Chapter 4

Main Gate

RAF Lakenheath

Lakenheath, United Kingdom

Thursday, July 25th, 1985

0830 Local/0830 ZULU

Daria and Jane were fighting their lack of sleep with a mixture of willpower and coffee as they checked themselves over as they sat in the line of cars that had accumulated to enter the main gate at Lakenheath. They wore their flightsuts and sidecaps, with their aviator sunglasses hiding the bloodshot eyes and bags from having to stay up all night writing performance evaluations for their enlisted ground crew and then translate them into "Pentagon-ese." Today was the deadline for their submittal so they made the cutoff for promotion during this fiscal year. Ah the Air Force, Daria mused 20% flying, 80% paperwork.

There was also an AAR to go over with her flight leader on why they got tagged by that Brit F-4 and then the gripe sheet for the airplane to submit in triplicate, one copy to the crew chief, one to squadron maintenance and another to squadron operations. The F-111's air-conditioning was erratic and a couple of gauges kept giving false readings, nothing serious, but one of them was the fuel gauge and that could lead to some issues. It was only off by 250lbs and Jane and Daria had long known to correct for it, but better to get it get fixed now, with a potential war in the air. There also was the issue of the backup altimeter that had quit in the landing pattern. That had been a bit more serious.

And that's assuming any of the gripes get fixed before the end of the month. We're running up against a new fiscal year, so while Wing's looking for new ways to spend money? They're also looking for ways to save money. It's positively schizophrenic.

"Shit, amiga? What the hell is the holdup?" queried Jane.

Daria shrugged, but then it hit her. The usual security around the base was a few USAF Security Policemen, armed with their ubiquitous holstered .38s in near perfectly creased OG fatigues, boots and badges shined to a gleaming standard, standing by the main gate and checking IDs and giving razor sharp salutes, and giving the kids of base personnel more jaunty ones once they were satisfied with your bona fides. Not today.

Today the looks on the faces of the SP's were far grimmer, and there was RAF Regiment personnel in attendance as well, with their DPMs clashing with the SP OG uniforms as they were setting up sandbagged positions on either side of the road leading up to the main gate, all the SP's had M16s, and they were not slung. Not today. And every car was being given the once over, trunks opened, wheel wells checked with flashlights, and mirrors on poles run under the car. Daria also noticed there was a M-60 being setup within sight of the main gate in another position just inside the fence. There was also a pair of SPs, one with a military working dog going up and down the line of cars and letting the dog sniff the cars freely.

"Daria, what the hell is going on? We on alert?"

"I dunno. But some serious shit must have gone down overnight. Look, stay cool. It's just another day at work, right?" Daria said, a note of hope in her voice.

Both said little as Daria's black Camaro inched its way toward the main gate as the traffic slowly made its way on post. All the while, aircraft landed and took off, rattling the cars with the jetwash as it made its way towards the ground.

Daria decided to turn on the radio, pushing in the button on the car radio to both turn on the radio and set the tuner for the pre-set to Armed Forces Network, and she was greeted with the oddest thing she'd ever heard.

The radio had a single monotone voice that simply repeated "Execute Even Fox, Execute Even Fox." The voice repeated the phrase three times, and then without preamble, went right into the strains of the Beatles "Eleanor Rigby".

Daria and Jane looked at each other in bemusement and confusion. "What the hell is going on?" they both said to each other at once.

"Jinx!" both then said.

"Tie doesn't count." Daria said laconically

"Damn well does, we owe each other." Jane said, shaking her head ruefully.

"Kinda defeats the purpose?"

"Daria, standards must be upheld, that is something you, of all people should be in favor of!" Jane said with a tone of mock rapprochement.

"Traitor"

"I'm sorry, I thought I heard you accuse your best friend of treason? That's a serious charge in these troubled times? I mean, Daria, why in the world would I betray us to the Russians? Not like they have much to offer me short of crushing poverty, government controlled art and really bad architecture." Jane said with a crooked smile.

Daria shrugged again "I suppose so, thanks for the bit of levity there."

Jane nodded "De Nada amiga, I'm scared too."

Daria looked Jane in the eyes. "Jane, if it comes, to, you know. Could we really do it?"

Jane nodded "Yeah, Daria, we could. Don't know whether to be proud of that or cry."

"How about both?"

After a seeming eternity, the car pulled even with the guard shack, which was now manned by one of those grim-faced SPs. The SP who approached the car was an impossibly young Airman 1st Class, who's most prominent facial feature was his adam's apple. His acne was only now fading and he was in full battle rattle, which made him look bigger than he probably was. He was covered by several of his fellows as well as a pair of "rockapes" from the RAF Regiment who held their FN-FALs at the low ready position, but they looked ready to raise them to their shoulders with the slightest excuse.

"Mam," he nodded at Daria, and then again at Jane "Mam, I have to ask you both to get out of the vehicle and please keep your hands in plain view, base commander's instituted a general search of all vehicles entering the base, no exceptions, mam." The SP shrugged with his rifle for emphasis, expressing his regret on having to do this.

Daria was shocked; she hoped it wasn't too obvious on her face. The sunglasses did a good job of hiding the eyes, but the rest of the face was probably turning white at this point. Probably a dead give away I'm not Spetsnaz.

Daria simply nodded and got out of the car, and stepped away from it a short distance, as Jane did the same from the other direction. Both were patted down by female SPs, who then gave a "thumbs up" to their opposite numbers. While that was going on, the car was searched, the glovebox was opened and rifled, the wheel wells were gone over with a flashlight, the trunk opened and it's contents gone through, nothing was left unsearched, even the bottom of the car was searched with a mirror on a pole.

"ID, mam? And could you remove your sunglasses, mam?" the female SP queried.

Daria fished for her wallet slowly. This many armed and nervous folks around, sudden movements were definitely a bad idea. She gingerly produced her green DoD issued ID card which made her look like an axe murderer and handed it to the SP, who looked both her and the picture up and down far more carefully than had been previously done. While she was giving Daria the once over, Daria removed her sunglasses, and winced at the sunlight that poured into her defenseless eyes.

Soon, the SP seemed satisfied with the nature of Daria's identity; she came to attention and snapped off a salute "Thank you, mam, you're clear to proceed. Have a good day!"

Daria returned the salute, muttering about mornings such as these, came to attention and returned the salute. Not her fault so I might as well be decent about it. As she made her way back to her car and got in about the same time as Jane, who was equally nonplussed, she put on a gritted smile and growled. "Shall we find some parking and head to work?"

"Might as well, things being on the verge of World War III, they might need some 'Vark drivers. Where the hell are they going to find those?" Jane said with a snarky smile on her face.

Daria simply shook her head as she put the Camaro into drive.

As the car cruised onto the base, both Daria and Jane drove slowly, taking the time to notice the various activities happening on the base. Security Police and RAF Regiment people were everywhere, either walking guard mounts, setting up machine gun positions, or in at least one case Daria noticed, the RAF was setting up a Rapier position overlooking the main runway.

And as for the main runway….it was a hive of activity, ungainly looking C-141s landing and taking off, and as she noticed the ramp, a C-9 parked on the far end of the ramp, along with 2 other aircraft, 767s from the look of them in United Airlines livery.

"Daria, what the hell is United Airlines doing here?"

"Somebody musta pushed the panic button and called up the CRAF, guess REFORGER's started."

REFORGER, or Return of Forces to Germany was an acronym meant to describe the crash deployment of US forces by air to meet up with pre-positioned equipment in Germany. It had been practiced every year as part of routine NATO exercises, but those NATO exercises had never involved cargo aircraft landing at Lakenheath. Considering also that REFORGER had concluded last month, there was only one conclusion: This was no exercise.

"Things must have gone from bad to worse in Yugoslavia." Jane mused

"God, I thought Reagan's offer last night would have calmed them down." Daria said as she shook her head.

"Guess not" Jane shrugged.

It wasn't long before Daria's Camaro cruised into it's usual parking space at her squadron area, and the two put on their "pillbox" covers and sunglasses, grabbed their flight bags (which had more uses than just being their flight equipment) and checked each over to make sure they were presentable.

Satisfied that they were, they made their way to the squadron offices, performing the military ritual of saluting and answering salutes. One thing neither of them could miss is nobody was doing the usual "movement with a purpose" today, but more walking briskly, or in some cases, outright running.

Daria looked at Jane in puzzlement after she noticed an Airman First Class with an armful of papers barely manage a salute to both of them as he attempted to become the first human to reach warp 2.

The unspoken question of them both: "How bad is it now?

As they reached the door to the squadron offices, they doffed their covers and sunglasses, pocketing both in their flightsuits, and as soon as they did…they saw the unbridled bedlam as opposed to the usual quiet competence the squadron administrative staff usually showed, one usually didn't hear much more than muted phone calls punctuated by brisk typing..not today.

Today, people were almost yelling into the phones, and admin staffs of all ranks were running about the office with arms stuffed with papers. They'd never seen the office like this.

Daria was determined to get to the bottom of this. She grabbed the first person she could find, an Tech Sergeant who had a 3 foot stack of folders stuffed with forms that he barely balanced in his arms.

"Shit, who the hell's grabbing…Oh, crap..sorry mam, it's all hit the fan today.

"What's going on, Sarge?" Daria asked

The tow-headed Tech Sergeant shook his head, his violet eyes bleary from too many hours on Air Force coffee alone and his OG uniform badly rumpled. He'd been at this for days. "The NCA's activated REFORGER, mam and the squadron staff's been busy all day with admin requests, maintenance requests, as well as coordinating the movement of munitions to the flight line."

Jane jumped in "Wait, they're moving live munitions to the flight line?"

"Right to the HAS's mam. The Russians increased the pace of their mobilization last night and word is, Chernenkyo's giving a speech today. I doubt the news will be good, mam. Oh, and I almost forgot, all unmarried pilots without dependants are to drop what they're doing and report to the ready room, immediately."

"Goodie, guess we're all on Victor alert now." Daria mused.

"Don't even joke about that, Daria."

"Who's joking?"

Thursday, 25 July 1985,

0700 EDT/1200 GMT (1800 Moscow Time)

The White House, Washington, DC

President Reagan and his National Security Team were meeting in the Situation Room, in what was becoming a daily routine. Just as JFK had in 1962, Reagan was having such meetings twice a day, as the Yugoslav Crisis seemed likely to escalate into a full-scale war between NATO and the Warsaw Pact. And the American public, thanks to the news footage shot by the DOD Media Pool, now felt themselves to be at war with the Soviet Union. So far, the shooting had been confined to Slovenia and Croatia, but that couldn't last forever.

The President asked Secretary of Defense Weinberger, "Cap, how's REFORGER going so far?"

"Mr. President, the lead elements of III Corps are on the ground in Germany and Holland. They're drawing their equipment from their POMCUS sites. Right now, III Corps HQ, lead elements of the 1st Cavalry Division, and additional elements of the 2nd Armored Division are on the ground. Also, the 4th ID for V Corps and the 1st ID for VII Corps are also arriving. And yes, dependents and all other nonessential Americans are coming out. Phase I of evacuation from Germany and the Low Countries is well underway, and we've begun Phase II from England, Italy, Greece, and Spain this morning."

"Good," the President said. He turned to the CIA Director, William Casey. "And the Soviets?"

"They're beginning to move what we believe is the 28th Army from Beylorussia. They're tagged for East Germany: most of their units are part of Group of Soviet Forces Germany in peacetime, but the Soviets are moving the rest in. We're also seeing movement in the Baltic MD, and it's expected the two Armies there will move through Poland and East Germany to attack Schlesweig-Holstein and Denmark." Casey reported.

"What about the Tank Army Groups, one each in Beylorussia and the Ukraine?" Admiral Poindexter, the NSA, asked.

"They're getting ready as well. Overheads show unit shakedowns, things like that. And their Air Force units in both Beylorussia and the Ukraine are getting ready to deploy forward."

"Thank you, Director," Reagan said.

"Mr. President," House Speaker Tip O'Neil said. He'd been asked to sit in on these meetings by the President, and O'Neil had made sure that whatever the President needed out of Congress to respond, he would get, and, if necessary run right over the anti-war members of the House in the process. "No formal response from Moscow to your letter?"

"No, Mr. Speaker, there hasn't," Reagan replied. "Nor have they responded to Waldheim's offer, or the Pope's, for that matter." He was referring to UN Secretary-General Kurt Waldheim's offer of his "good offices" to mediate between the superpowers, even offering to host a summit at the UN's offices in Geneva. And Pope John Paul II had made a similar request, offering to host Reagan and Premier Cherenenko at the Vatican for a conference. The Soviets' silence had been ominous.

"Mr. President," Weinberger said. "The Navy reports that Strike Fleet Atlantic is forming off of Norfolk. That means a four-carrier battle group ready to go north to the Barents Sea, if necessary. That's Nimitz, Eisenhower, America, and Independence. Coral Sea is headed to the Med to back up John F. Kennedy and Forrestal, with Saratoga right behind her." He paused for a moment. "Enterprise is in the Indian Ocean, and..."

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Secretary," Dr. Condi Rice said. She had just taken a phone call. "NSA is reporting that Premier Cherenenko is about to give the speech before the Supreme Soviet. CNN is going to be carrying it, live. It should be on at any moment."

Reagan nodded to Don Regan, his Chief of Staff. "Let's see it."

Regan turned one of the TVs in the Sit Room to CNN, and the commentator was noting that every seat in the Supreme Soviet was full. Then the Premier came in, with Defense Minister Marshal Sergei Sokolov right behind him, and the KGB Chief, Viktor Chebrikov. Everyone watching noted the somber expressions on all three, and the Premier appeared exceptionally grim-faced. Chernenenko went to the podium and began to speak.

The translator was having a hard time keeping up, and for sure, the NSA would have a full transcript as soon as the speech was finished, but Cherenenko was lashing out at the West, denouncing the U.S., Britain, and Italy for "Blatantly interfering in the affairs of a fraternal socialist state, and the unprovoked aggression against the Soviet Armed Forces in Yugoslavia."

VP George Bush noted, "Nothing new there."

Reagan nodded as the Premier went on. "When Soviet blood has been shed, there will be a response. That cowboy in the Oval Office, who thinks that nuclear missiles are six-shooters, and that tired old bitch in London, who follows him at every turn, they will discover the error of their ways. The same goes for Kohl, that fascist in Bonn, who longs for restoration of Germany's 1937 borders, and that 'sunshine socialist' in Paris, Mitterrand, who claims to be 'independent' of America, and yet, has followed her in Lebanon and elsewhere."

Reagan looked at Director Casey. "Has he lost it?"

"Looks that way, Mr. President,"

"As for that Nazi who calls himself 'Secretary-General', the USSR does not accept offers of so-called 'mediation' from a Fascist, nor does it do the same from a reactionary churchman whose aim is to undermine a fraternal socialist state," Cherenenko said, denouncing both Waldheim and the Pope. He went on. "For there to be a peaceful solution, NATO must withdraw its forces from Yugoslavia, pay compensation for all the damage it has inflicted, cancel all of the measures it has taken since its criminal attack on the Armed Forces of the USSR, and withdraw at once all tactical nuclear weapons from Europe. Only then will the USSR and the Fraternal Socialist Countries consider rescinding the measures they have taken in response. NATO's failure to do so can only have the gravest possible consequences. And the reactionary leaders in the West should know this: the patience of the Soviet Union and the Fraternal Socialist Countries is not unlimited."

Chernenenko then left the podium, and Marshal Sokolov spoke. He announced the call-up of reservists in European Russia, retention in service of those scheduled to be demobilized, and the cancellation of military leaves. All Soviet servicemen and -women were to report to their units, and Sokolov finished by calling on all members of the Soviet Armed Forces to "do their duty in defense of the Motherland."

Only after that did the Soviet TV feed stop, and CNN's anchor picked up his commentary. "Mother of God," Reagan said. "They really want it. They want a war."

"Yes, Sir," Secretary of State George Schultz said. "There's no doubt. We're going to war. The only question is when."

"Concur," Casey said at once.

"General," Reagan turned to Gen. John Vessey, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. "How long to complete REFORGER?"

"Another week, sir. We're in Day Three right now."

Nodding, Reagan turned to Secretary Weinberger. "Two days ago you and General Vessey wanted DEFCON 3?"

"Yes, Mr. President," Weinberger said.

The President looked at his National Security Team. Heads nodded. "Do it. All U.S. Forces worldwide to DEFCON 3, immediately."

492nd Squadron Ready Room

RAF Lakenheath

Thursday, July 25th 1984

1235 GMT/1235 Local

Daria Morgandorffer had seen a lot of crazy in her short life, especially when her dad was involved. But Cherenenko in full rant had beat him all hollow. She was simply shocked this was a man with his finger on the nuclear trigger. Even on the ancient 70s TV in the aircrew ready room, all those present had to strain to hear the bombast, but the room had been as quiet as a tomb during the speech.

Many of the pilots in the ready room had shared her reaction, with a lot of gasps and "oh shits" punctuating the broadcast of the speech. At least one pilot said after the speech. "Guess it's "So long, Mom, we're off to drop the bomb."

"Um, Jane?"

"Yeah Dar-?"

"We're going to war, aren't we?"

The door crashed open with a loud bang and the cry of "Ten-HUT!" and the pilots and WSOs rose to attention with a crash of feet, and all conversation and other noise ceased as the operations officer, Major James Killenger, a balding man of 35, with a large stature and a slight scar down his hairline, a memento of his ejection from a burning F-4 over North Vietnam in 1971. He'd spent the two subsequent years as a "guest" of the North Vietnamese. He strode to the lecturn and then waved everyone back into their seats as he began.

"Ok people, here's what's going on? The base is being cleared for war. That's where all the married personnel are, putting their wives and kids on the outgoing '141s. They're also clearing the base hospital. My advice? Don't kid yourself about any chances for peace after that little speech. After the married folks get back, we're going to pass out your day one, strike one target folders. Expect to be told to move onto the base shortly, as word is USAFE is we will probably be locking down the base at any time in the next twenty four hours.."

This was met with a lot of groans and "goddamits!"

"AT EASE!" Major Killenger bellowed. "We're at the brink of war people, and that's not all. Aircrews and groundcrews not on Victor alert will be sleeping in their HASes. Furthermore, within the next twenty-four hours, all aircrews and groundcrew will be issued sidearms. You WILL be expected to wear them at all times."

"Shit." Daria muttered under her breath.

"This is the real deal, people. The Soviets are mobilizing faster and faster, and now their Premier has gone berserk on the world stage. We're sending the families home as fast as we can get them out of Britain and Germany, and the old hands have assured me we didn't do this in either '62 or '73. The Soviets are only going to see this one way. Best get used to the idea, now, I am going to hand this over to the squadron intelligence officer as he gets you reacquainted with the threat board for East Germany and Poland…."