called. “Proceed heading Zero-nine-zero, then contact Nail 41.”
“Roger, Hillsboro,” Guru called. He led the flight due east, giving the battle area a wide berth. He then contacted Nail 41. “Nail Four-One, Corvette Two-One.”
“Corvette, Nail,” the FAC replied. “Say type of aircraft and ordnance.”
“Nail, four Foxtrot-Fours with one dozen Rockeye CBUs and full load twenty mike-mike,” replied Guru.
“Roger, Corvette. I see you,” the FAC responded.
As they came in, the flight could see yet another A-7K orbiting. “Nail, Corvette, what have you got for us?”
“Corvette, we have troops in contact, Highway 285 south of the Highway 41 intersection. Enemy armor and APCs headed their way. Can you make those go away?”
“Nail, Corvette,” Guru replied. “Roger that. Say Sierra-Alpha threat?”
“Corvette, Nail. Expect regimental air defense threat,” the FAC said. That meant SA-9s or -13s, and ZSU-23s, plus whatever MANPADS that the infantrymen were carrying.
“Copy,” Guru replied. “Can you mark the target?”
“Stand by, Corvette,” the FAC responded. “Steer One-Five-Zero.”
“Roger that,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Stick with me.”
All four F-4s made the turn, and they were headed southeast, parallel to U.S. 285, and they could see the road below. The WSOs were scanning with binoculars, and they could see the elements of the First Cavalry Division spreading out on both sides of the highway. And about two miles south of them, White Phosphorous exploded along the breadth of the road. “There's your target area,”
Guru nodded in his cockpit. “Flight, Lead. One pass, south to north. Come around, and follow me in.”
“Roger, Lead,” Sweaty called.
“Nail, Corvette,” Guru said. “One pass is all we can give you. Can you ask the ground pounders to take out any air defense assets?”
“Wait one, Corvette.” the FAC said. Then he came back. “Corvette, Nail. That's affirm.”
Down below, several vehicles exploded in fireballs. That should make things a little easier, Guru thought. “Nail, Corvette, we're headed in. Flight, Lead. Time to go to work.”
“Right with you, Lead,” Sweaty replied.
Guru brought his F-4 around, and started his run in. “Goalie,set things up. Everything in one pass.”
“Gotcha,” she said. “You're set.”
Guru took a last look at his EW repeater. Still clear. He switched on his ECM pod. “Music's on. Lead in hot.” He rolled in on his bomb run. As he lost altitude, he could see T-72 tanks down below, and BTR type APCs. Your bad day, Ivan,.....”HACK!” Guru called as he pushed the pickle button.
Down below, the 363rd Independent Motor-Rifle Regiment was moving north on Route 285. The Regimental Commander had received orders from what was left of the 13th Army HQ to stabilize the Army's right flank. With no other information, the Colonel moved his regiment north, past the wreckage of American air attacks, and to his surprise, his regiment had not been hit by American aircraft. Then, all of a sudden, white phosphorous burst around his regiment, and he ordered his battalions to deploy and move north along the road. He was caught totally by surprise as several of his vehicles took American fire and exploded, and clearly, the Americans were closer than Army thought. The howl of an aircraft came over him, and he saw an F-4 moving north at low level. Then CBU bomblets began to explode, and then his BTR-60 command vehicle exploded around him....
“Lead's off target,” Guru called.
“Two's in,” Kara said. She went in to the left of the road, picking out what looked like a battalion's worth of APCs. She hit the pickle button. “HACK!”, she called, and a dozen Rockeye CBUs came off her aircraft, exploding a number of BTR-70s, and she egressed north. “Two's off target.”
“Three's in hot!” Sweaty called. She decided to hit the right of the road, and she, too, picked up some BTRs. As she rolled in, Sweaty noticed some tracers going up after Kara's F-4, but the tracers fell away No SAMs, Sweaty was pleased to see. She lined up the BTRs in the pipper....”HACK!” And a dozen more CBUs came off her Phantom, and a number of BTRs exploded. “Three's off target.”
“Four on target,” Dave Golen called. He'd done this quite a few times in Sinai in '73, and to him, it was like old home week. As he came in, he could see the Soviet artillery battalion deploying, and to him, that was a worthy target. He picked out a battery, and lined them up. “Now!” He called to KT, and again, Rockeye CBUs exploded on target, knocking out several of the 2S1 artillery pieces, and also exploding several ammo trucks. Golen buzzed the regiment on the way out, and as he came out, there was tracer fire coming up not only after his element leader, but around his aircraft. But the plane wasn't hit, and as he pulled up, KT in the back seat dumped some flares to confuse any MANPADS. Then he banked hard and headed west. “Four off target.”
“Copy, Four,” Guru said. “Nail, Corvette Two-One. How'd we do?”
“Corvette, Nail. Good bombs on target. Watch for Warthogs coming in from the west,” the FAC said. “The Army says thanks.”
“Tell 'em 'You're welcome,'” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's head home.”
The other three Phantoms formed on Guru's bird, and all four headed west. They managed to get to the tanker track without any help from the AWACS, and after refueling, headed back to Williams. As it turned out, they were the last flight to return, period, for the last Marine F-4 or Hornet flight had returned a good ten minutes earlier. The sun was beginning to go low on the horizon when Corvette Flight came in and landed. After they taxied to their dispersal and shut down, Guru said to Goalie. “That's a record. Seven missions in one day. For us, anyway.”
“Want to bet those Hog drivers had more?” She replied. “Let's get this debriefed, then get something to eat.”
“Always listen to your WSO's advice, my RTU instructor once said.” Guru replied. “Seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah,” she said as the ground crew brought the crew ladders and the crew popped their canopies. Then they got out of the aircraft, dead tired.
“How'd it go, Sir?” Sergeant Crowley asked.
“No holes,” Guru said. “Made a bunch of tanks and APCs go up.”
“All right! Uh, Sir,” Crowley said. “CO and Lieutenant Licon by the Hummer.”
Guru nodded, and led his crews back to the Hummer. “Boss,” he said, sketching a salute.
“Welcome back,” said Colonel Rivers. “How'd Dave do?”
“Did all right,” Guru said. “Isn't that right, KT?”
“He did,” KT replied. “I'd have him in the cockpit again anytime.”
“If you want him, you got him,” Rivers said. “Hoser's grounded for at least another day.”
“Then we'll take him,” Guru said. “How's that sound?”
“Sounds good to me,” Golen replied.
“What was the target?” Licon wanted to know.
“Regimental-sized force on 285,” Guru replied. “Tanks and APCs.”
“Any SAMs?”
“None that we could see,” Sweaty said. “There was some tracer fire coming up, though.”
“No heavy stuff, not even MANPADS,” Kara nodded. “The Army did take some of that out, though.”
“Major?” Licon asked Dave Golen. “Did you see any?”
“None at all,” Golen replied. “Just some tracer fire, and that was all.”
“What did the FAC say?” Rivers asked.
“He said we had good bombs on target,” Guru replied. “Some A-10s were coming in as we left, and that was all.”
“I'll check your strike camera footage,” Licon nodded.
“Lots of secondaries on a couple runs,” Sweaty noted. “Guru and Starbuck had some.”
“And so did you,” Golen said.
“All right,” Licon said. “Thanks, everybody.” He then went off to the intel office.
“Okay,” Rivers said. “Dave, you fly with these guys tomorrow.” He saw Golen nod. “Get something to eat, and get over to the Sheraton. Wake up is at 0400, with first wheels up at 0600.”
“Boss,” Guru said. “Almost like today?”
“Not as much,” Rivers told the flight. “If the ComBloc hadn't collapsed as much as they did, yeah, but..”
“But this whole part of the front's coming apart,” Goalie noted.
“That's right,” Rivers admitted. “Get out of your gear, get some food, then over to billeting. Curfew is at 2100.”
“And the twelve-hour rule's already in effect,” Kara noted sourly.
“It is,” Rivers said. “Sorry, Captain.”
“All right, people,” Guru said. “You heard the CO. Get something to eat, and get to the Sheraton.”
As the flight broke up, Goalie noted that her pilot was hanging back with Colonel Rivers. “You're coming, right?”
Guru nodded. “In a minute.” He turned to Colonel Rivers. “Glad I didn't have to use that packet.”
“So am I,” Rivers said. “But keep in mind, it's still going to be a long war. You might need something like that later on.”
“Let's talk about that later, Boss,” Guru said. “I need some food, and then some shut-eye.”
“You're not the only one, XO,” Rivers nodded. “Come on and eat.” He pointed to the Marines' mess tent.
After eating, the aircrews headed back to the Sheraton, and they found their beds. Because it wouldn't be long until 0400, and they would do it again on the second day of PRAIRIE FIRE....
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