D+18 1201-1600 Zulu 27 July, 1987 Part III

Aalborg Airbase, Denmark  1330 Zulu (1530 Local Time)

Colonel Carsten climbed down from the cockpit of his F-16 Falcon slowly and unsteadily. The crew chief, waiting nearby, came over with a concerned look on his face. The pilot waved him off.

“I’m alright, sergeant,” he said slowly.

“You’re not injured are you, sir?”

Carsten allowed a brief smile. “No. Simply exhausted. Long mission.”

“How did it go?” The crew chief was genuinely curious, yet he also had a professional need to know. This was his aircraft, after all.

“Good. Air to ground mission north of Padborg. We struck a convoy of fuel and supply trucks on the highway. No damage sustained and everything is working good.”

The NCO pointed to the empty right wingtip rail.

“Oh. A pair of MiGs bounced us as we cleared the target area. I got one. My wingman’s shot missed.” A casual shrug.

“Congratulations, sir.” The NCO looked exceptionally pleased. Carsten felt bad that he wasn’t showing as much emotion, but he was so tired it took a herculean effort just to stand straight.

He gathered his flight bag and an airman handed him a black container that held the gun camera tape for this mission. With everything he needed, the squadron commander headed off in the direction of the headquarters building. His wingman could catch up with him later. 

On the walk over, Carsten let his thoughts glide away from the mission he’d flown and focus on other matters. His squadron would fly more missions this coming evening and into the following day. This was to continue until hostilities ended or the aircraft and pilots could not fly any more. 727 Squadron was performing well, he admitted. In spite of a nearly constant stream of losses and replacement pilots and aircraft, his men were holding up their end of the war effort.

The Danish armed forces and those of her NATO allies had stopped the Warsaw Pact advances into Denmark. Despite almost fanatical determination, the enemy steamroller had ground to a halt. The problem was that Russian paratroopers continued to hold Skrydstrup, a valuable airbase and former home to Karsten’s squadron. Their current home Aalborg, was located farther away from the front. The longer transit times to the battle line did not bode well for jets like the F-16. The amount and types of ordnance each jet could carry was limited, as was the time each plane could spend on station. Carsten’s last mission was a good example of this.

When he walked into the building serving as 727 Squadron’s headquarters, Carsten was greeted by a frenzy of activity taking place. His eyes searched the room for the squadron intel officer, who had been slated to handle his debriefing. After a couple sweeps, Carsten caught sight of the man standing at a window and talking animatedly into a phone receiver. Before he could even begin walking over there, the squadron operations officer Major Erik Wolff appeared in front of Carsten.

“Afternoon, Colonel,” the short, thick officer greeted. “How was your mission?”

“Fine,” Carsten replied. “What’s going on around here?”

Wolff shook his head. “Earlier this afternoon, the Russians began to probe NATO rear areas in Germany with reconnaissance flights. They sent two fighter squadrons directly towards an AWACS aircraft and all hell broke loose. Fighters were scrambled from six different airbases. In the confusion, the Russians slipped two MiG-25 recon fighters by everyone.”

“Wow,” Carsten raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “What does that have to do with us, though?”

“We could be next. AIRBALTAP wants to establish barrier air patrols down the length of Jutland to counter a determined reconnaissance attempt like that here. On that note, sir, you’re wanted in Air/Ops immediately.”