Post by lordroel on Oct 22, 2024 17:49:25 GMT
Posted with permission of Matt Wiser over at HPCA: Good to be an Ace
Kara makes ace and celebrates-and giving a few people fits the next morning:
It's Good to be an Ace
Cannon AFB, New Mexico, 4 June 1987: 1140 Hours Mountain War Time:
Captain Matt Wiser of the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron was scanning the Frag Order that had come down for his flight. Though he was the squadron's Executive Officer, mission orders and briefs came in via Operations, his previous job, and that belonged to Captain Mark Ellis. Ellis had given him the FRAGO and a briefing packet that seemed way too small for his taste, and when he opened it, he looked at the Ops Officer and the Squadron's Intelligence Officer, 1st Lt. Darren Licon. “That's it?”
“Afraid so, Guru,” Ellis replied. Guru was Captain Wiser's call sign. “We're not finished with Scud Hunts. Not yet, anyway.”
Guru shook his head. “Oh, well. Ours is not to reason why; ours is to make them burn, bleed, and blow up.” He looked at the intel officer. “The threat info the best you can get?”
“It is, sir,” Licon replied. “Same as yesterday and the day before, when you got that MiG-23 with your gun. But with something else added.”
“What is it?' Guru asked. This would be his flight's third mission of the day, and he was already getting tired.
“SA-15s may, and I emphasize may, be in the area.”
The Exec stared at the intel officer as if he'd suddenly grown four arms and two heads. “You're full of good news today,” he growled. “Mark,” he nodded at the Ops Officer. “Tell me Weasels are in the area.”
“They are,” Ellis confirmed. “If you hear beer names on the radio, they're in the area. Coors, Strohs, Olympia, and Bud are around.” The F-4G Wild Weasels from the 35th TFW used beer names for call signs, and the ComBloc had even taken to shutting down radars if they heard some of those call signs over the radio.
“Thanks, Mark,” Guru replied. “Darren? Do me, and every pilot and WSO in this squadron-a favor.”
“Name it, sir,” Licon said.
“Tell those intel weenies you work with, whether it's the Marines at MAG-11 or the guys from Tenth Air Force this: can they stop that 'We're betting your life' crap?”
“That's as old as the intel business itself, sir,” Licon nodded.
“Figures,” the XO muttered. Then he and Ellis left the Operations Tent. “You coming with us?”
“Be about forty-five minutes behind you,” Ellis replied. “We only got back fifteen minutes ago.”
“Yeah,” the Exec nodded. “Dave Golen going with you guys again?” Maj. Dave Golen was an Israeli AF “Observer” who did more than just observe. He had two MiG kills flying with the 335th, and everyone could tell he wanted more. When he flew, he wore a USAF flight suit and insignia, and as far as anyone was concerned, he was an American if he was shot down.
“Flew wing with me,” Ellis said. “No MiGs, which he didn't like, but who knows this time?”
“Yeah,” Guru said. “What's your mission code on the radio, in case I need to call for some help?”
“Cadillac,” Ellis replied. “You?”
Guru consulted the FRAGO. “Mustang. If you need help, holler.”
“You too,” Ellis said. They shook hands. “Have a good one.”
“Same to you.” Guru nodded. “Oh, a piece of advice.”
“Name it,” Ellis said.
“The BLTs the Marines peddle from their chow tent? Stay away. “
“Why?”
Guru looked at the Ops Officer with all due seriousness. “Kara had one after we got back. She opened it up to put some mustard on it, and something in the tomato looked back at her.”
Ellis had a ugly grimace on his face when he heard that. “Ugh. I'll spread the word.”
“Do that. See you later,” Guru said, then he went to the tent his flight used. He would rather be in one of Cannon's squadron buildings, used by the 27th TFW and their F-111 crews prewar, but they were still being checked over for booby traps. The XO went in and found the members of his flight were waiting.
“What's up?” Captain Kara “Starbuck” Thrace asked. She was his wingmate, and was only one kill away from acedom. She had scored her fourth two days previously, when Guru had killed a MiG-23 with his gun, and was chomping at the bit for number five.
“Got another one,” Guru said. “Scud hunt again.”
“What?” Guru's GIB, 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn asked. “We did that yesterday and the day before.”
“And we've killed some launchers,” Guru admitted. “But they shot four at Amarillo last night, and two more here this morning, after we left on our first mission. So we're going back to that same Scud box: Plainview east to Childress, down to Paducah, then west to Abernathy.”
“Right into Su-27-land,” 1st Lt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard pointed out. She led the second element in the flight. “Those guys were up yesterday.”
“They were,” Guru admitted. “And the F-15s were around. They should be still, but remember your brief on the Flankers.”
“Doppler break, get down low, and scream for help from AWACS,” 1st Lt. Nathan “Hoser” West, who was Sweaty's wingman, nodded. “And pray a 'teenage' fighter's around.”
“How true,” 1st Lt. Bryan “Preacher” Simmonds, Sweaty's GIB, said. He'd been at the Seminary when the war began, and had joined the Air Force-not as a chaplain or chaplain's assistant, but he'd gone to OTS, then navigator training, and then the F-4 RTU. “For what we are about to receive, we thank you.”
“Wait on that, Preacher,” Guru said. “The other MiGs, the -21s and -23s, we can handle. MiG-29s might come from Dallas-Fort Worth, but nobody's encountered them in this part of Texas. The SAM threat is fluid, from -2s and -3s, to -6s, -8s, and -11s, and -9s and 13s. Those we can handle-even if the 11s are still a problem. But hold on: Darren Licon said SA-15s have been reported but not confirmed.”
Jaws dropped at that news. “SA-15?” 1st Lt. Judd “Braniac” Brewster, Kara's WSO, asked. “Guru, we haven't even been briefed on those!”
“I know,” Guru said. “If you pick up an unknown radar on your EW gear? Do a 180, get down low, and get out fast. Weasels are in the area, so if you hear the call signs Coors, Michelob, Strohs, and so on? Give 'em a call.”
Second Lieutenant Kathy “KT” Thornton, Hoser's GIB, nodded. “Glad to hear that,” she said.
“It is,” Guru said. “Now, the AAA threat is the usual: expect anything from 23-mm on up. Bailout areas are anyplace away from roads. Weather's good to excellent, and now, ordnance loads.” That perked up everyone's interest.
“What have we got?” Sweaty asked.
“You and me,” Guru replied. “Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes with Daisy Cutter fuze extenders, same as last time. We also get an ALQ-119 long pod. Kara and Hoser get the older ALQ-101s.”
His wingmate stared at him. “Thanks a heap, Guru.”
“I know, we all want the new pods, but every F-4 and F-16 unit in the Air Force is screaming for the new ones.”
“And not enough to go around,” Goalie observed.
“Right. Starbuck? You and Hoser get ten CBU-58/Bs; the ones with incendiary submunitions. We all get a full load of 20-mm, two AIM-7s and four AIM-9Ps. They're not the P4s with all-aspect capability, but they'll do the job. Any other questions?”
Sweaty's hand shot up. “What's after this one?”
“That,” replied the XO, “I have no idea. We'll find out when we get back. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Goalie nodded as she stood up. “What do we do if we come up empty on Scuds?”
“We'll go to Plainview Airport,” Guru said. “They're using it to support MiG-23 and Su-25 ops, along with helos and short-haul transports like the An-24 or -26. We fly the mission in the tasking order, but if we come up empty on Scuds, that's where we'll go. Just save enough fuel to make a run on that field, then get our asses back into New Mexico.” He looked around. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Kara asked. “No trolling for MiGs?”
“Right you are. I know, you're out looking for number five, but we might find some Russian or Cuban who's out looking for his fifth. We're not out on a MIGSWEEP, but if we're jumped? Fight's on,” Guru said. “Fair enough?”
Kara nodded. “Fair enough, XO. Now, did you warn people about the Jarheads and their BLTs?”
The XO laughed. “I did, and told Mark. He'll pass it around. Nothing like opening your sandwich and finding your tomato's looking back at you.” And there was some laughter at that. “Anything else?”
Heads shook no at that. It was time to go to work.
“All right,” Guru said as he grabbed his helmet and G-suit. “Let's hit it.”
Over North-Central Texas: 1245 Hours:
Mustang Flight headed east, and they were down low. Low enough to pick up threats or targets on the ground, but not low enough to avoid radar. At least they were low enough to be below the SA-2's minimum effective altitude of 1100 feet-if the intel was on the ball about the Childress SA-2 site having an upgraded version of the SA-2. While the pilots were scanning the sky for threats, the WSOs were using binoculars to look for targets. With SCUD TELs or resupply trucks at the top of their list.
Guru saw it on his EW repeater. “SA-2 at Eleven O'clock.”
“Got it,” Goalie replied. “That's the Childress SA-2. Let's not pay them a visit, shall we?”
“We're on the same page,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Follow me.” And the flight of F-4s made a ninety-degree turn to the south, just to the west of U.S. 62/83. “Anything?”
'Nothing,” Goalie said. “Nothing but truck convoys. No TELs or missile resupply trailers.”
Guru scowled underneath his oxygen mask. “This is like yesterday. A wild-goose chase.”
“They got a lot of room to hide,” Goalie pointed out.
Nodding, Guru flew south towards U.S. 70 and the town of Paducah. It didn't take them long to cover the thirty or so miles to the crossroads town, and as Mustang Flight flew over the town, they waggled their wings to the civilians down below, before turning west.
Down below, the local garrison was out in force. Here, the garrison was Nicaraguan, and though the garrison commander, a Major, had tried to limit the excesses committed by the Soviets and Cubans, a Soviet traffic-control point had been established in town, and a Soviet rear-area protection division had moved in a few days earlier. The Major was trying to explain to the Mayor that no, these weren't the animals in the Soviet MVD, that they were Soviet Army troops, and that no, there was no immediate threat to the town. Then Guru's F-4s flew by, and townspeople recognized the F-4s and cheered, while Soviet and Nicaraguan soldiers ran for cover.
“You were saying, Major?” The Mayor asked the Commandant, who promptly ran for the City Hall's basement.
“Guru, Starbuck,” Kara called her flight leader. “How much more of this?”
“Another hour's worth of fuel, then we can head for the secondary,' Guru replied.
In her F-4, Sweaty was grinning underneath her oxygen mask. “Glad to see she's not the only one thinking that.”
Preacher Simmonds nodded, then resumed scanning. “Hey...got something here.”
Sweaty turned in her cockpit. “What?”
“Not sure. There's a bombed-out ranch, but I'd swear something moved down there.”
“Copy,” Sweaty replied. Then she called her leader. “Guru, Sweaty, got something down here. We're going to check it out.”
“Roger that, Sweaty. Be careful. This could be a flak trap.”
“That in Licon's brief?” Goalie asked.
“No, but the thought did occur to me,” Guru replied.
Sweaty banked her F-4 around, and Hoser followed. It wasn't Sweaty or Preacher, but KT in Hoser's bird, who spotted them. “Gotcha! Four launchers, some support tracks, and other vehicles.”
Hoser smiled, then called it in. “Lead, Hoser. Got what we came for.”
“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Sweaty, you and Hoser go in first. We'll cover you, then make our run. One pass, people!”
“Roger that, Lead!” Sweaty said, then she rolled in. “Three's in!”
In the bombed-out ranch, the commander of the First Battalion, 26th Missile Brigade, was cursing whoever at Brigade headquarters had lost his mind. They had executed a fire mission the night before and in the morning, and they had displaced to this new location. However, his request for air-defense assistance had been refused, and the nearby V-75 site at some town called Floyada had not been very cooperative with his requests for SAM cover. And to top it off, one of his MAZ-543 launchers had gotten stuck on some side road, and it had taken them half the morning to get the vehicle unstuck. Now, he was hoping to give the men a chance to rest, get fed, and resupplied, prior to the night's fire missions. His orderly had come up to him with a mug of tea when he heard the sound of jet engines. Whoever it was, had flown right on by. He made a mental note to complain to the Air Force about the local fighter squadrons when some of his men pointed to the north....the Major dropped his mug, and shouted, “AIRCRAFT ALARM!”
Sweaty rolled in, and she dropped all twelve of her Mark-82s in and around the ranch buildings, or what was left of them. There were several vehicles parked near them, and that would be the command element. As she pulled up, Preacher was looking back, and saw the bombs detonate. “SHACK! And we got a couple of secondaries!”
“Copy that,” Sweaty replied.
“Four's in!” Hoser called. He spotted two of the MAZ-543 launchers, and they were parked way too close together. Their mistake, he thought as he lined them up in his pipper, then hit the pickle button as the pipper went between the launchers, and a dozen CBU-58/Bs came off the racks.
The battalion commander was barking out orders, urging his men to take cover, when Hoser's F-4 came overhead, and he saw the CBUs come off. He jumped into a ditch as the CBUs exploded nearby, and two large explosions followed.
“Gotcha!” KT yelled from the rear cockpit. “Two big secondaries.”
“I'll take that,” Hoser said as he flew west. “Hey, what's that?”
KT scanned with binoculars. “Resupply trucks, looks like.”
“Lead, Hoser. Got two launchers, and we just flew past the missile resupply trucks,” Hoser called.
“Copy that, Hoser. Starbuck, Guru. You take the supply trucks, I'll take the other launchers,” Guru said to his wingmate.
“Roger that, Lead,” Kara called. .
“Copy. Goalie? Set everything up. All in one pass.”
“All set,” his GIB replied. “Good to go.”
Guru nodded, then he called. “Lead's in hot!” And he rolled 512 down the chute, lining up the two remaining TELs. “Steady, steady.....HACK!” A dozen Mark-82s came off the racks, raining down on the two MAZ-543s, blowing them apart, and also taking out what appeared to be a battery command vehicle for good measure. “Lead's off.”
“Two's in!” Kara said as Guru pulled off target. She spotted the resupply trucks, each pulling a Scud missile on a trailer behind them, and what looked like the missile fuelers as well. That was a big mistake on somebody's part.....”HACK!” She yelled as she hit the pickle button, and the twelve CBUs came off the racks...
The Soviet battalion commander looked up from his ditch as two more F-4s came in. The first American plane dropped its bombs around the two remaining missile launch vehicles, blowing them apart, and also taking out one of the command vehicles. Then another F-4 came in, and his heart sank as that plane dropped its bombs on the ranch road where the missile resupply vehicles and the fuelers were parked. And in the F-4's wake, several explosions followed.
“Good hits!” Braniac shouted from 520's rear seat. “And we got secondaries!”
“Shit hot!” Kara called. “Lead, we can call it a mission, don't you think?”
In 512's cockpit, Guru smiled underneath his oxygen mask. “I think so. Flight, form up, and let's egress.”
Both elements formed up and headed west in combat spread. Sweaty's element was actually three-quarters of a mile behind and to the right of Guru's, clearing the lead element. But everyone was watching for threats, airborne or otherwise, as now they had to get home. And it was Sweaty who called it first. “Lead, Sweaty. BREAK!”
Guru cursed, then called Kara. “Two, break left and low, I'll go right and high. NOW!” Then he put 512 into the break, climbing as he did so, while Kara took 520 low and to the left. As he broke, he saw them. Two MiG-23s coming in from above. Where was the AWACS warning? Save it for later, Guru thought. Fight's on.”Crystal Palace, Mustang Two-one. We got company here.”
In her cockpit, Sweaty armed her AIM-9Ps, and got missile lock on the MiG wingman. The Sidewinder's seeker growled in her headset, then she squeezed the trigger. “FOX TWO!” And an AIM-9P shot off her port missile rail. The missile flew right, then came back left, and flew right up the MiG's tailpipe and exploded. As Sweaty flew by, she and Preacher saw the plane roll left, and the pilot ejected, before the MiG rolled inverted, then flew into the ground. “SPLASH!”
“Copy that, Sweaty,” Hoser called. “That's a kill.”
“Hear that?” Goalie asked from 512's rear cockpit. “Sweaty's got four now”
“Talk later,” Guru reminded his GIB. “Still a fight on. Starbuck, where are you?”
“I'm on the other Flogger,” Kara replied.
Guru scanned the sky, then looked down below. Sure enough, Kara was chasing the MiG leader. “Press to engage, I'll cover you.”
“Roger that, Lead.” Kara replied. Now Guru was acting as her wingman, and she was in control of the fight. She armed her own AIM-9s, and was rewarded with a growl in her own headset. “FOX TWO!” She called, sending a Sidewinder after the MiG leader.
In the lead MiG-23, the Soviet flight leader was turning his head, trying to pick up the F-4 that he knew had to be on his tail. Cursing the horrible rear visibility in the MiG-23, he banked left, and watched as a Sidewinder missile flew past his aircraft. The missile warhead detonated, but he checked his cockpit panel. No warning lights. Good. He then armed his R-60 AAMs and maintained his turn. Where was that F-4?
Kara cursed in 520's cockpit. The first missile had flown on by, but the MiG was still in a turn. She pulled into a high yo-yo, then came back down to get inside the MiG's turn.
Up above, Guru was also tracking the MiG. “Can you lock him up?” He asked Goalie. He had armed his two AIM-7s and was hoping that if Kara forced the MiG his way, he'd take the shot.
“No joy,” Goalie said. “Too much ground clutter.”
“Damn it,” Guru growled back. Then he saw the MiG roll wings level. Big mistake, Ivan....
Kara saw it as well. She was right in the MiG's six, and the Sidewinder was growling very loud. “FOX TWO!” And another AIM-9 came off the rail. This one flew straight and true, flying up the MiGs' tailipipe and exploding.
The MiG leader heard the explosion, then saw every cockpit warning light come on. He reached for his ejection handle, then the world turned upside-down as the MiG cartwheeled. It did it twice, and the last thing the MiG leader saw was the Texas prairie coming up at him....
“SPLASH!” Kara called. She and Brainac watched as the MiG cartwheeled twice, then slammed into the ground in a ball of fire. “That's a kill.”
“Good kill, Two!” Guru shouted. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Two-one.. Where'd those Floggers come from?”
“Camaro Two-one, Crystal Palace. Not sure, but we had them about ten seconds before your fight started.”
“Roger that. Splash two Floggers, and scratch some Scuds. We are RTB.”
“Copy, Mustang. Your vector to the transit lane is two-eight-zero.”
Guru nodded. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's get the hell out of here.” And the four F-4s formed up and headed on out. “Well,” he said to Goalie over the ICS. “We got us a new ace.”
“And how much of the tent city's going to be standing in the morning when we all wake up?” Goalie asked. Kara's antics were well-known to the squadron, and the Marines of MAG-11, to which the 335th was attached.
“Don't want to think about it,” the XO replied. “But hey, you only make ace once,” he said. “One more for you and you're a backseat ace.”
“Bring it on,” Goalie said. She was looking forward to that celebration. When Guru had made ace, the two of them had a private celebration in his room at the Mesa Sheraton, where the Squadron had been billeted.....
'I'll try,” Guru said. It wasn't long before the flight passed over I-27, then the New Mexico State Line fifteen minutes later. When they arrived at Cannon, they got into the traffic pattern. When it was their turn to fly past the field, Kara and Sweaty each did a Victory Roll, then they all came in and landed. After he taxied 512 to its revetment, then shut down, Guru asked Goalie. “You dreading this?”
“Yeah, but let's get it over with,” Goalie said as Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, their crew chief, put the Crew ladder in place.
“Great job, sir!” Sergeant Crowley said. “Is it true about Captain Thrace?”
“She's now an ace, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Got some buckets of water handy?”
The Crew Chief grinned. “Yes, sir!” He pointed to several buckets next to the wall of the revetment.
Guru nodded, then he and Goalie picked up a bucket, He looked at 520's revetment, and both Kara and Brainiac were high-fiveing with her ground crew. Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT were watching, then they saw the XO motion them over. Each one got a bucket, then they went over to Kara. “Starbuck?”
“Guru?” She asked, but her back was turned to the XO. She turned, only to see the XO and the rest of the flight with buckets in hand. “Oh, shit!”
“Now!” Guru said, then they doused Kara with the buckets of water. “You only make ace once!”
“God-damn it,” Kara yelled, then she calmed down. “Right about that.”
Then Sergeant Crowley tapped Guru on the shoulder. “CO coming, sir. And Colonel Brady as well.” That meant Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, the CO of the 335th, and Marine Colonel Allen Brady, who commanded MAG-11.
“Oh, boy...” Guru muttered. Then he sketched a salute as the two Colonels got out of a crew-cab truck. “Colonel,” he said to both Colonel Brady and his CO.
“Captain,” Brady said as the two Colonels returned the salute. “So we have a new ace? And it's the Wild Thing?”
“Afraid so, sir,” Guru said. “What I'm concerned about is will she drink the O-Club dry, and how many guys share her sleeping bag?”
Both Colonels winced, but they knew the 335th XO was more than likely right. “Well, Captain,” Brady said, “We''ll find out in the morning.” Then they went over and shook Kara's hand. “Congratulations, Captain.”
“Thanks, Boss,” she said to Colonel Rivers.
“What was it?' Colonel Brady asked.
“Floggers, sir,” Kara replied. “Got one, and Sweaty got the other.”
“Four for Sweaty,” Guru said. “One more and she's an ace.”
“Good work,” Rivers said. “All of you. Captain,” he nodded at Kara. “Get dried off. All of you, Get something to eat, and Van Loan will get your next brief, because Mark Ellis is still out.”
“Will do, Boss,” Guru said. He nodded at the rest of his flight. “How many more today?”
“At least one. More likely two,” Rivers said. “If it's two, try and be back before 1800. Squeeze in as much celebration time before twelve-hour kicks in. What'd you get, by the way?
The crews all looked at each other. “Yes, sir,” Guru said. “As for the MiGs? Floggers, Colonel. And we made some Scuds and their support vehicles go away.”
“Good work, all of you, and remember what I said about getting in before twelve-hour.”
“Colonel?” Kara said. “That's an order I'll be glad to obey.”
“And I'm buying the first round,” Colonel Brady said. “The first drink goes to the newest ace.”
Cannon AFB Officer's Club Tent, 1730 Hours:
The Officer's Club was rocking that night, and not just due to the music coming from the juke box. As promised, Colonel Brady had bought the first round, and the first toast had gone to Kara's becoming the latest F-4 ace. Now, her squadron mates were toasting her, while a poker game was now in session.
“How many is she going to clean out tonight?” Captain Mark Ellis asked. He'd played with Kara before, and like many in the 335th, came to regret it. Along with their wallets being considerably lightened as a result.
“Enough,” Captain Matt Wiser nodded. “Am I going to get in on that game? No freaking way.”
“Got other plans for your money, then,” Lieutenant Don Van Loan, the assistant Ops Officer, noted.
“So do I.”
“I have more important things to do with my pay than contribute to the welfare of Kara's mom. She sends her mom a check every month with some of her winnings,” Guru said. “Or so I've heard.”
“Hasn't she been on the R&R shuttle to Vegas yet?” Ellis asked.
“Not yet,” said Guru. “And she's so good at poker they might ban her from the casinos.”
“Can't have that,” Goalie said as she came up for a beer. “What have you got?”
“Foster's, Sapporo, some Bud, Miller, Miller Lite,” the barkeep said.
“Bud,” she said, and the barkeep put a bottle on the improvised bar. She paid him, then turned to watch the poker game. “Those guys have any idea of what they're up against?”
“Let them find out-the hard way,” Guru nodded .”We did.”
“And the other thing: how many guys share a sleeping bag with her tonight?”
The XO nodded. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how many guys can't pay what they owe her,” Guru replied deadpan.
His GIB looked at him. “Did you.....”
“Me? Hop into the sack with Kara? No way!” Guru said with all due seriousness. “I lost to her once, had enough to cover the debt, and that was that.”
“Good to hear,” Goalie said. “Now I'm wondering this: what if a girl loses to her and can't pay up?”
The male pilots and GIBs at the bar looked at each other. “That is a very good question,” Don Van Loan said after a minute's worth of silence.
Sweaty Blanchard came in with a copy of Stars and Stripes in her hand. “Bud for me, and have a look at yesterday's newspaper.”
“Anything good?” Mark Ellis asked.
“Not much happening good or bad,” Sweaty replied after taking a swing of beer. “There were days like this in World War II, I bet.” She handed Guru the front page.
“Hmm...whoa!” Guru said.
“What?” Goalie asked.
“That Hell's Angels regiment? You know, that cav regiment the Army formed out of the Hell's Angels?”
“Yeah,” KT Thornton asked. “What about 'em?”
Guru looked at her, then everyone else at the bar. “They're getting a Presidential Unit Citation.”
“What?” Goalie looked at her pilot. “Those maniacs?”
“Yep,” Guru said. “Seems on Christmas Day, they found a gap in Ivan's lines in Southern Kansas, went forty miles behind Soviet lines, and raided a POW camp in Northern Oklahoma. Came back after raising hell behind the lines, brought back over 600 prisoners, had the camp commander, political officer, and several others hog-tied in the back of a truck, and a ton of documents. They went off without orders, though.”
“And what happened to get a PUC?” Mark Ellis wondered. “Somebody on something?”
“Nope. Says here Schwartzkopf decided that court-martials for making 600 POWs' Christmas a lot merrier wasn't a good idea, so he handed out a bunch of medals, and wrote them up for a PUC. Philly approved it.”
Heads shook at that. “Wasn't there an ALO who passed by and said that if those guys aren't given a mission, they'll create one on their own?” KT asked.
“Yep,” Mark Ellis replied. “He also said, 'No better friends, and no worse enemies.' Don't get on their bad side. It's the last thing you'll ever do.”
Then Doc Waters, the 335th's Flight Surgeon, came in. “Guys,” he said. “I see the celebration's in full swing.”
“Here to make sure she follows twelve-hour, Doc?” Van Loan asked. “Or is that a stupid question?”
“She's on the flight schedule tomorrow, so yeah,” Doc replied. “Unless she's still loaded in the morning.”
Heads nodded at that, and it was very likely that Kara would still be loaded come 0700. “Mark, do me a favor,if you can,” Said Guru.
“What?” Ellis replied.
“Take Kara off the flight schedule. Let her celebrate.”
"No joy on that, and I already asked Colonel Rivers. We're short five planes and four crews, not counting people on the R&R rotation.”
Guru nodded. Oh, well. At least he tried. “Fair enough, but if she's still buzzed in the morning....”
“Only then does she not fly, XO,” Colonel Rivers said as he came in. “If we were still back at Williams, yeah, but not now.”
The XO thought about it for a minute. “If she can't fly in the morning, I already know who I want in her place.”
“Who?” Rivers asked.
“Dave Golen. He's flown with us before, and who knows? After today, I might just get him a MiG or two if he goes with us.”
Rivers nodded. “Not a problem, XO. And we've still got twenty minutes to Twelve-hour. How's she doing?”
“Fourth beer,” the barkeep said.
“And she hasn't gotten anyone cleaned out to the point that if they can't pay., her....alternative payment kicks in.” Guru added.
Rivers looked at his XO. “Let me guess: that means the squadron supply tent, a sleeping bag spread out somewhere, a couple of candles or a Coleman lantern for ambiance.....”
Guru nodded. “Picked that up fast, Boss.”
“One of her fellow ferry pilots from Kadena passed the word,” Rivers said. “She pulled the same stunts on Okinawa: Air Force, Navy, even JASDF.”
Guru shook his head in disbelief, but he knew that it was likely very true, knowing her current antics. “Oh, well..” He checked his watch. Ten minutes to the twelve-hour rule. “Bud,” he told the barkeep.
The barkeep handed him a bottle, then he paid the man. Then Guru rang the bell. “People, it's ten minutes to the twelve-hour rule kicking in, but you've heard from Colonel Brady, and Colonel Rivers, So you might just as well hear from her flight leader. Kara,” he nodded at Starbuck, who was sitting at the card table, and listening semi-attentively. “Welcome to the club. You're now a fighter ace, and nobody can take that away from you. You're now a certified card-carrying aerial assassin.” Cheers rang out, and nobody heard Guru mutter “Among other things.”
Kara stood. “Thanks, Guru,” she raised her bottle of beer.
“Now that she's crossed the threshold, be glad for one thing.”
“What's that?” KT asked.
“You only make ace once.” Guru said. “Now, here's to the Air Force's newest ace, and to the mount we all fly in the 335th: Double-Ugly!”
There was a chorus of “Hear, hear!” and everyone drank the toast.
“Drink up, people!” Rivers said. “You've got six minutes to Twelve-hour.”
That advice was heeded, then Doc Waters rang the bell: “Nineteen hundred, people! Twelve-hour rule is in effect!”
Heads nodded, and people started counting until 2100, when aircrew curfew went into effect.
Guru and Goalie watched as Kara made inroads into several people's wallets, and a familiar face left the table in disgust. It was Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer.” He came over to the bar. “Dave.”
“Guru,” Golen replied. “Is she hard-wired to win?” He asked.
“No, but you're not the first to ask,” Goalie said. “She clean you out?”
Golen shook his head. “Fortunately, I got out before too much damage was inflicted. Others, though, are not so fortunate.” He gestured to the barkeep, but Guru caught him. “What is it?”
“I know you're not technically on the flight schedule, but if Kara can't fly for whatever reason tomorrow morning? I want you to fly as my wingman,” said Guru with all due seriousness.
“It will be a pleasure,” Golen smiled. “And if I do fly with you?” He looked over Guru and Goalie, and Sweaty in the background.
“Yeah?”
“I will show you, Goalie, Sweaty, and the rest of your flight how a gun shot kill is done. In our book!”
“If you say so, Dave,” Guru said. “Just be ready to fly if you have to. Be in the ops tent at 0630, if you would.”
“This clear with Colonel Rivers?” Golen asked. Seeing Guru nod, he nodded at the XO. “I'll be there,” Golen said. Then he decided to head off to his tent early and get some shut-eye. Knowing what he'd seen and heard about Captain Thrace, it would be best if he was ready.
Soon, it was nearly 2100, and time for aircrew curfew. When it was time, either Colonel Brady or a squadron CO would ring the bell, and the aircrews on the flight schedule for the next day would have to turn in.
As Guru, Goalie, Sweaty, Mark Ellis, and several others got ready to head for their tents, they saw Kara walk up to three men-one a Marine NFO from one of the Marine Phantom squadrons, another a C-130 pilot or copilot, and the other one was an Army Dustoff pilot. She tapped each of them on the shoulder, and they reluctantly followed her. “What's that?” Darren Licon asked.
Several of the aircrew looked at each other. “For an Intelligence Officer, Darren, you missed that?” Don Van Loan asked. “Those guys lost to her at poker, and they bet more money than they had.”
“And Kara doesn't take checks,” Guru added. “Why do you think none of us play cards with her? Pool's cheaper.”
“Even then, don't play pool with her unless it's a friendly,” Goalie said. She had tried Kara's luck at pool, and found her wallet lightened by $50.00.
“So where does she go to, uh, settle those debts?” Licon asked. This was a side of Captain Thrace he'd never seen before, only heard about.
Colonel Rivers came up. “Check the supply tent, and that's all I'm going to say on that..” He nodded to the XO. “Before the war, that'd be an Article 15 at least, if not a court-martial for Conduct Unbecoming.”
“Same with me and Goalie,” Guru said. “But once the war began, a lot of those regs got put in the 'after the war' basket, or just plain ignored. You know what General Tanner said: 'If it gets in the way of winning the war, get rid of it.' Too bad our dour Major never understood that.” He was referring to Major Frank Carson, the most despised and hated officer in the 335th. He was a would-be martinet, who insisted on going by every rule and regulation in the book, despite senior officers-even generals-telling him no, and as a result, he'd been passed over for XO, and Guru took the slot after the death of the previous Exec. And Carson hated him, and just about every other flight officer-pilot or WSO-in the squadron as a result, and treated enlisted airmen as pieces of equipment, which went against everything Colonel Rivers and most other squadron commanders stood for, and Carson was viewed as the “Frank Burns of the 335th.”
Then the bell rang at the bar. It was Colonel Brady. “2100 people! Time to hit the hay.”
The crowd broke up, as Air Force, Army, and Marine aircrews who were flying in the morning headed off to their tents. AF Red Horse Engineers and Navy Seabees had built a large tent city while the intact buildings at Cannon were being checked for booby traps, and even after being on base for two weeks, the buildings were still not declared totally safe. One Seabee officer who'd served in Vietnam as an enlisted man said that the Cubans “probably learned from the VC about how and where to lay booby traps.”
Guru, Goalie, Sweaty, Preacher, KT, Hoser, and several others headed off to the part of the tent city where the 335th was billeted, As they walked, they came across the supply tent for the 335th, and the sounds of passion could be heard coming from it. High, loud, and repeatedly.
“Sounds like her, well...'collection' is in full swing,” Hoser noted. “Be glad no one has one of those VHS camcorders.”
“You're not the only one to say that,” Guru nodded. “She probably keeps score, though.”
“Anyone crash one of those parties? As in a Marine MP or one of our CSPs?” Preacher asked. “You'd think someone would've by now.”
“Ryan Blanchard would know, and if someone has, she hasn't told us,” Goalie said. Newly-promoted Captain Ryan Blanchard was the officer-in-charge of the Combat Security Police detachment that was attached to the 335th. She was also one of Kara's tentmates.
“Ryan did find out, though,” KT said. “But she went by the adage 'let sleeping dogs lie.'”
Guru nodded. “Let it go, people. Hit the hay, because tomorrow's going to be busy.”
Officer's Open Mess Tent, Cannon AFB, NM: 0530 Hours Mountain War Time, 5 June 1987:
Guru, Goalie, Mark Ellis, Don Van Loan, and most of the AF and Marine aircrew scheduled to fly that morning were milling around the mess tent, waiting for it to open. And they all noticed that someone usually first there was missing: Kara.
“Where's Kara?” Guru asked.
“She didn't come home last night,” Sweaty answered. She was one of Kara's tentmates.
“Well, there's not that many places she could've wandered off to,” Ryan Blanchard said. She normally worked the day shift, and if any of her CSPs had noticed Captain Thrace wandering around, she would've been notified at once.
Guru nodded. “Okay, let's find her before the CO, or worse, that weasel Carson, finds out. Ryan? You, Goalie, Sweaty, and KT, check the Supply Tent and anyplace off-limits to men. Mark? You, Don, Hoser, come with me. We'll check the squadron dispersal..”
“Why there, XO?” Hoser asked.
“There's one place there she'd likely be: 520. Her mount. In any post-celebration stupor, where else would she go?”
“The Club?' Don Van Loan asked.
“It's guarded after closing, and it closes at midnight sharp,” Ryan Blanchard said.
“Enough talk,” Guru said. “Let's find her,” he ordered.
Ryan Blanchard led the three female aircrew into the women's showers. They checked all the vacant stalls, and asked the occupants of the remaining stalls if they'd seen Captain Thrace. Everyone replied in the negative, so the party went to the one remaining obvious place: the Supply Tent.
When they got there, they found the signs of passion still there; namely Kara's flight suit, bra and panties, and boots still strewn about, and a sleeping bag. Ryan put her hand down to feel it. “Still warm.”
“She couldn't have gotten far,” Goalie said. “Especially barefoot.”
“No, but gather her clothes anyway,” Ryan ordered. “She'll need them when we do find her.”
Guru and his men arrived at the dispersal area used by the squadron. They noticed the armorers already at work, getting the aircraft ready for the first missions of the day, and Guru led the party to the revetment where Kara's normally assigned aircraft, 520, was parked. All they found was 520's Crew Chief and his people, getting the plane ready for the day's operations. “Sergeant,” Guru asked the Crew Chief. “Have any of you seen Captain Thrace this morning?”
Staff Sergeant Justin Porter saluted, then shook his head. “No, sir,” he replied. “Just us, and the ordnance guys comin' over.”
“All right, but if you see her...” Guru started to say, but he was interrupted by shouting four revetments down.
“I'm not getting that fuck'n bitch out of the cockpit!” An angry female voice said. “You're the Crew Chief, that's your job.”
“The hell I am!' an equally angry male voice said. “You're the assistant, you get her out.”
Mark Ellis nodded. “XO, I think we found her.”
“I think so,” Guru said. He turned to Sergeant Porter. “Call Sergeant Ross. Tell him on my authority to get a vehicle over here, and bring a towel or something. And do not say a word to Colonel Rivers. I'll handle that.”
“Yes, sir.” Porter said, then he grabbed a walkie-talkie.
The XO's party then went down to the revetment in question, where tail number 657 was parked. If that number wasn't a giveaway as to whose plane it was, the name painted on the front canopy rail did. It read, “Maj. Frank Carson.”
Oh, great, Guru thought. Of all the aircraft on this base, and she chooses his bird to pass out in. They go closer, and saw the two canopies raised, and the crew chief and his assistant still arguing. Then one of the sergeants saw the XO coming over. “Ten-hut!”
“As you were,” Guru said. “Now, how long has she been here?”
“Ten minutes, sir,” the male crew chief said.
“And it never occurred to both of you to call either the CSPs, the Ops Officer, or me?” An angry Guru said.
“Uh, no, sir,” the crew chief replied.
Guru saw the work tools, and asked, “Carson have you all doing an all-nighter?”
“Yes, sir,” the female assistant, a Senior Airman, said. “He had a couple of minor issues, but he had us check, double-check, and triple-check everything.”
Nodding, Guru headed over to the cockpit, “Anything else I should know about?”
“Uh, sir,” the Crew Chief said. “She's, well..uh...”
“Out with it!” Guru said.
“She's naked as the day she was born,” the chief said. “Sir.”
“And nobody saw her?” Roared the XO.
“Sir, we took a break about a half-hour ago, and...”
“If she'd been Spetsnatz, you'd be dead,” Mark Ellis snarled. “Of all the..”
“Save it, Mark,” Guru said. He went over to the crew ladder and climbed up. He found a quite nude Kara sitting hunched over in the cockpit, and the tell-tale sight and odor of vomit came up. “Kara...”
Kara woke up in a stupor. “Is that you, XO?”
He shook his head. “Did you violate twelve-hour?” The XO wanted to know.
“No, but six beers before, fried chicken for dinner, and the, uh, exertion overnight, and, well, you get the idea.”
The XO shook his head. Why didn't something like this come up in OTS? But then again, OTS didn't cover everything. Some things in the Air Force, you found out firsthand. “And you puked in Carson's cockpit. Swell.”
Kara grinned. “Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole.”
“Normally, I'd agree with you, but this isn't the time. Come on out..' Guru said. He turned to the crew chief. “You have any clean work towels?”
“A couple, sir,” the crew chief replied.
“Get them.” Just then Master Sergeant Michael Ross, the senior NCO of the 335th, pulled up in a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup. Ryan Blanchard, Goalie, Sweaty, and KT piled out of the truck. “Ross found you guys, I see.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “We've got her clothes and her wallet.”
“Okay,” Guru said. “She's got tentmates who aren't on the flight schedule?”
“A couple,” Sweaty nodded. “Let me guess: have them let her sleep, when she wakes up, fill her with black coffee, and tell her she's not flying today.” And Ryan Blanchard nodded.
Guru nodded. “You guess right. Sergeant Ross?”
“Sir?” Master Sergeant Ross asked. This wasn't a first for him, though: in Vietnam, he'd seen pilots get too drunk after a night in the O-Club, and puke in cockpits. But it was a first in another way: this was the first time he'd seen it with a female officer.
“Help Captain Blanchard with Captain Thrace. Get them back to female officer country. Do not tell either the CO, which would be bad, or Major Carson, which would be worse. I'll handle that.”
“Yes, sir,” Ross nodded. He helped Ryan with Kara, then drove off towards female officer quarters.
“Well, that's settled,” Goalie said.
“Not quite,” Guru said. He checked his watch. “Chow tent opens in ten minutes. Mark,” Guru turned to the Ops Officer. “Find Dave Golen. Tell him he's flying today.”
“Will do,” Ellis replied. “He flying with Brainiac?'
“Braniac,” Guru affirmed. Captain Judd “Brainiac” Brewster was Kara's usual WSO. “He won't mind.”
“Gotcha,” Ellis said, then he headed off to the chow tent.
As the rest of the officers got ready to follow, Carson's crew chief had one more question. “Sir, what about the puke in the cockpit?”
“What about it?” Guru asked. “Clean it up!”
“Sir, what about the smell, and what do I tell the Major?”
“Let it air out, and just tell the not-so-dear Major that somebody-you don't need to say who, got drunk last night, wandered over to dispersal, and puked in the first open cockpit he or she saw.”
“Is that an order, sir?” Asked the crew chief.
“Why not?” Guru said, then the group headed back to the chow tent.
“Yes, sir!”
When the group got back to the chow tent, they found Colonel Brady talking with several squadron commanders, and among then was Colonel Rivers. And Rivers motioned them over. “XO, word's gotten round about Captain Thrace. You did find her, I trust?”
Guru nodded. “Yes, sir. We did. Captain Blanchard, with Sergeant Ross, is taking her back to female officer quarters, and her tentmates who are not flying today have orders to let her sleep, fill her with coffee, and tell her she's not flying today.”
Colonel Rivers nodded, and Colonel Brady and the other CO s did so as well. “You handled that well, Captain,” Rivers said. “With the, well....delicacy that situation requires. Anything else?”
“Sir, she, uh, vomited all over Major Carson's front cockpit.” Guru reported.
“And how did you handle that?” Colonel Brady asked. He was CO of MAG-11, to which the 335th was attached.
“Sir, I told his crew chief to clean it up, and if the Major asks?”
“Yes?”
“Sir, to say that somebody, he doesn't need to know who, got a little plastered last night, wandered over from the club, and puked in the first open receptacle he or she could find. And that happened to be his aircraft's front office,” Guru replied politely. “Uh, sir.”
To everyone's surprise, the colonels broke out laughing. “Captain,” Brady said. “When word gets around this base, and it will by noon, if not sooner, a lot of people will say that it couldn't have happened to a more deserving officer.”
“Sir,” Guru replied. “Captain Thrace, when she first became lucid, had a more descriptive answer to that.”
“And that was?”
“Sir, 'it couldn't have happened to a nicer asshole,” Guru said. “Uh, sir.”
More laughter followed. “There's plenty on this base who would agree with that sentiment,” Brady said. He turned to Colonel Rivers. “I know you guys are Air Force, and I'm a Marine, but isn't it time this young fellow has the rank to go with his job?”
Rivers nodded. “I'll see what I can do about that, Colonel.”
Guru was surprised. “Sir, it hasn't been a year since I put on Captain's bars.” He'd been promoted after returning to the squadron after five months with the Resistance after being shot down.
“This is wartime,” Rivers said. “There were second lieutenants in 1941 who ended World War II as Colonels. If it happens, it happens. So don't be surprised if in a few months, you're pinning on oak leaves.”
“Sir, if you say so,” Guru said, as his flight mates were slapping his back.
Just then, the mess officer came out and flipped the sign on the door of the chow tent from CLOSED to OPEN. “Come on, people, eat up, because we've got a busy day ahead,” Colonel Brady said.
As people filed in, Mark Ellis came up with Dave Golen. “Found him,” Ellis said.
“Dave,” Guru said, recalling the IDF's practice of officers going on a first-name basis. “You'll be flying with us after all.”
Golen nodded. “So Mark has told me. Kara is, well, somewhat indisposed.”
“You could say that,” Guru said. He waved Brainiac over. “Hope you don't mind flying with Kara's WSO.”
“Not at all,” Golen said. He shook hands with Brainiac. “A pleasure.”
“Likewise, Major,” Brainaic said. He was still only a First Lieutenant, and habits died hard for someone only three years out of ROTC.
“You two, talk things over during breakfast, because we'll be at it four or five times today,” Guru said. “Take him over to the ready tent, Brainiac, 0630.”
“Will do,”
Guru nodded. “Okay, let's eat. It'll be a full day, and let's go out loaded for bear.”
And after eating, it was busy day, as the 335th went on with the war.
Kara makes ace and celebrates-and giving a few people fits the next morning:
It's Good to be an Ace
Cannon AFB, New Mexico, 4 June 1987: 1140 Hours Mountain War Time:
Captain Matt Wiser of the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron was scanning the Frag Order that had come down for his flight. Though he was the squadron's Executive Officer, mission orders and briefs came in via Operations, his previous job, and that belonged to Captain Mark Ellis. Ellis had given him the FRAGO and a briefing packet that seemed way too small for his taste, and when he opened it, he looked at the Ops Officer and the Squadron's Intelligence Officer, 1st Lt. Darren Licon. “That's it?”
“Afraid so, Guru,” Ellis replied. Guru was Captain Wiser's call sign. “We're not finished with Scud Hunts. Not yet, anyway.”
Guru shook his head. “Oh, well. Ours is not to reason why; ours is to make them burn, bleed, and blow up.” He looked at the intel officer. “The threat info the best you can get?”
“It is, sir,” Licon replied. “Same as yesterday and the day before, when you got that MiG-23 with your gun. But with something else added.”
“What is it?' Guru asked. This would be his flight's third mission of the day, and he was already getting tired.
“SA-15s may, and I emphasize may, be in the area.”
The Exec stared at the intel officer as if he'd suddenly grown four arms and two heads. “You're full of good news today,” he growled. “Mark,” he nodded at the Ops Officer. “Tell me Weasels are in the area.”
“They are,” Ellis confirmed. “If you hear beer names on the radio, they're in the area. Coors, Strohs, Olympia, and Bud are around.” The F-4G Wild Weasels from the 35th TFW used beer names for call signs, and the ComBloc had even taken to shutting down radars if they heard some of those call signs over the radio.
“Thanks, Mark,” Guru replied. “Darren? Do me, and every pilot and WSO in this squadron-a favor.”
“Name it, sir,” Licon said.
“Tell those intel weenies you work with, whether it's the Marines at MAG-11 or the guys from Tenth Air Force this: can they stop that 'We're betting your life' crap?”
“That's as old as the intel business itself, sir,” Licon nodded.
“Figures,” the XO muttered. Then he and Ellis left the Operations Tent. “You coming with us?”
“Be about forty-five minutes behind you,” Ellis replied. “We only got back fifteen minutes ago.”
“Yeah,” the Exec nodded. “Dave Golen going with you guys again?” Maj. Dave Golen was an Israeli AF “Observer” who did more than just observe. He had two MiG kills flying with the 335th, and everyone could tell he wanted more. When he flew, he wore a USAF flight suit and insignia, and as far as anyone was concerned, he was an American if he was shot down.
“Flew wing with me,” Ellis said. “No MiGs, which he didn't like, but who knows this time?”
“Yeah,” Guru said. “What's your mission code on the radio, in case I need to call for some help?”
“Cadillac,” Ellis replied. “You?”
Guru consulted the FRAGO. “Mustang. If you need help, holler.”
“You too,” Ellis said. They shook hands. “Have a good one.”
“Same to you.” Guru nodded. “Oh, a piece of advice.”
“Name it,” Ellis said.
“The BLTs the Marines peddle from their chow tent? Stay away. “
“Why?”
Guru looked at the Ops Officer with all due seriousness. “Kara had one after we got back. She opened it up to put some mustard on it, and something in the tomato looked back at her.”
Ellis had a ugly grimace on his face when he heard that. “Ugh. I'll spread the word.”
“Do that. See you later,” Guru said, then he went to the tent his flight used. He would rather be in one of Cannon's squadron buildings, used by the 27th TFW and their F-111 crews prewar, but they were still being checked over for booby traps. The XO went in and found the members of his flight were waiting.
“What's up?” Captain Kara “Starbuck” Thrace asked. She was his wingmate, and was only one kill away from acedom. She had scored her fourth two days previously, when Guru had killed a MiG-23 with his gun, and was chomping at the bit for number five.
“Got another one,” Guru said. “Scud hunt again.”
“What?” Guru's GIB, 1st Lt. Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn asked. “We did that yesterday and the day before.”
“And we've killed some launchers,” Guru admitted. “But they shot four at Amarillo last night, and two more here this morning, after we left on our first mission. So we're going back to that same Scud box: Plainview east to Childress, down to Paducah, then west to Abernathy.”
“Right into Su-27-land,” 1st Lt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard pointed out. She led the second element in the flight. “Those guys were up yesterday.”
“They were,” Guru admitted. “And the F-15s were around. They should be still, but remember your brief on the Flankers.”
“Doppler break, get down low, and scream for help from AWACS,” 1st Lt. Nathan “Hoser” West, who was Sweaty's wingman, nodded. “And pray a 'teenage' fighter's around.”
“How true,” 1st Lt. Bryan “Preacher” Simmonds, Sweaty's GIB, said. He'd been at the Seminary when the war began, and had joined the Air Force-not as a chaplain or chaplain's assistant, but he'd gone to OTS, then navigator training, and then the F-4 RTU. “For what we are about to receive, we thank you.”
“Wait on that, Preacher,” Guru said. “The other MiGs, the -21s and -23s, we can handle. MiG-29s might come from Dallas-Fort Worth, but nobody's encountered them in this part of Texas. The SAM threat is fluid, from -2s and -3s, to -6s, -8s, and -11s, and -9s and 13s. Those we can handle-even if the 11s are still a problem. But hold on: Darren Licon said SA-15s have been reported but not confirmed.”
Jaws dropped at that news. “SA-15?” 1st Lt. Judd “Braniac” Brewster, Kara's WSO, asked. “Guru, we haven't even been briefed on those!”
“I know,” Guru said. “If you pick up an unknown radar on your EW gear? Do a 180, get down low, and get out fast. Weasels are in the area, so if you hear the call signs Coors, Michelob, Strohs, and so on? Give 'em a call.”
Second Lieutenant Kathy “KT” Thornton, Hoser's GIB, nodded. “Glad to hear that,” she said.
“It is,” Guru said. “Now, the AAA threat is the usual: expect anything from 23-mm on up. Bailout areas are anyplace away from roads. Weather's good to excellent, and now, ordnance loads.” That perked up everyone's interest.
“What have we got?” Sweaty asked.
“You and me,” Guru replied. “Twelve Mark-82 Snakeyes with Daisy Cutter fuze extenders, same as last time. We also get an ALQ-119 long pod. Kara and Hoser get the older ALQ-101s.”
His wingmate stared at him. “Thanks a heap, Guru.”
“I know, we all want the new pods, but every F-4 and F-16 unit in the Air Force is screaming for the new ones.”
“And not enough to go around,” Goalie observed.
“Right. Starbuck? You and Hoser get ten CBU-58/Bs; the ones with incendiary submunitions. We all get a full load of 20-mm, two AIM-7s and four AIM-9Ps. They're not the P4s with all-aspect capability, but they'll do the job. Any other questions?”
Sweaty's hand shot up. “What's after this one?”
“That,” replied the XO, “I have no idea. We'll find out when we get back. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Goalie nodded as she stood up. “What do we do if we come up empty on Scuds?”
“We'll go to Plainview Airport,” Guru said. “They're using it to support MiG-23 and Su-25 ops, along with helos and short-haul transports like the An-24 or -26. We fly the mission in the tasking order, but if we come up empty on Scuds, that's where we'll go. Just save enough fuel to make a run on that field, then get our asses back into New Mexico.” He looked around. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Kara asked. “No trolling for MiGs?”
“Right you are. I know, you're out looking for number five, but we might find some Russian or Cuban who's out looking for his fifth. We're not out on a MIGSWEEP, but if we're jumped? Fight's on,” Guru said. “Fair enough?”
Kara nodded. “Fair enough, XO. Now, did you warn people about the Jarheads and their BLTs?”
The XO laughed. “I did, and told Mark. He'll pass it around. Nothing like opening your sandwich and finding your tomato's looking back at you.” And there was some laughter at that. “Anything else?”
Heads shook no at that. It was time to go to work.
“All right,” Guru said as he grabbed his helmet and G-suit. “Let's hit it.”
Over North-Central Texas: 1245 Hours:
Mustang Flight headed east, and they were down low. Low enough to pick up threats or targets on the ground, but not low enough to avoid radar. At least they were low enough to be below the SA-2's minimum effective altitude of 1100 feet-if the intel was on the ball about the Childress SA-2 site having an upgraded version of the SA-2. While the pilots were scanning the sky for threats, the WSOs were using binoculars to look for targets. With SCUD TELs or resupply trucks at the top of their list.
Guru saw it on his EW repeater. “SA-2 at Eleven O'clock.”
“Got it,” Goalie replied. “That's the Childress SA-2. Let's not pay them a visit, shall we?”
“We're on the same page,” Guru said. “Flight, Lead. Follow me.” And the flight of F-4s made a ninety-degree turn to the south, just to the west of U.S. 62/83. “Anything?”
'Nothing,” Goalie said. “Nothing but truck convoys. No TELs or missile resupply trailers.”
Guru scowled underneath his oxygen mask. “This is like yesterday. A wild-goose chase.”
“They got a lot of room to hide,” Goalie pointed out.
Nodding, Guru flew south towards U.S. 70 and the town of Paducah. It didn't take them long to cover the thirty or so miles to the crossroads town, and as Mustang Flight flew over the town, they waggled their wings to the civilians down below, before turning west.
Down below, the local garrison was out in force. Here, the garrison was Nicaraguan, and though the garrison commander, a Major, had tried to limit the excesses committed by the Soviets and Cubans, a Soviet traffic-control point had been established in town, and a Soviet rear-area protection division had moved in a few days earlier. The Major was trying to explain to the Mayor that no, these weren't the animals in the Soviet MVD, that they were Soviet Army troops, and that no, there was no immediate threat to the town. Then Guru's F-4s flew by, and townspeople recognized the F-4s and cheered, while Soviet and Nicaraguan soldiers ran for cover.
“You were saying, Major?” The Mayor asked the Commandant, who promptly ran for the City Hall's basement.
“Guru, Starbuck,” Kara called her flight leader. “How much more of this?”
“Another hour's worth of fuel, then we can head for the secondary,' Guru replied.
In her F-4, Sweaty was grinning underneath her oxygen mask. “Glad to see she's not the only one thinking that.”
Preacher Simmonds nodded, then resumed scanning. “Hey...got something here.”
Sweaty turned in her cockpit. “What?”
“Not sure. There's a bombed-out ranch, but I'd swear something moved down there.”
“Copy,” Sweaty replied. Then she called her leader. “Guru, Sweaty, got something down here. We're going to check it out.”
“Roger that, Sweaty. Be careful. This could be a flak trap.”
“That in Licon's brief?” Goalie asked.
“No, but the thought did occur to me,” Guru replied.
Sweaty banked her F-4 around, and Hoser followed. It wasn't Sweaty or Preacher, but KT in Hoser's bird, who spotted them. “Gotcha! Four launchers, some support tracks, and other vehicles.”
Hoser smiled, then called it in. “Lead, Hoser. Got what we came for.”
“Copy that,” Guru replied. “Sweaty, you and Hoser go in first. We'll cover you, then make our run. One pass, people!”
“Roger that, Lead!” Sweaty said, then she rolled in. “Three's in!”
In the bombed-out ranch, the commander of the First Battalion, 26th Missile Brigade, was cursing whoever at Brigade headquarters had lost his mind. They had executed a fire mission the night before and in the morning, and they had displaced to this new location. However, his request for air-defense assistance had been refused, and the nearby V-75 site at some town called Floyada had not been very cooperative with his requests for SAM cover. And to top it off, one of his MAZ-543 launchers had gotten stuck on some side road, and it had taken them half the morning to get the vehicle unstuck. Now, he was hoping to give the men a chance to rest, get fed, and resupplied, prior to the night's fire missions. His orderly had come up to him with a mug of tea when he heard the sound of jet engines. Whoever it was, had flown right on by. He made a mental note to complain to the Air Force about the local fighter squadrons when some of his men pointed to the north....the Major dropped his mug, and shouted, “AIRCRAFT ALARM!”
Sweaty rolled in, and she dropped all twelve of her Mark-82s in and around the ranch buildings, or what was left of them. There were several vehicles parked near them, and that would be the command element. As she pulled up, Preacher was looking back, and saw the bombs detonate. “SHACK! And we got a couple of secondaries!”
“Copy that,” Sweaty replied.
“Four's in!” Hoser called. He spotted two of the MAZ-543 launchers, and they were parked way too close together. Their mistake, he thought as he lined them up in his pipper, then hit the pickle button as the pipper went between the launchers, and a dozen CBU-58/Bs came off the racks.
The battalion commander was barking out orders, urging his men to take cover, when Hoser's F-4 came overhead, and he saw the CBUs come off. He jumped into a ditch as the CBUs exploded nearby, and two large explosions followed.
“Gotcha!” KT yelled from the rear cockpit. “Two big secondaries.”
“I'll take that,” Hoser said as he flew west. “Hey, what's that?”
KT scanned with binoculars. “Resupply trucks, looks like.”
“Lead, Hoser. Got two launchers, and we just flew past the missile resupply trucks,” Hoser called.
“Copy that, Hoser. Starbuck, Guru. You take the supply trucks, I'll take the other launchers,” Guru said to his wingmate.
“Roger that, Lead,” Kara called. .
“Copy. Goalie? Set everything up. All in one pass.”
“All set,” his GIB replied. “Good to go.”
Guru nodded, then he called. “Lead's in hot!” And he rolled 512 down the chute, lining up the two remaining TELs. “Steady, steady.....HACK!” A dozen Mark-82s came off the racks, raining down on the two MAZ-543s, blowing them apart, and also taking out what appeared to be a battery command vehicle for good measure. “Lead's off.”
“Two's in!” Kara said as Guru pulled off target. She spotted the resupply trucks, each pulling a Scud missile on a trailer behind them, and what looked like the missile fuelers as well. That was a big mistake on somebody's part.....”HACK!” She yelled as she hit the pickle button, and the twelve CBUs came off the racks...
The Soviet battalion commander looked up from his ditch as two more F-4s came in. The first American plane dropped its bombs around the two remaining missile launch vehicles, blowing them apart, and also taking out one of the command vehicles. Then another F-4 came in, and his heart sank as that plane dropped its bombs on the ranch road where the missile resupply vehicles and the fuelers were parked. And in the F-4's wake, several explosions followed.
“Good hits!” Braniac shouted from 520's rear seat. “And we got secondaries!”
“Shit hot!” Kara called. “Lead, we can call it a mission, don't you think?”
In 512's cockpit, Guru smiled underneath his oxygen mask. “I think so. Flight, form up, and let's egress.”
Both elements formed up and headed west in combat spread. Sweaty's element was actually three-quarters of a mile behind and to the right of Guru's, clearing the lead element. But everyone was watching for threats, airborne or otherwise, as now they had to get home. And it was Sweaty who called it first. “Lead, Sweaty. BREAK!”
Guru cursed, then called Kara. “Two, break left and low, I'll go right and high. NOW!” Then he put 512 into the break, climbing as he did so, while Kara took 520 low and to the left. As he broke, he saw them. Two MiG-23s coming in from above. Where was the AWACS warning? Save it for later, Guru thought. Fight's on.”Crystal Palace, Mustang Two-one. We got company here.”
In her cockpit, Sweaty armed her AIM-9Ps, and got missile lock on the MiG wingman. The Sidewinder's seeker growled in her headset, then she squeezed the trigger. “FOX TWO!” And an AIM-9P shot off her port missile rail. The missile flew right, then came back left, and flew right up the MiG's tailpipe and exploded. As Sweaty flew by, she and Preacher saw the plane roll left, and the pilot ejected, before the MiG rolled inverted, then flew into the ground. “SPLASH!”
“Copy that, Sweaty,” Hoser called. “That's a kill.”
“Hear that?” Goalie asked from 512's rear cockpit. “Sweaty's got four now”
“Talk later,” Guru reminded his GIB. “Still a fight on. Starbuck, where are you?”
“I'm on the other Flogger,” Kara replied.
Guru scanned the sky, then looked down below. Sure enough, Kara was chasing the MiG leader. “Press to engage, I'll cover you.”
“Roger that, Lead.” Kara replied. Now Guru was acting as her wingman, and she was in control of the fight. She armed her own AIM-9s, and was rewarded with a growl in her own headset. “FOX TWO!” She called, sending a Sidewinder after the MiG leader.
In the lead MiG-23, the Soviet flight leader was turning his head, trying to pick up the F-4 that he knew had to be on his tail. Cursing the horrible rear visibility in the MiG-23, he banked left, and watched as a Sidewinder missile flew past his aircraft. The missile warhead detonated, but he checked his cockpit panel. No warning lights. Good. He then armed his R-60 AAMs and maintained his turn. Where was that F-4?
Kara cursed in 520's cockpit. The first missile had flown on by, but the MiG was still in a turn. She pulled into a high yo-yo, then came back down to get inside the MiG's turn.
Up above, Guru was also tracking the MiG. “Can you lock him up?” He asked Goalie. He had armed his two AIM-7s and was hoping that if Kara forced the MiG his way, he'd take the shot.
“No joy,” Goalie said. “Too much ground clutter.”
“Damn it,” Guru growled back. Then he saw the MiG roll wings level. Big mistake, Ivan....
Kara saw it as well. She was right in the MiG's six, and the Sidewinder was growling very loud. “FOX TWO!” And another AIM-9 came off the rail. This one flew straight and true, flying up the MiGs' tailipipe and exploding.
The MiG leader heard the explosion, then saw every cockpit warning light come on. He reached for his ejection handle, then the world turned upside-down as the MiG cartwheeled. It did it twice, and the last thing the MiG leader saw was the Texas prairie coming up at him....
“SPLASH!” Kara called. She and Brainac watched as the MiG cartwheeled twice, then slammed into the ground in a ball of fire. “That's a kill.”
“Good kill, Two!” Guru shouted. Then he called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Mustang Two-one.. Where'd those Floggers come from?”
“Camaro Two-one, Crystal Palace. Not sure, but we had them about ten seconds before your fight started.”
“Roger that. Splash two Floggers, and scratch some Scuds. We are RTB.”
“Copy, Mustang. Your vector to the transit lane is two-eight-zero.”
Guru nodded. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's get the hell out of here.” And the four F-4s formed up and headed on out. “Well,” he said to Goalie over the ICS. “We got us a new ace.”
“And how much of the tent city's going to be standing in the morning when we all wake up?” Goalie asked. Kara's antics were well-known to the squadron, and the Marines of MAG-11, to which the 335th was attached.
“Don't want to think about it,” the XO replied. “But hey, you only make ace once,” he said. “One more for you and you're a backseat ace.”
“Bring it on,” Goalie said. She was looking forward to that celebration. When Guru had made ace, the two of them had a private celebration in his room at the Mesa Sheraton, where the Squadron had been billeted.....
'I'll try,” Guru said. It wasn't long before the flight passed over I-27, then the New Mexico State Line fifteen minutes later. When they arrived at Cannon, they got into the traffic pattern. When it was their turn to fly past the field, Kara and Sweaty each did a Victory Roll, then they all came in and landed. After he taxied 512 to its revetment, then shut down, Guru asked Goalie. “You dreading this?”
“Yeah, but let's get it over with,” Goalie said as Staff Sergeant Mike Crowley, their crew chief, put the Crew ladder in place.
“Great job, sir!” Sergeant Crowley said. “Is it true about Captain Thrace?”
“She's now an ace, Sergeant,” Guru said. “Got some buckets of water handy?”
The Crew Chief grinned. “Yes, sir!” He pointed to several buckets next to the wall of the revetment.
Guru nodded, then he and Goalie picked up a bucket, He looked at 520's revetment, and both Kara and Brainiac were high-fiveing with her ground crew. Sweaty, Preacher, Hoser, and KT were watching, then they saw the XO motion them over. Each one got a bucket, then they went over to Kara. “Starbuck?”
“Guru?” She asked, but her back was turned to the XO. She turned, only to see the XO and the rest of the flight with buckets in hand. “Oh, shit!”
“Now!” Guru said, then they doused Kara with the buckets of water. “You only make ace once!”
“God-damn it,” Kara yelled, then she calmed down. “Right about that.”
Then Sergeant Crowley tapped Guru on the shoulder. “CO coming, sir. And Colonel Brady as well.” That meant Lt. Col. Dean Rivers, the CO of the 335th, and Marine Colonel Allen Brady, who commanded MAG-11.
“Oh, boy...” Guru muttered. Then he sketched a salute as the two Colonels got out of a crew-cab truck. “Colonel,” he said to both Colonel Brady and his CO.
“Captain,” Brady said as the two Colonels returned the salute. “So we have a new ace? And it's the Wild Thing?”
“Afraid so, sir,” Guru said. “What I'm concerned about is will she drink the O-Club dry, and how many guys share her sleeping bag?”
Both Colonels winced, but they knew the 335th XO was more than likely right. “Well, Captain,” Brady said, “We''ll find out in the morning.” Then they went over and shook Kara's hand. “Congratulations, Captain.”
“Thanks, Boss,” she said to Colonel Rivers.
“What was it?' Colonel Brady asked.
“Floggers, sir,” Kara replied. “Got one, and Sweaty got the other.”
“Four for Sweaty,” Guru said. “One more and she's an ace.”
“Good work,” Rivers said. “All of you. Captain,” he nodded at Kara. “Get dried off. All of you, Get something to eat, and Van Loan will get your next brief, because Mark Ellis is still out.”
“Will do, Boss,” Guru said. He nodded at the rest of his flight. “How many more today?”
“At least one. More likely two,” Rivers said. “If it's two, try and be back before 1800. Squeeze in as much celebration time before twelve-hour kicks in. What'd you get, by the way?
The crews all looked at each other. “Yes, sir,” Guru said. “As for the MiGs? Floggers, Colonel. And we made some Scuds and their support vehicles go away.”
“Good work, all of you, and remember what I said about getting in before twelve-hour.”
“Colonel?” Kara said. “That's an order I'll be glad to obey.”
“And I'm buying the first round,” Colonel Brady said. “The first drink goes to the newest ace.”
Cannon AFB Officer's Club Tent, 1730 Hours:
The Officer's Club was rocking that night, and not just due to the music coming from the juke box. As promised, Colonel Brady had bought the first round, and the first toast had gone to Kara's becoming the latest F-4 ace. Now, her squadron mates were toasting her, while a poker game was now in session.
“How many is she going to clean out tonight?” Captain Mark Ellis asked. He'd played with Kara before, and like many in the 335th, came to regret it. Along with their wallets being considerably lightened as a result.
“Enough,” Captain Matt Wiser nodded. “Am I going to get in on that game? No freaking way.”
“Got other plans for your money, then,” Lieutenant Don Van Loan, the assistant Ops Officer, noted.
“So do I.”
“I have more important things to do with my pay than contribute to the welfare of Kara's mom. She sends her mom a check every month with some of her winnings,” Guru said. “Or so I've heard.”
“Hasn't she been on the R&R shuttle to Vegas yet?” Ellis asked.
“Not yet,” said Guru. “And she's so good at poker they might ban her from the casinos.”
“Can't have that,” Goalie said as she came up for a beer. “What have you got?”
“Foster's, Sapporo, some Bud, Miller, Miller Lite,” the barkeep said.
“Bud,” she said, and the barkeep put a bottle on the improvised bar. She paid him, then turned to watch the poker game. “Those guys have any idea of what they're up against?”
“Let them find out-the hard way,” Guru nodded .”We did.”
“And the other thing: how many guys share a sleeping bag with her tonight?”
The XO nodded. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how many guys can't pay what they owe her,” Guru replied deadpan.
His GIB looked at him. “Did you.....”
“Me? Hop into the sack with Kara? No way!” Guru said with all due seriousness. “I lost to her once, had enough to cover the debt, and that was that.”
“Good to hear,” Goalie said. “Now I'm wondering this: what if a girl loses to her and can't pay up?”
The male pilots and GIBs at the bar looked at each other. “That is a very good question,” Don Van Loan said after a minute's worth of silence.
Sweaty Blanchard came in with a copy of Stars and Stripes in her hand. “Bud for me, and have a look at yesterday's newspaper.”
“Anything good?” Mark Ellis asked.
“Not much happening good or bad,” Sweaty replied after taking a swing of beer. “There were days like this in World War II, I bet.” She handed Guru the front page.
“Hmm...whoa!” Guru said.
“What?” Goalie asked.
“That Hell's Angels regiment? You know, that cav regiment the Army formed out of the Hell's Angels?”
“Yeah,” KT Thornton asked. “What about 'em?”
Guru looked at her, then everyone else at the bar. “They're getting a Presidential Unit Citation.”
“What?” Goalie looked at her pilot. “Those maniacs?”
“Yep,” Guru said. “Seems on Christmas Day, they found a gap in Ivan's lines in Southern Kansas, went forty miles behind Soviet lines, and raided a POW camp in Northern Oklahoma. Came back after raising hell behind the lines, brought back over 600 prisoners, had the camp commander, political officer, and several others hog-tied in the back of a truck, and a ton of documents. They went off without orders, though.”
“And what happened to get a PUC?” Mark Ellis wondered. “Somebody on something?”
“Nope. Says here Schwartzkopf decided that court-martials for making 600 POWs' Christmas a lot merrier wasn't a good idea, so he handed out a bunch of medals, and wrote them up for a PUC. Philly approved it.”
Heads shook at that. “Wasn't there an ALO who passed by and said that if those guys aren't given a mission, they'll create one on their own?” KT asked.
“Yep,” Mark Ellis replied. “He also said, 'No better friends, and no worse enemies.' Don't get on their bad side. It's the last thing you'll ever do.”
Then Doc Waters, the 335th's Flight Surgeon, came in. “Guys,” he said. “I see the celebration's in full swing.”
“Here to make sure she follows twelve-hour, Doc?” Van Loan asked. “Or is that a stupid question?”
“She's on the flight schedule tomorrow, so yeah,” Doc replied. “Unless she's still loaded in the morning.”
Heads nodded at that, and it was very likely that Kara would still be loaded come 0700. “Mark, do me a favor,if you can,” Said Guru.
“What?” Ellis replied.
“Take Kara off the flight schedule. Let her celebrate.”
"No joy on that, and I already asked Colonel Rivers. We're short five planes and four crews, not counting people on the R&R rotation.”
Guru nodded. Oh, well. At least he tried. “Fair enough, but if she's still buzzed in the morning....”
“Only then does she not fly, XO,” Colonel Rivers said as he came in. “If we were still back at Williams, yeah, but not now.”
The XO thought about it for a minute. “If she can't fly in the morning, I already know who I want in her place.”
“Who?” Rivers asked.
“Dave Golen. He's flown with us before, and who knows? After today, I might just get him a MiG or two if he goes with us.”
Rivers nodded. “Not a problem, XO. And we've still got twenty minutes to Twelve-hour. How's she doing?”
“Fourth beer,” the barkeep said.
“And she hasn't gotten anyone cleaned out to the point that if they can't pay., her....alternative payment kicks in.” Guru added.
Rivers looked at his XO. “Let me guess: that means the squadron supply tent, a sleeping bag spread out somewhere, a couple of candles or a Coleman lantern for ambiance.....”
Guru nodded. “Picked that up fast, Boss.”
“One of her fellow ferry pilots from Kadena passed the word,” Rivers said. “She pulled the same stunts on Okinawa: Air Force, Navy, even JASDF.”
Guru shook his head in disbelief, but he knew that it was likely very true, knowing her current antics. “Oh, well..” He checked his watch. Ten minutes to the twelve-hour rule. “Bud,” he told the barkeep.
The barkeep handed him a bottle, then he paid the man. Then Guru rang the bell. “People, it's ten minutes to the twelve-hour rule kicking in, but you've heard from Colonel Brady, and Colonel Rivers, So you might just as well hear from her flight leader. Kara,” he nodded at Starbuck, who was sitting at the card table, and listening semi-attentively. “Welcome to the club. You're now a fighter ace, and nobody can take that away from you. You're now a certified card-carrying aerial assassin.” Cheers rang out, and nobody heard Guru mutter “Among other things.”
Kara stood. “Thanks, Guru,” she raised her bottle of beer.
“Now that she's crossed the threshold, be glad for one thing.”
“What's that?” KT asked.
“You only make ace once.” Guru said. “Now, here's to the Air Force's newest ace, and to the mount we all fly in the 335th: Double-Ugly!”
There was a chorus of “Hear, hear!” and everyone drank the toast.
“Drink up, people!” Rivers said. “You've got six minutes to Twelve-hour.”
That advice was heeded, then Doc Waters rang the bell: “Nineteen hundred, people! Twelve-hour rule is in effect!”
Heads nodded, and people started counting until 2100, when aircrew curfew went into effect.
Guru and Goalie watched as Kara made inroads into several people's wallets, and a familiar face left the table in disgust. It was Dave Golen, their IDF “Observer.” He came over to the bar. “Dave.”
“Guru,” Golen replied. “Is she hard-wired to win?” He asked.
“No, but you're not the first to ask,” Goalie said. “She clean you out?”
Golen shook his head. “Fortunately, I got out before too much damage was inflicted. Others, though, are not so fortunate.” He gestured to the barkeep, but Guru caught him. “What is it?”
“I know you're not technically on the flight schedule, but if Kara can't fly for whatever reason tomorrow morning? I want you to fly as my wingman,” said Guru with all due seriousness.
“It will be a pleasure,” Golen smiled. “And if I do fly with you?” He looked over Guru and Goalie, and Sweaty in the background.
“Yeah?”
“I will show you, Goalie, Sweaty, and the rest of your flight how a gun shot kill is done. In our book!”
“If you say so, Dave,” Guru said. “Just be ready to fly if you have to. Be in the ops tent at 0630, if you would.”
“This clear with Colonel Rivers?” Golen asked. Seeing Guru nod, he nodded at the XO. “I'll be there,” Golen said. Then he decided to head off to his tent early and get some shut-eye. Knowing what he'd seen and heard about Captain Thrace, it would be best if he was ready.
Soon, it was nearly 2100, and time for aircrew curfew. When it was time, either Colonel Brady or a squadron CO would ring the bell, and the aircrews on the flight schedule for the next day would have to turn in.
As Guru, Goalie, Sweaty, Mark Ellis, and several others got ready to head for their tents, they saw Kara walk up to three men-one a Marine NFO from one of the Marine Phantom squadrons, another a C-130 pilot or copilot, and the other one was an Army Dustoff pilot. She tapped each of them on the shoulder, and they reluctantly followed her. “What's that?” Darren Licon asked.
Several of the aircrew looked at each other. “For an Intelligence Officer, Darren, you missed that?” Don Van Loan asked. “Those guys lost to her at poker, and they bet more money than they had.”
“And Kara doesn't take checks,” Guru added. “Why do you think none of us play cards with her? Pool's cheaper.”
“Even then, don't play pool with her unless it's a friendly,” Goalie said. She had tried Kara's luck at pool, and found her wallet lightened by $50.00.
“So where does she go to, uh, settle those debts?” Licon asked. This was a side of Captain Thrace he'd never seen before, only heard about.
Colonel Rivers came up. “Check the supply tent, and that's all I'm going to say on that..” He nodded to the XO. “Before the war, that'd be an Article 15 at least, if not a court-martial for Conduct Unbecoming.”
“Same with me and Goalie,” Guru said. “But once the war began, a lot of those regs got put in the 'after the war' basket, or just plain ignored. You know what General Tanner said: 'If it gets in the way of winning the war, get rid of it.' Too bad our dour Major never understood that.” He was referring to Major Frank Carson, the most despised and hated officer in the 335th. He was a would-be martinet, who insisted on going by every rule and regulation in the book, despite senior officers-even generals-telling him no, and as a result, he'd been passed over for XO, and Guru took the slot after the death of the previous Exec. And Carson hated him, and just about every other flight officer-pilot or WSO-in the squadron as a result, and treated enlisted airmen as pieces of equipment, which went against everything Colonel Rivers and most other squadron commanders stood for, and Carson was viewed as the “Frank Burns of the 335th.”
Then the bell rang at the bar. It was Colonel Brady. “2100 people! Time to hit the hay.”
The crowd broke up, as Air Force, Army, and Marine aircrews who were flying in the morning headed off to their tents. AF Red Horse Engineers and Navy Seabees had built a large tent city while the intact buildings at Cannon were being checked for booby traps, and even after being on base for two weeks, the buildings were still not declared totally safe. One Seabee officer who'd served in Vietnam as an enlisted man said that the Cubans “probably learned from the VC about how and where to lay booby traps.”
Guru, Goalie, Sweaty, Preacher, KT, Hoser, and several others headed off to the part of the tent city where the 335th was billeted, As they walked, they came across the supply tent for the 335th, and the sounds of passion could be heard coming from it. High, loud, and repeatedly.
“Sounds like her, well...'collection' is in full swing,” Hoser noted. “Be glad no one has one of those VHS camcorders.”
“You're not the only one to say that,” Guru nodded. “She probably keeps score, though.”
“Anyone crash one of those parties? As in a Marine MP or one of our CSPs?” Preacher asked. “You'd think someone would've by now.”
“Ryan Blanchard would know, and if someone has, she hasn't told us,” Goalie said. Newly-promoted Captain Ryan Blanchard was the officer-in-charge of the Combat Security Police detachment that was attached to the 335th. She was also one of Kara's tentmates.
“Ryan did find out, though,” KT said. “But she went by the adage 'let sleeping dogs lie.'”
Guru nodded. “Let it go, people. Hit the hay, because tomorrow's going to be busy.”
Officer's Open Mess Tent, Cannon AFB, NM: 0530 Hours Mountain War Time, 5 June 1987:
Guru, Goalie, Mark Ellis, Don Van Loan, and most of the AF and Marine aircrew scheduled to fly that morning were milling around the mess tent, waiting for it to open. And they all noticed that someone usually first there was missing: Kara.
“Where's Kara?” Guru asked.
“She didn't come home last night,” Sweaty answered. She was one of Kara's tentmates.
“Well, there's not that many places she could've wandered off to,” Ryan Blanchard said. She normally worked the day shift, and if any of her CSPs had noticed Captain Thrace wandering around, she would've been notified at once.
Guru nodded. “Okay, let's find her before the CO, or worse, that weasel Carson, finds out. Ryan? You, Goalie, Sweaty, and KT, check the Supply Tent and anyplace off-limits to men. Mark? You, Don, Hoser, come with me. We'll check the squadron dispersal..”
“Why there, XO?” Hoser asked.
“There's one place there she'd likely be: 520. Her mount. In any post-celebration stupor, where else would she go?”
“The Club?' Don Van Loan asked.
“It's guarded after closing, and it closes at midnight sharp,” Ryan Blanchard said.
“Enough talk,” Guru said. “Let's find her,” he ordered.
Ryan Blanchard led the three female aircrew into the women's showers. They checked all the vacant stalls, and asked the occupants of the remaining stalls if they'd seen Captain Thrace. Everyone replied in the negative, so the party went to the one remaining obvious place: the Supply Tent.
When they got there, they found the signs of passion still there; namely Kara's flight suit, bra and panties, and boots still strewn about, and a sleeping bag. Ryan put her hand down to feel it. “Still warm.”
“She couldn't have gotten far,” Goalie said. “Especially barefoot.”
“No, but gather her clothes anyway,” Ryan ordered. “She'll need them when we do find her.”
Guru and his men arrived at the dispersal area used by the squadron. They noticed the armorers already at work, getting the aircraft ready for the first missions of the day, and Guru led the party to the revetment where Kara's normally assigned aircraft, 520, was parked. All they found was 520's Crew Chief and his people, getting the plane ready for the day's operations. “Sergeant,” Guru asked the Crew Chief. “Have any of you seen Captain Thrace this morning?”
Staff Sergeant Justin Porter saluted, then shook his head. “No, sir,” he replied. “Just us, and the ordnance guys comin' over.”
“All right, but if you see her...” Guru started to say, but he was interrupted by shouting four revetments down.
“I'm not getting that fuck'n bitch out of the cockpit!” An angry female voice said. “You're the Crew Chief, that's your job.”
“The hell I am!' an equally angry male voice said. “You're the assistant, you get her out.”
Mark Ellis nodded. “XO, I think we found her.”
“I think so,” Guru said. He turned to Sergeant Porter. “Call Sergeant Ross. Tell him on my authority to get a vehicle over here, and bring a towel or something. And do not say a word to Colonel Rivers. I'll handle that.”
“Yes, sir.” Porter said, then he grabbed a walkie-talkie.
The XO's party then went down to the revetment in question, where tail number 657 was parked. If that number wasn't a giveaway as to whose plane it was, the name painted on the front canopy rail did. It read, “Maj. Frank Carson.”
Oh, great, Guru thought. Of all the aircraft on this base, and she chooses his bird to pass out in. They go closer, and saw the two canopies raised, and the crew chief and his assistant still arguing. Then one of the sergeants saw the XO coming over. “Ten-hut!”
“As you were,” Guru said. “Now, how long has she been here?”
“Ten minutes, sir,” the male crew chief said.
“And it never occurred to both of you to call either the CSPs, the Ops Officer, or me?” An angry Guru said.
“Uh, no, sir,” the crew chief replied.
Guru saw the work tools, and asked, “Carson have you all doing an all-nighter?”
“Yes, sir,” the female assistant, a Senior Airman, said. “He had a couple of minor issues, but he had us check, double-check, and triple-check everything.”
Nodding, Guru headed over to the cockpit, “Anything else I should know about?”
“Uh, sir,” the Crew Chief said. “She's, well..uh...”
“Out with it!” Guru said.
“She's naked as the day she was born,” the chief said. “Sir.”
“And nobody saw her?” Roared the XO.
“Sir, we took a break about a half-hour ago, and...”
“If she'd been Spetsnatz, you'd be dead,” Mark Ellis snarled. “Of all the..”
“Save it, Mark,” Guru said. He went over to the crew ladder and climbed up. He found a quite nude Kara sitting hunched over in the cockpit, and the tell-tale sight and odor of vomit came up. “Kara...”
Kara woke up in a stupor. “Is that you, XO?”
He shook his head. “Did you violate twelve-hour?” The XO wanted to know.
“No, but six beers before, fried chicken for dinner, and the, uh, exertion overnight, and, well, you get the idea.”
The XO shook his head. Why didn't something like this come up in OTS? But then again, OTS didn't cover everything. Some things in the Air Force, you found out firsthand. “And you puked in Carson's cockpit. Swell.”
Kara grinned. “Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole.”
“Normally, I'd agree with you, but this isn't the time. Come on out..' Guru said. He turned to the crew chief. “You have any clean work towels?”
“A couple, sir,” the crew chief replied.
“Get them.” Just then Master Sergeant Michael Ross, the senior NCO of the 335th, pulled up in a Dodge Crew-Cab pickup. Ryan Blanchard, Goalie, Sweaty, and KT piled out of the truck. “Ross found you guys, I see.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “We've got her clothes and her wallet.”
“Okay,” Guru said. “She's got tentmates who aren't on the flight schedule?”
“A couple,” Sweaty nodded. “Let me guess: have them let her sleep, when she wakes up, fill her with black coffee, and tell her she's not flying today.” And Ryan Blanchard nodded.
Guru nodded. “You guess right. Sergeant Ross?”
“Sir?” Master Sergeant Ross asked. This wasn't a first for him, though: in Vietnam, he'd seen pilots get too drunk after a night in the O-Club, and puke in cockpits. But it was a first in another way: this was the first time he'd seen it with a female officer.
“Help Captain Blanchard with Captain Thrace. Get them back to female officer country. Do not tell either the CO, which would be bad, or Major Carson, which would be worse. I'll handle that.”
“Yes, sir,” Ross nodded. He helped Ryan with Kara, then drove off towards female officer quarters.
“Well, that's settled,” Goalie said.
“Not quite,” Guru said. He checked his watch. “Chow tent opens in ten minutes. Mark,” Guru turned to the Ops Officer. “Find Dave Golen. Tell him he's flying today.”
“Will do,” Ellis replied. “He flying with Brainiac?'
“Braniac,” Guru affirmed. Captain Judd “Brainiac” Brewster was Kara's usual WSO. “He won't mind.”
“Gotcha,” Ellis said, then he headed off to the chow tent.
As the rest of the officers got ready to follow, Carson's crew chief had one more question. “Sir, what about the puke in the cockpit?”
“What about it?” Guru asked. “Clean it up!”
“Sir, what about the smell, and what do I tell the Major?”
“Let it air out, and just tell the not-so-dear Major that somebody-you don't need to say who, got drunk last night, wandered over to dispersal, and puked in the first open cockpit he or she saw.”
“Is that an order, sir?” Asked the crew chief.
“Why not?” Guru said, then the group headed back to the chow tent.
“Yes, sir!”
When the group got back to the chow tent, they found Colonel Brady talking with several squadron commanders, and among then was Colonel Rivers. And Rivers motioned them over. “XO, word's gotten round about Captain Thrace. You did find her, I trust?”
Guru nodded. “Yes, sir. We did. Captain Blanchard, with Sergeant Ross, is taking her back to female officer quarters, and her tentmates who are not flying today have orders to let her sleep, fill her with coffee, and tell her she's not flying today.”
Colonel Rivers nodded, and Colonel Brady and the other CO s did so as well. “You handled that well, Captain,” Rivers said. “With the, well....delicacy that situation requires. Anything else?”
“Sir, she, uh, vomited all over Major Carson's front cockpit.” Guru reported.
“And how did you handle that?” Colonel Brady asked. He was CO of MAG-11, to which the 335th was attached.
“Sir, I told his crew chief to clean it up, and if the Major asks?”
“Yes?”
“Sir, to say that somebody, he doesn't need to know who, got a little plastered last night, wandered over from the club, and puked in the first open receptacle he or she could find. And that happened to be his aircraft's front office,” Guru replied politely. “Uh, sir.”
To everyone's surprise, the colonels broke out laughing. “Captain,” Brady said. “When word gets around this base, and it will by noon, if not sooner, a lot of people will say that it couldn't have happened to a more deserving officer.”
“Sir,” Guru replied. “Captain Thrace, when she first became lucid, had a more descriptive answer to that.”
“And that was?”
“Sir, 'it couldn't have happened to a nicer asshole,” Guru said. “Uh, sir.”
More laughter followed. “There's plenty on this base who would agree with that sentiment,” Brady said. He turned to Colonel Rivers. “I know you guys are Air Force, and I'm a Marine, but isn't it time this young fellow has the rank to go with his job?”
Rivers nodded. “I'll see what I can do about that, Colonel.”
Guru was surprised. “Sir, it hasn't been a year since I put on Captain's bars.” He'd been promoted after returning to the squadron after five months with the Resistance after being shot down.
“This is wartime,” Rivers said. “There were second lieutenants in 1941 who ended World War II as Colonels. If it happens, it happens. So don't be surprised if in a few months, you're pinning on oak leaves.”
“Sir, if you say so,” Guru said, as his flight mates were slapping his back.
Just then, the mess officer came out and flipped the sign on the door of the chow tent from CLOSED to OPEN. “Come on, people, eat up, because we've got a busy day ahead,” Colonel Brady said.
As people filed in, Mark Ellis came up with Dave Golen. “Found him,” Ellis said.
“Dave,” Guru said, recalling the IDF's practice of officers going on a first-name basis. “You'll be flying with us after all.”
Golen nodded. “So Mark has told me. Kara is, well, somewhat indisposed.”
“You could say that,” Guru said. He waved Brainiac over. “Hope you don't mind flying with Kara's WSO.”
“Not at all,” Golen said. He shook hands with Brainiac. “A pleasure.”
“Likewise, Major,” Brainaic said. He was still only a First Lieutenant, and habits died hard for someone only three years out of ROTC.
“You two, talk things over during breakfast, because we'll be at it four or five times today,” Guru said. “Take him over to the ready tent, Brainiac, 0630.”
“Will do,”
Guru nodded. “Okay, let's eat. It'll be a full day, and let's go out loaded for bear.”
And after eating, it was busy day, as the 335th went on with the war.