Wolverine and Chiefs

Posted with permission of Matt Wiser over at HPCA: Wolverine and Chiefs

Wolverine and Chiefs

335th Tactical Fighter Squadron HQ, Sheppard AFB, TX: 12 February, 1988; 0920 Hours Central War Time:

Major Matt Wiser, the CO of the 335th TFS, sat behind his desk. In-between missions, the never-ending cycle of paperwork never stopped. And overnight, what remained the elves never touched, for it would be there the next morning. Shaking his head at the AF bureaucracy, he attacked some of the papers, sending some into his OUT basket and deciding that others were that his XO could handle and sign “For the Commanding Officer,” and that would be that. Give me a couple of combat missions any time, instead of dealing with the armchair warriors, the CO thought.

Such thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!”

His XO, Capt. Mark Ellis, came in. “Boss, this just arrived.” He handed the CO a fax from Tenth Air Force. “We're getting a VIP around lunchtime, and this person's going to be around for a couple of days.

“Let me guess,” Major Wiser said. “Some Hollywood type who's rediscovered being pro-military, some Senator or Congress-Critter from Philly, or a sports star who's too well-known to be on the front lines?”

“Negative on all counts,” the XO replied. “Hear the name Erica Mason?”

“Who hasn't?” Asked the CO.

The subject of their conversation was one of two survivors from the Wolverines Guerillas in Colorado. She had been a Senior in High School when the war began, and after a very unpleasant experience with some Russian Paratroopers on Day One, had fled to her grandparents' ranch with her sister-who had shared that experience. They had joined up with the Eckert brothers, before accidentally getting involved with some Russians, then becoming guerrillas. Five months of guerrilla warfare had the group inflicting some serious hurt on the Soviets and their Cuban and Nicaraguan lackeys, before they were ground down. She and one other survivor had fled to the Free Zone, while the two brothers had gone into Calumet-and had never been seen again. After some recovery time, and debriefing, she had gotten her high-school diploma before the Army called. Now, she was an SF instructor, but war bond tours and PR rallies also took up some of her time.

“Heard a lot about her, and she's done some interviews: Time, Newsweek, Larry King on CNN, you name it,” the CO went on. “And the SERE Bulletin.”

“Same here,” Ellis said. “She's coming here for a couple days, and will be on base. If she wants an orientation ride in a fighter, she's cleared for that already.” The XO looked at the Major. “If she wants a ride, who gives it to her?”

The CO pointed to himself. “Me. I'm the only one on this base who's gone through something similar to hers, and if there's any ice to be broken? I should be the one to do it.”

“Got you,” The XO said. “Oh, she's also to be made available to our 'attached' news media.'” That meant Jana Wendt and her crew from 9 News Australia and CBS.

The CO got up from his desk and went to his office window. Nodding, he said, “Let Patti Brown know, and she can tell Ms. Wendt.” First Lieutenant Patti Brown was the squadron's PAO when not flying.

“Done,” the XO said, just as there was a knock on the office door.

“Yeah? Come on in and show yourself!” The CO turned towards the door.

Capt. Lisa Eichhorn, call sign Goalie, came in. “Boss, and XO,” she said. She was Major Wiser's WSO, and not only that, his girlfriend. A combination that, in the prewar USAF, would've been unheard of. “Guru,” she said. “We've got a mission.”

The CO nodded. “Guru” was his call sign. “When?”

“Ops has the briefing packet ready,” she replied.

“Who's coming?”

“Just us, and the RAF,” Goalie said. “Dave Golen and Flossy have their own.”

Guru nodded. “All right, round everybody up. Briefing Room in fifteen.”

“On it, and I'm gone.” Goalie then headed out.

“Mark?” Guru asked the Exec. “If I'm out when Ms. Mason arrives? Tell her I'm a little busy. As in making Russians, Cubans, East Germans, and/or Libyans burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“Or shooting them out of the sky.”

“Either one will be graded as correct,” the CO said. “See you in a while.”

“Have a good one, Boss.”

“You, too.”


The CO left the office and headed over to Ops. There, the Operations Officer, Capt. Don Van Loan, was waiting, though he was ready to brief his own flight, as he had his own mission. “Don,” Guru said. “What have you got for me?”

Van Loan handed him a packet. “Here you go. Hamilton Airport and suspected missile storage.”

“Two targets!?” Guru was livid. He was taking a four-ship, but now... “You are shitting me.”

“Afraid not,” the Ops Officer replied. “The airport-which is an Su-25 FOL by the way, is the main target, but, there's a missile storage area just west of the airport. No idea if it's a SAM storage, Scuds, or...”

“Or it's the ordnance storage for the FOL,” Guru finished. “I take it the ordnance load is listed in the mission order?”

“It is. Birds are prepped and ready.”

The CO scanned the mission order. There was a caveat. If the missile storage was not present, all ordnance was to go onto the airport. “This does give me a couple of options.” He looked up. “Okay, Don. You have a good one yourself. And come back. The last thing we need is Kara taking over Ops.”

“Same to you. If you don't come back. I'm Exec, and Kara's Ops. And that goes if Mark doesn't come back.”

“Then let's avoid that, shall we?” Guru said. “See you in a while.” Van Loan nodded, then the CO headed for the former classroom that his flight used as a briefing room. He came in to find the rest of his flight, and the squadron's mascot there. And Buddy, the Squadron Mascot, was already curled up, asleep. “You all ready for the Second Quarter?”

“Where we headed to this time?” Capt. Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard asked. She led the second element in the CO's flight.

The CO pulled out both a TPC chart and a JOG chart from the mission packet. “Hamilton. The airport, to be specific. Not just an Su-25 FOL, but there's a suspected missile storage facility there.”

Kara looked at Guru. “And we get to make both of them go away.” It wasn't a question.

RAF Squadron Leader Dave Gledhill, who led the detachment from 74 Squadron flying with MAG-11, said, “This is where we lost Ian and Michael when we first got here.”

Gledhill was referring to a strike where the RAF had lost a plane and crew on their first day of combat in Texas. Gledhill had not been on that one, but Flight Lt. Karen McKay had, and coming back without her wingman was not a happy feeling. Flight Lts. Ian Black and Michael Barker had been seen to eject, their chutes coming down, but with Russian APCs and infantry closing in on them. Since then, there had been no information at all, and the two were still listed as MIAs.

“It is that,” Guru said. He had been leading that strike. “That was then. This is now. We hit Tanker Track CHEVRON, north of Mineral Wells, then we get down low and follow the Brazos all the way down to Lake Whitney. A mile short of the dam, we turn southwest and keep going. Then we cross Route 36, and stay on that course until Evant, which is the U.S. 84/281 intersection. Turn north, and thirty seconds later-eight miles-there's a bridge over a river. The maps list it as a creek, but it's really a river.”

1st Lt. Nathan “Hoser” West, Sweaty's wingman, asked, “Same pop-up point as last time we were there?”

“Don't have my old mission notes handy, but I think you're right,” Guru said. “Climb and get eyeballs on target. Make your runs, and then get your asses to the northwest. Head for Proctor Lake and State Route 16. That's the boundary between the East Germans and Soviet 32nd Army, and they haven't done much to improve the defenses there, so fly along the highway until you reach the I-20.”

“What's the bad guys like?” Kara asked.

“There's still a Regimental-sized force located around the town, so that means Regimental-level air defense. These guys do have ZSU-30-2s, and that's what burned the RAF the last time,” the CO said. “The airport and missile storage has ZU-23s and 57-mm for the former, and the latter has 37-mm.”

“MiGs?” Kara went on. She was still looking for her tenth kill and that elusive title of double ace.

“MiG-23s and -29s at San Angelo Regional and Goodfellow, and at Gray AAF. Brownwood Regional still has MiG-21s and -23s, and the former at Brownwood are East German.”

Ears perked up at that. “Still?” Flight Lt. Paul Jackson asked. He was Dave Gledhill's pilot.

“Still,” Guru replied. “There's still -23s at Temple Regional, and our friends at Bergstrom have Flankers. Two Regiments, if you'll recall.”

Hearing that, Flight Lt. Susan Napier, who was Jackson and Gledhill's wingmate, said, “We missed out on BOLO II, because the Flankers didn't come. Maybe this time...”

“Be careful of what you wish for, because you might just regret it,” Goalie reminded them. “And TSTC?” They had hit that field on BOLO II.

“The two MiG regiments there are still listed. Or more correctly, what's left of 'em,” Guru replied after checking the intel summary that came with the brief. “One each Fishbed and Flogger.” That meant MiG-21s and -23s.

Heads nodded at that. “So who takes what?” Sweaty asked.

Guru tapped an SR-71 photo showing the field-which had been repeatedly hit, repaired, then struck again. “Kara, you and I have Rockeye CBUs. I'll take the North Ramp, and you take the South.”

“Got it,” Kara said.

“Sweaty?” Guru said to his second element lead. “If the missile storage is empty? You take the runway. Hoser gets the fuel dump if that's the case. You both have Mark-82s and M-117s.”

“Understood,” Sweaty nodded.

“Dave? You guys kill anyone on CAP, and break up any party-crashers.”

“Will do,” said Gledhill with a grin. It had been a while since their last scrap with MiGs....

“Other than that,” the CO went on, everybody has two AIM-7Fs, four AIM-9Ps, an ALQ-119 pod, full 20-mm load, and two wing tanks.”

“And for us?” Dave Gledhill added. “Four Sky Flash, four AIM-9L, a SUU-23 gun pod and wing tanks.”

“Bailout areas?” Napier asked.

“Simple: anyplace rural and away from roads. Remember: Ninety-nine percent of the folks there will either help you themselves or will get you to someone who will. And the Jollys have done well down there, especially at night,” said Guru.

“Let's hope we don't need to use their services,” Gledhill added.

“Agreed,” Guru said. “Anything else?”

“How many more today?” 1st Lt. Kathy “KT” Thornton, Hoser's GIB, asked.

“Two more, unless somebody hollers for CAS, then it's all-out until dark.”

Everybody winced, because CAS was the last thing anyone wanted. “Had to ask.”

“Don't blame you,” said the CO as an Ops NCO arrived to collect the briefing materials. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Goalie said. “Buddy's still asleep.” If the dog had slept through a brief, the crews could expect an easy ride. If he woke up, or simply stayed awake during the brief, though? It could be a bear.

“Let him sleep,” Guru said firmly. “If that's it, gear up and see you on the ramp.”

The crews went to the locker rooms to gear up, and as Guru came out of the Men's, wearing G-Suit, Survival Vest, and harness, and with helmet in hand, Goalie was waiting outside. She was similarly attired, and asked, “You ready?”

“To earn some flight pay? Yep. But there's something coming,” Guru said. As they went outside, he told her who was expected later in the day.

Goalie was a bit surprised. “Whose bright idea was it to send her here? She might not have good feelings towards the Air Force.”

“I know, compared to what she went through, we had it easy: fly our missions, come back, and it's five-star accommodations. At least, it was until I went down that January,” Guru said, recalling the early days when the 335th had flown out of Williams AFB in Arizona and had taken up quarters at the nearby Mesa Sheraton.

The two went outside, and it was still a bit chilly, and both were dressed for it. Long underwear, a sweater, then a cold-weather flight suit. “And you had your own time on the ground,” Goalie noted, recalling the stories Guru had told about his shootdown and Resistance time.

“Yep, and I'm the only one on this base with that much, well, 'camping', time.” A favorite saying among aircrew who had been with the Resistance while on the ground was “Gone Camping.” Guru went on. “And if she wants a backseat ride like Ms. Wendt? I'm giving her one.”

“Good idea,” Goalie said as they got to 512's revetment.

“Okay, folks,” Guru said, getting back to business and giving his final instructions. “Usual on the radio.”

“Call signs between us and mission code to other interested parties,” Kara nodded. It wasn't a question.

“You got it. Now, nothing down there is worth getting killed for. So if you can't ID the target-”

“Fat chance of that,” Hoser said.

“I know, but that's in the frag order. If you can't ID the target, hold onto your ordnance. We'll be in an Army Rear Area, so there's opportunity targets galore. As for mission code? We're still Camaro Flight. Anything else?”

“Two more after this one?” Sweaty asked. “Unless somebody's screaming for CAS.”

Guru nodded. “Now you said it, I didn't. That it?” Heads shook no. “All right. We meet up at Ten Grand overhead. Let's go. Time to hit it.” Guru clapped his hands for emphasis.

The crews headed for their aircraft, as Guru and Goalie went into the revetment and their mount, 512. If ground kills could be counted, there'd be Red Stars galore on the bird after BOLO II, both of them felt. But... The Crew Chief, Tech Sergeant Mike Crowley, was waiting. “Sarge,” Guru said.

“Major, Captain,” Crowley said, snapping a salute as the ground crew had finished their tasks. “Five-twelve's all set to go.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Guru said as he and Goalie returned the salute. They did their preflight walk-around, then Guru checked the paperwork before signing for the aircraft. The CC and Assistant CC then helped as Guru and Goalie mounted the aircraft and got settled into their seats. After putting on their helmets and plugging in their radio and oxygen, they went through the cockpit preflight checklist. It wasn't long until they came to the last item.

“Ejection seats?” Goalie asked.

“Armed top and bottom,” replied Guru. “Check yours.”

“Same here,” Goalie said, stowing the checklist. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

“That we are,” Guru said. He gave a thumbs-up to Crowley, who then gave the “Start Engines” signal. First one, then two J-79 engines were up and running. When the warm-up was finished, the CO called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead with six, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower,” a controller replied. “Clear to taxi to Runway Three-Five-Lima. Hold prior to the active, and you are number two in line.”

“Roger, Tower,” Guru called back. “Camaro Lead rolling.” He then gave the “Chocks” signal to Crowley, who waved to a ground crewman. The chocks were pulled away, and Crowley gave the “Taxi” signal.

Guru taxied out of the revetment, and as he cleared it, Crowley snapped a salute, which Guru and Goalie returned.

Five-twelve led the four AF and two RAF Phantoms on the taxiway, and as they approached the Holding Area, a four-ship of Marine F-4s was ahead of them as another flight, this one of Marine Hornets, came in and landed. The Marines then taxied for takeoff, as Guru taxied into the Holding Area.

There, the armorers removed the weapon safeties, and after the four Marine F-4s launched, it was their turn. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting taxi for takeoff.”

“Camaro Lead, Tower. Clear to taxi for takeoff. Winds are Two-six-seven for ten.”

“Roger, Tower.” Guru then taxied 512 onto the runway, and Kara followed in 520, joining up on his right, in the Five O'clock position. A final check, and all was ready. He glanced over at Kara and Brainiac, who gave a thumbs-up. All set. Guru and Goalie returned them, then Guru called the Tower. “Tower, Camaro Lead requesting clear for takeoff.”

As usual, the Tower didn't reply by radio, but flashed a green light. Clear for takeoff.

“Ready?” Guru asked Goalie.

“Ready back here. We've got someplace to be and Russians to burn, bleed, and blow up.”

“That we do,” Guru said. “Canopy coming down.” He closed and locked his canopy, and Goalie did the same. A quick glance showed 520's canopies were down. “Here we go.” Guru firewalled the throttles, then released the brakes. Five-twelve rumbled down the runway and into the air, with 520 right with them. Thirty seconds later, it was Sweaty and Hoser's turn, then the two RAF F-4Js. The flight formed up at FL 100, then headed south for the tankers.



Over Central Texas: 1020 Hours Central War Time:



Camaro Flight was headed south, just east of, and parallel to, the Brazos River. They were in the AO for the Nicaraguan II Corps, and the Nicaraguan soldiers had the same attitude the Italians had in the 1942-43 time period in WW II: namely, don't shoot at passing aircraft unless you were either being attacked or were about to be attacked. Unknown to the crews in the strike flight-and many other aircrew, tensions between the East Germans to the west of the river, who did shoot, and the Nicaraguans, were rising as a result, for strike aircraft targeting the East Germans often used Nicaraguan-controlled territory to either igress or egress after hitting targets in the East German sector.

That would be news to the strike crews, later on, but for now, they were concentrating on the matter at hand. The tanker rendezvous had gone off like clockwork, and after crossing the I-20 and the FLOT, they were now in enemy territory. The flight was going just past Lake Granbury as the U.S. 377 Bridge came up.

“Granbury at One,” Guru called.

“And there's the bridge,” Goalie added. “And the flak.”

As usual, the East German flak gunners on the west side of the river opened up with 23-mm and 37-mm fire, but the strike birds were too fast. As they crossed U.S. 377, the crews noticed there was no traffic. Not this time...

“No traffic on the bridge,” Guru said as they blew by.

“Nada,” Goalie added. She was checking the navigation via the ARN-101, or “Arnie” DMAS, and the old-fashioned way, with a map and stopwatch. “One minute to Glen Rose.” That was the U.S. 67 Bridge.

“Copy,” Guru replied as they kept on course. He glanced at his EW display. So far, so good, and the display was blank. “Nothing on EW.”

Goalie's reply was direct and to the point. “Yet.” That little caveat was always in play.

The Lake Granbury Dam came up, and as usual, the East German gunners opened up, while the Nicaraguans stayed silent. “East Germans on the ball,” Guru observed as the flight blew past the dam. The 23-mm and 37-mm fire was intense, but the strike birds were too low and too fast to be visually tracked. If the Reds moved in a battery of 57-mm with radar guidance, then things would be...sticky.

“As usual,” Goalie said as the SEARCH warning came up on their EW displays, and a strobe appeared. “Want to bet that's a Mainstay?”

Beneath his oxygen mask, Guru winced. Why couldn't somebody make those damned things go away? The Navy had splashed one, but the remaining Mainstays were still a pain in the ass. “No bet.” Then he called the AWACS over Central Oklahoma. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

A controller got back to him right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Zero-nine-five for fifty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing One-three-five for sixty-five. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing One-seven-zero for eighty-five. Medium, closing. Fourth threat bearing Two-two-zero for ninety. Medium, going away.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace,” the controller replied. “First and second threats are Floggers. Third threats are Flankers, and fourth are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that and copy all,” Guru said. MiG-23s, Su-27s, and MiG-29s? Ivan was still reacting to BOLO II.

“Flankers?” Goalie asked. “Maybe the RAF will get their wish.”

“Maybe,” Guru said.

“Glen Rose coming up,” Goalie said, back to business. “Fifteen seconds.” That was the U.S. 67 Bridge.

“Got it,” Guru said. “And the flak.” Again, the East Germans were shooting, but the Nicaraguans stayed quiet. “And there's traffic on the bridge.”


On the U.S. 67 Bridge, an East German Major of Transport Troops was relieved. He had left the Port of Houston with a supply convoy for the “Kampfgruppe Rosa Luxembourg”-the remaining Army-sized East German formation in America, and he had encountered not a single problem along the way, either from mechanical breakdowns or from the bandits who called themselves the American Resistance. His trucks included fuelers, ammo supply, spare parts for the Army's tanks, and other stores meant for the Army. He also had with him four truckloads of replacement soldiers, who were nervous as puppies. The last trucks of the convoy were crossing the bridge, he noted with satisfaction, when the air raid alarm sounded and the anti-aircraft gunners begain firing. He watched as six Fascist aircraft-he recognized them as F-4s, flew past, and the AA fire exploded behind the aircraft as they were too fast. The Major expected the aircraft to turn around and attack the bridge, but nothing of the sort happened, he was relieved to see. Where they were going and who they were going to attack was none of his concern. The Major picked himself up and waved the rest of the convoy across. No telling if there would be a second group of aircraft, and their target would be the bridge....


“Not their turn today,” Guru said.

“Too bad,” Goalie replied. “Forty seconds to the Brazospoint bridge. Route 174 Bridge and Lake Whitney in two minutes.”

“Copy that.”

When they got to the Brazospoint Bridge, the East Germans again opened up, as the Nicaraguans stayed quiet.

“Highway 174 next,” Guru noted as the flight blew past the bridge. “And the Libyans.”

“And they'll be shooting,” Goalie said. “One minute fifteen to the bridge.”

The Libyans had the sector just south of the Nicaraguans, and unlike their allies, the Libyans had a habit of shooting at anything flying. Their other habit was that they shot as if the practice was going to be outlawed five minutes later, using a “Spray and pray” doctrine.


The strike flight continued south, and the pilots had their heads on a swivel. Checking instruments, followed by the EW display, then picking up their visual scanning. The WSOs were checking their navigation, and their own displays and visual scanning as well; both habits picked up at the RTU either prewar or during, and those had been drummed into everyone's head.

“Bridge coming up,” Guru said. “Flak now from both sides,” he added. Then he decided to thread the needle, and took 512 down the middle of the river. The rest of the flight followed as he tore over the State Route 174 Bridge at 500 Feet AGL.

“No traffic,” Goalie noted as they overflew the bridge.

“Not this time,” Guru said. Maybe somebody doing night armed reconnaissance might have better luck... Then the lake opened up, and Guru then took the flight down to 450 Feet AGL, right down the middle of the lake.


As the strike flight thundered down the lake, they were noticed by several parties. There were a number of Soviet, East German, and Libyan soldiers, trying their luck at fishing to get something to supplement their rations. They were doing so along with locals, who were also trying to supplement the rationing the occupiers had imposed. Finally, there were a number of camps using what had been prewar, boat-in only campsites, and there were not only guerrillas, but a number of escapees from either POW or labor camps, hiding there, To the occupiers, seeing a flight of American aircraft thundering down the lake was the last thing they wanted to see, for it meant that the bullshit (an American term that many had picked up) their political officers were telling them about the “Socialist Air Forces controlling the skies” was obviously wrong, while the others? It was a sign that there was light at the end of the tunnel, and it was definitely getting brighter.


“How far to the dam?” Guru asked.

“One minute,” Goalie replied. “And the flak.”

A quick look at his EW saw another pair of strobes appear at the Eleven O'Clock position, as Guru saw the A/A light come on. He called the AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

“Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace, Threat bearing One-six-zero for fifty. Medium, closing. Threats are Flankers.”

“Copy,” Guru said. He then went down to 400 Feet AGL, and the rest of the flight followed. Messing with enemy aircraft short of the target was not the point of the exercise. Especially Su-27s.

As the dam appeared a mile distant, along with the flak, it also marked their turn point. “Turn in ten,” Goalie said. Why were they shooting early?” Unless someone had just been here....

“Call it.”

“Five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru then turned onto a two-four-zero heading and maintained his altitude. Just as he settled on the new heading, both of the strobes from the Su-27 radars went off, and the A/A light went off as well. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead, say threats?”

The controller got back to him right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. First Threat bearing Zero-eight-five for forty-five. Medium, going away. Second Threat bearing Two-two-zero for sixty. Medium, going away. First threats are Flankers. Second threats are Fulcrums.”

“Roger that.”

“One minute to Route 36,” Goalie advised.

“Copy,” replied Guru. He looked around, then checked the EW display again. “Flankers are gone, but the Mainstay's still there.”

“Does he have us?” Though the Flankers had turned away, the Fulcrums were still there.

“Good question,” Guru noted. “We'll find out soon enough.”

“That we will,” said Goalie. “Thirty seconds to Highway 36.”

Small towns-or the ruins of several, blew by as the strike flight closed with the highway. “Highway 36 in sight,” Guru said. “Jonesboro at One.”

“And no flak.”

“No flak,” Guru noted with pleasure.


In Jonesboro, the locals and their regular garrison-Soviets from a Minsk-based Rear-Area Protection Division, were still wishing their other “guests”, namely the East German 36th Independent Motor-Rifle Regiment, would just go away immediately, if not sooner. The East Germans were much more disciplined than the Soviets were, who had established a “live and let live” relationship with the locals. The East German Political and Security Officers were more zealous in looking for either Resistance or anyone else deemed to be “Counter-revolutionary”, despite the Soviets insistence that all of those people had been cleaned up earlier. Things were so bad that the local Resistance people-who had not been touched, felt that the Soviets and East Germans might get into a real battle with each other. It wasn't just the local Resistance people who felt that way, but the Special Forces A-Team that had been inserted into the area had come to the same conclusion as well. And if the Reds did have that kind of intramural blood-letting? “Let them fight it out,” was the unspoken reply.

At the City Hall, which the Soviet garrison had to share-among other things-with the East Germans, the Soviet garrison commander was having his usual fit. The Major was trying to balance the need for good relations with the local population, and yet, comply with the East Germans' requests. Namely, for more civilian labor to build additional bomb shelters, bunkers, and other defenses against air attack. The Major had noticed that many of the positions had interlocking fields of fire, and he was wondering if the East Germans would stay in the town and make it a stronghold. The last thing he wanted was to generate any kind of Resistance activity in the town and the surrounding area, and yet the East Germans were insisting on the labor. There was a nearby labor camp, he told the East German Lieutenant Colonel, why don't you get your laborers from there? The East German had made no reply, and had stomped out of the Major's office.

He was about to go back to his paperwork when cheering came from outside, followed by the sound of jets. The Major went to his window and saw six American F-4 Phantoms roar past. They were clearly not interested in the East Germans deployed around the town, and where they were headed and who tey were going to attack were none of his concern. After calling his deputy to remind him not to arrest anyone who had cheered, the Major went back to his paperwork.


“Thirty seconds to Evant and the turn,” Goalie said in 512's back seat.

“Copy that,” Guru replied. He checked his instruments, then his EW display and visual scanning. That damned Mainstay just wouldn't go away.

“Fifteen seconds.”

“Call it.”

“Turn in five, four, three, two, one, MARK!”

Guru put 512 into a hard right turn, then settled on a course of due north. “One minute to target.”

Goalie began working the armament switches. “Switches set back here. Twenty seconds to IP.”

Guru then called the Flight. “Flight, Lead. Switches on, Music on, and stand by to pull.” That meant to arm their weapons and turn on their ECM pods.

“Roger, Lead,” Kara replied, and the others followed.

Goalie then called it. “Pull in ten. Now, five, four, three, two, one, PULL!”

Guru pulled back on the stick. As the big Phantom climbed, Hamilton appeared, and so did the airport. “Flight, Lead. Target's in sight. Time to go to work.”

“Roger, Lead,” Kara said.

“One-five, one-six,” Guru added. “Get your TARCAP set.”

“On it, Lead,” Paul Jackson replied.

“All set back here,” Goalie said.

“Then let's go,” Guru said, rolling in.


In Hamilton, the Soviet garrison and the locals were still dealing with their neighbors. Back in November, a Soviet tank regiment had set up shop outside town, and unlike a couple of previous occasions where the Soviets who had done so were resting and refitting, this unit had been fresh off the ships. The 327th Guards Independent Tank Regiment was part of 3rd Shock Army Reserve, and they had not seen any kind of action, other than the occasional patrol being sniped at, or air strikes. The Russians acted like lords to the garrison, which happened to be the HQ of the 231st Rear-Area Protection Division from Minsk, but also had a battalion from the same division. And it wasn't just the garrison, but the locals were also not too pleased with the new arrivals, for round-ups for “labor service” to build additional bunkers and fortifications to protect against air attack were common. When the tankers and motor-rifle troops went into town, there were a lot of nasty looks, and the Colonel who commanded the division as well as the garrison, thanked his lucky stars there hadn't been that much in the way of serious incidents. For any kind of reprisals was likely to generate the very resistance activities that, so far, had been very few and far between. Oh, there were still the occasional snipers, roadside bombs, phone lines being cut, and Anti-Soviet graffitti spray-painted on walls, and that told him the underground was laying low, buying time. Once the U.S. Army got closer, they would come out and make their presence known, of that he was certain.

The other issue the Colonel had to worry about was the airport. It was a frequent target of American air strikes, and if he had had his way, the airport would've been left unrepaired. The Air Force, however, didn't see things that way, and the runways and support facilities, such as they were, were repaired after every strike. The Air Force used the airport for short-range transport and helicopter flights, as well as a forward base for Su-25 attack aircraft. The Su-25s used the field for refueling and rearming in between their close-air-support missions, before returning to their home base-somewhere down south, the Colonel thought. And in this case, the Colonel's objections had been noted-and then ignored, for the Air Force continued operations-and the Americans came in to shut them down.

Shaking his head at that, the Colonel went to the samovar in his office in City Hall-which had belonged to the Mayor prewar, and poured himself a cup of tea. He was about to attack some papers when shouts, outside, followed by a very loud siren blaring outside, drew his attention. The Colonel grabbed his binoculars and headed for the roof, for he knew what this was. Another air strike coming in.


“Lead's in hot!” Guru called as the CO took 512 down on its bomb run. He saw the flak gunners respond-and this time, they were on the ball, for 23-mm tracers and 37-mm puffs appeared almost at the same time as he made the call. No matter. Guru saw the north ramp area, and to his satisfaction, he saw four Su-25s, two Hip helos, and maybe an An-24 or L-410 transport parked on the ramp. Along with two Su-25s taxiiing for takeoff. “Got two Frogfoots taxiing,” he called as he adjusted his aim to get the ones on the ramp. “Steady, steady.... and HACK!” Guru hit his bomb release and twelve Rockeye CBUs came off the racks. He then pulled up and away, jinking as he did so, and keeping an eye on the EW. No “30” came up... yet. “Lead off target,” he called as he flew over the town before turning northwest.

“The airport again,” the Colonel noted as he watched the strike go in. He saw Guru's F-4 come in and drop its bombs, and the CBUs went off on the ramp area like several thousand firecrackers. At least three fireballs erupted as something that had been fueled and armed-either aircraft or helicopters, exploded. Then he saw the F-4 maneuvering to avoid ground fire and shoulder-fired Strela (SA-7) missiles, and head north over the town before making a turn to the left. The Colonel turned back just in time to see a second F-4 coming in.

“SHACK!” Goalie shouted from 512's back seat. “We got secondaries!”

“How many?” Guru wanted to know as a missile-this one shoulder-fired it looked like, flew over the aircraft.

“Three or four, and they're big!”

“I'll take that,” the CO replied as he cleared the town and the regiment around it.


“Two's in!” Kara called as she took 520 down the chute. She saw the CO's Rockeyes going off, and saw the fireballs as at least two aircraft that took CBUs exploded. She saw the two Su-25s taxiing, but concentrated on her mission as she picked out the southern ramp, and two choppers parked on it. Either Hips or Mi-2s, she thought. As Kara came down, the flak came up, and though the 23-mm and 37-mm was intense, it was still wide of the mark. Nice try, Ivan.... “Steady..Steady... And....NOW!” She hit the pickle button and twelve more Rockeyes fell onto the Soviets below. Kara then pulled up and away, jinking all the while, as a shoulder-fired missile flew by her right wing. “Two's off safe,” she called as she flew over the town.

“Of all the..” the Colonel muttered as Kara's F-4 came in on its run. The Air Force was responsible for the gun defenses at the airport, and so far, they weren't doing much good. The Colonel watched as the F-4 pulled up, leaving more CBU bomblets going off and at least one fireball in its wake. He then saw Kara's Phantom weaving as it flew over the town, drawing some ineffective ground fire as it did, before it turned to follow the first.


“GOOD HIT!” Brainiac called from 520's back seat.

“How good?” Kara replied as a missile-and this one was larger than a MANPADS-flew a hundred feet above her canopy.

“Big and good!”

“Sounds about right,” Kara said as she picked up the CO. This one's not like last time, she thought. Maybe those ZSU-30s aren't here?


“Three in hot!” Sweaty called as she came in on her run. As she came in, she noticed that the missile storage area that had been briefed was empty. Nothing there, not even any sign of camo netting. Seeing that, she mentally changed her mission to “Runway strike” and adjusted her run to get the runway. As she did, Sweaty saw the two Su-25s begin their takeoff rolls as smoke and flames came up from the ramp area. Maybe you'll eat a crater, she thought as she lined things up. “And...And....HACK!” Sweaty hit her pickle button, sending six Mark-82s and six M-117s off their racks. She then pulled up and away as the flak gunners tried to follow, but Sweaty's jinking threw off their aim. As she flew over the town, a missile came by her left side, but passed by harmlessly. As she cleared the town, Sweaty made the call. “Three off safe.”


“Sookin sin” The Colonel said as he watched Sweaty's bomb run. The bombs ripped into the runway, just as two Su-25 attack jets were rolling to take off, but they cleared the impact area as they rolled down the runway and into the air. Seeing that, the Colonel was actually pleased, even as Sweaty's F-4 thundered by, and even appeared to wave its wings to the locals as it flew over the town. He watched as it turned to follow the others. A shout then attaracted his attention, and the Colonel turned as both Su-25s flew overhead, then another F-4 was coming in on a bomb run....

“BULLSEYE!” Preacher called as Sweaty pulled clear. “We got the runway.”

“Those Frogfoots get it?” Sweaty asked. Two for two, maybe?

“Negative,” was the reply. “They're airborne.” Preacher said as he watched the two Su-25s get clear and pull up.

“Damn it,” Sweaty said as she turned to pick up the CO's element. Maybe Hoser or the RAF would settle their hash... And where's the ZSU-30s? They were here last time....


“Four's in hot!” Hoser said as he came in. He saw his element lead change targets, and knew then that the missile storage was empty. Hoser knew the fuel dump was his target, and he saw Sweaty's run, and the two Su-25s get clear and make their takeoffs even as Sweaty pulled away. Ignoring that, and the flak, Hoser lined up the fuel dump in his pipper... “Steady. Steady... And...THEY'RE OFF! Hoser hit his pickle button and sent his Mark-82s and M-117s into the fuel dump. After release, he pulled up and away, and like the others, he was jinking as he did so. Hoser then flew over the town, waggling his wings, before turning to catch his element leader. As he did, and a missile flew past his right wing, he made the call. “Four's off target.”

“Not again,” the Colonel muttered, not caring if his Zampolit (who was on the roof with him), heard. He-and the other officers from the staff-watched as Hoser's F-4 released its bombs and pulled clear. Then came the explosions-and fireballs-as the airport's fuel dump erupted in balls of orange and black fire. He watched helplessly as the big Phantom flew right overhead, and as he picked himself up from the roof, saw no fire directed at it, much to his disgust. Shaking his head, he turned to his Chief of Staff. “Get some order out of this mess. And get whatever aid the Air Force people need at the airport.”

“Right away, Comrade Colonel!”


“GOOD HITS!” KT shouted. “We got the fuel dump!”

“How many hits?” Hoser asked as some big tracers flew wide. Maybe this ECM's working and those ZSU-30s aren't as bad as they were?”

“Several!”

“Good enough for me,” Hoser said as he glanced to the right and saw the Su-25s. “Frogfoots in the air north of town!”


Hearing that, Guru smiled beneath his oxygen mask. One more and he'd be tied with Kara. “Two, Lead. Follow me. Drop tanks and fight's on.” He pickled off his wing tanks and pulled left into a 180.

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied. A chance to get that tenth kill and double ace status? I'm not passing this up. She jettisoned her own wing tanks. “Tanks dropped and fight's on,” she replied, matching the CO's maneuver.

Sweaty and Hoser, hearing that, did the same on their own, only pulling right. “Three's in,” Sweaty added.

However, the RAF made their efforts moot. Paul Jackson and Dave Gledhill, watching from above, saw the Frogfoots get clear of the town. “Six, this is Five. Frogfoots below. We're pressing to engage.”

“With you, six,” Flighth Lt. Susan Napier replied as the two F-4Js came in.

The two Su-25s were from the 2nd Squadron, 206th OSHAP (Independent Ground Attack Aviation Regiment) from Lida in Beylorussia. They were now based at Gray AAF at Fort Hood, but the Regiment's squadrons were dispersed to FOLs for daily operations, only returning to Gray before dark. The two pilots who had taken off were a Captain and his wingman, a recently arrived, but now veteran, Senior Lieutenant, and they had been preparing to take off on an armed reconnaissance mission when the air alarm came in. The two had taxied as the first two F-4s made their runs, only getting off as the third and fourth Phantoms went in and got clear. Even though the two had R-60M (AA-8 Aphid) AAMs, those were for self-defense only. All the Captain wanted to do was get clear and head on his mission. He looked around, and to his dread, saw two more F-4s coming down from above. “BREAK!” he called to his wingman, before pulling left.


“Leader's going left,” Jackson called. “I've got him.”

“I'm on the wingman,” Napier replied as the wing Frogfoot broke right, and she went into a barrel roll to avoid overshooting her prey.

Too close for Sky Flash, Jackson noted. He called up a Sidewinder, and the AIM-9L was tracking. He and Dave Gledhill heard the warble in their headsets, then the shrill tone as the missile was locked on. “FOX TWO!” Jackson called as he squeezed the trigger.

Jackson's Sidewinder flew left, then right, before flying up one of the Frogfoot's two tailpipes and detonated. To his and Gledhill's surprise, the Su-25 was still flying. Jackson uncaged another Sidewinder and got lock. “FOX TWO AGAIN!” He squeezed the trigger, sending another Sidewinder after the Su-25.

The Soviet Captain had heard and felt the missile impact. He saw the warning lights on his console, and that one engine was definitely out. Maybe I can make it back to Hamilton, the Captain thought as he turned his head to the right, then left, only to see another missile tracking his aircraft. He instantly grabbed the ejection handle....

Jackson's second Sidewinder tracked to the still-working right engine before flying up the tailpipe (or so it seemed to the two RAF aviators) and exploding. The Su-25 pitched up, then down, and as it pitched down, the canopy came off and the ejection seat fired. The Russian was soon hanging in his chute as the F-4J flew past, and the Su-25 smashed into a small hill, fireballing on impact. “SPLASH!” Jackson called.

In her aircraft, Napier and her GIB, Razor Wilkenson, watched as the Frogfoot wingman was turning, then reversing his turn. She came out of the barrel roll just enough to open the range for a Sidewinder shot. Napier uncaged a Sidewinder and heard the growl as the missile was tracking, then came the shrill tone as the missile had lock. Squeezing the trigger, she called, “FOX TWO!”

An AIM-9L shot off the rails, and this one flew straight and true. The Su-25 broke right at the last minute, but that didn't do him any good. The missile detonated, and this time, it took the left horizontal stabilizer off the aircraft. The Frogfoot began trailing fire as it headed to the ground, and just before impact, the canopy came off and the seat fired. Only this time, to Napier and Wilkenson's horror, there was no seat separation, and the unfortunate Soviet airman plunged to his death as his aircraft fireballed on impact. Shaking the image of the failed ejection out of her mind, Napier called, “SPLASH!”

Guru and Kara, with Sweaty and Hoser with them, had just come back in, only to hear both “SPLASH” calls and see two Su-25s go down, fireballing on impact. “That's that,” the CO said resignedly. “Five and Six? Good kills!”

“Roger that, Lead!” Jackson replied.

“We're getting a little too close to town,” Goalie reminded the CO.

“That we are,” Guru said, noticing the flak coming up again as he pulled another 180. “Flight, Lead. Form on me and let's get the hell out of here.”

“Right with you, Lead,” Kara replied. Oh, well, maybe next time.

“On your six,” Sweaty added as she and Hoser formed up

“With you, Lead,” Jackson said, the two RAF Juliets forming with the Echoes.

The flight formed up,dropped back low, and headed north. In 512, Guru was shaking his head. Just thirty seconds more, and those Frogfoots, one at least, would've been meat on the table. Oh, well, that's what the RAF is here for. He glanced down and checked his map, then he asked Goalie. “Time to Proctor Lake?”

“One minute thirty” was her reply. She was back at it, checking Arnie and her map.

“Copy that.” Then Guru called AWACS. “Crystal Palace, Camaro Lead. Say threats?”

The AWACS Controller got back right away. “Camaro Lead, Crystal Palace. First threat bearing Zero-eight-five for sixty-five. Medium, going away. Second threat bearing Two-one-zero for seventy. Medium, closing. Third threat bearing Two-seven-five for sixty. Medium, closing.”

“Roger, Crystal Palace. Say bogey dope?”

“Camaro, First threats are Flankers. Second threats are Fulcrums, and third are Fishbeds.”

“Copy all,” Guru replied.

Goalie did some quick calculations. “Flankers and Fulcrums are too far away.”

Looking at his EW display, which still had the Mainstay radar, Guru said, “Hope you're right,” as he headed for the lake.

It wasn't long until the east side of Proctor Lake appeared, even though the gunners at the dam-and these were Soviets-opened up with 37-mm, even though the strike flight was out of effective range. Guru took the flight down the middle of the lake, before picking up Highway 16 and turning north.

“Camaro, Crystal Palace,” the AWACS called. “Threats bearing two-four-zero for forty. Medium, going away.”

“MiG-21s don't want to play,” Goalie observed.

“Down low, they play our game, not theirs,” Guru said. “Their problem if they do.” And that had happened more than once, Guru recalled. “How far to the fence?”

Goalie checked her map and did a quick calculation. “Ninety seconds,” she replied.

“Roger that.”

Camaro Flight flew down Highway 16, and neither the Soviet 32nd Army to the West, or the East Germans to the East, paid any attention as the flight was too low and too fast.

“Coming up on the Fence,” Guru said as I-20 came into view. Though the front lines were a few miles south of the Interstate, it was considered the FLOT for navigation purposes. Just as the flight crossed the freeway, the Mainstay's radar signal went out, and the SEARCH warning light went off.

“No more Mainstay,” Goalie said.

“Which is always good,” Guru replied. “Flight, Lead. Music off and IFF on, out.” He turned off his ECM pod and turned on his IFF. Some of the Army air-defense pukes had a habit of shooting first and sorting things out on the ground later. The squadron had not had any kind of friendly-fire incident of that nature, and the CO wanted things kept that way.

The flight then climbed to altitude and joined up with the tankers for their post-strike refueling. Then it was a normal flight back to Sheppard. After calling for landing instructions and getting their position in the pattern, everyone heard an eastbound C-130 calling in, and some people began to wonder. Was that their VIP?

After landing, Camaro Flight taxied towards the squadron's dispersal, and as they did so, the two RAF crews raised fingers to signal kills. That attracted cheers from those who were watching, and that also attracted attention from the news crew.

“Want to do another story on the RAF before they leave?” Trevor Scott, the cameraman, asked Jana Wendt. It was an open secret on the base that the RAF would have a date soon in San Diego.

“You're a mind reader, Trevor. Anyone ever tell you that?” Ms. Wendt replied as the two RAF Phantoms taxied to their dispersal area.

Guru taxied 512 into the dispersal area, then into its revetment. After getting the “Shut Down” signal from Sergeant Crowley, he and Goalie did the post-flight checklist as the ground crew brought the crew ladder. Only when they were finished, did he say, “And that's done.”

“And two more after lunch,” Goalie noted. It wasn't a question. “This is getting all too routine.”

“Tell me about it,” Guru replied as he took off his helmet and oxygen mask. “Everything I've read about Southeast Asia seems to be coming back. Only this time, it's real.” He handed his helmet to the Crew Chief, then climbed down.

“Major, how's my bird?” Crowley asked.

“She's still truckin', Sarge,” Guru said. After Goalie climbed down, they did a quick post-flight walk-around. “No holes or other issues, so get her ready for the next one. After you guys get some chow. And that's an order.”

“Yes,sir!” Crowley said. He turned to the ground crew. “Okay, people! Let's finish up the post-flight, then grab some chow. Then we got another one comin! Let's hustle!”

Guru and Goalie then walked to the edge of the revetment, where Kara and Brainiac were waiting. “Good one, Kara.”

“That it was, Boss,” Kara grinned. “You got at least two Frogfoots, and I got a transport.”

“On the ground,” Brainiac added. “Too bad those don't count.”

“This ain't like WW II,” Goalie said. “Ground kills counted then. Not these days.”

“Too bad,” Kara muttered as Sweaty, Hoser, and the RAF crewers arrived.

“Nice job, Sweaty,” Guru said. “What'd you hit?”

“Runway and fuel dump,” replied Sweaty. “Missile storage was empty.”

“Maybe they were just there overnight?” Hoser wondered. Not the first time that had happened. A target briefed wasn't there when the strike birds arrived.

Guru nodded. “Maybe Sin can find out,” he said as a C-130 came in on final. “Dave, you guys did good.”

“Those Frogfoots are tough. First time we've seen them since we've been here.” Gledhill replied.

“We've run into them a few times,” Kara said. “The Boss has one, and so does Sweaty.”

“Two Sidewinders,” Sweaty added. “They build those tough over there.”

Just then, a Dodge Crew-cab pickup arrived, and Sin Licon, the Intel Officer, and Chief Ross, the squadron's senior NCO, came out. “Major, we need to debrief,” Sin said. “But first things first.”

“What do you mean? 'First things first'?” Guru asked. It had been a busy morning, and the CO was looking forward to lunch.

“Sir, our VIP's on that Herky-bird,” Chief Ross said as the C-130 taxied by.

“Okay, Chief. Patti Brown know?” Guru asked, referring to the squadron's PAO.

“She's on a strike,” Sin replied. “But one of her sergeants knows, and Ms. Wendt and her crew are headed that way.”

“Okay, Sin,” Guru said. “I'll-” Then he paused for a moment. “Okay, we'll all be right there.”

“Major?”

“Sin, I want her to see that this is a team effort, and even though she fought with an AF pilot for what, three months?” Heads nodded, as Ms. Mason had given her share of interviews, and everyone had either read or seen them. “We're just as involved in the fight as she was, and even though we get three squares a day and have decent accommodations? We're fighting the same enemy and we put a lot of toil, sweat, tears, and blood into it. She may have been jealous of the Air Force for how comfy we can get in wartime, and I want to dispel some of that.”

“And if she wants a ride?” Kara asked.

“She's cleared,” Goalie pointed out.

“I'm taking her up,” Guru said. “If she wants one. Come on, let's do the meet and greet, then we'll debrief.”

Sin nodded, as did Chief Ross. That was the CO exercising some of his command perogrative, and if he wanted to get the meet and greet out of the way first? So be it. “Yes, sir,” Sin nodded.

“Let's go, our RAF cousins included,” Guru said. They all piled into the Crew-cab, then Chief Ross drove over to the Transit Ramp.