Read HOGS #6 Death Wish (Jim DeFelice’s HOGS First Gulf War series) for Free Online

away.
    “All right, come on,” said Skull. He looked past
BJ. “A-Bomb, Hack. Good. Close the door and let’s get going.”
    Dixon sat in one of the metal folding chairs
directly behind the couch, watching as Captain Wong whispered something to the
colonel. Pink fluorescent light bathed the room, making it larger than Dixon
remembered.
    “Here’s the deal,” Knowlington told them, abruptly
turning away from Wong. “We’re still nailing down the details, but basically,
the British have a few dozen commando teams working north of the border, just
like Delta, looking for Scuds and doing some other work. They lost track of one
last night. They have reason to believe that the Iraqis grabbed them and are
holding them at an abandoned air strip in a city, or rather south of a city,
near the Euphrates. They’re looking at a few other places too.”
    He paused, scanning their faces. “It’s a longshot,”
Knowlington emphasized, “but Delta’s going in to check it out. They’re taking
RAF Chinooks, along with Apaches and us for cover. We hit right before
nightfall.”
    “What’s the lineup?” Doberman asked the colonel.
     Four of our planes, Maverick Gs, in case it gets
dark and you need the infrared to see the targets. Load flares and cluster
bombs as well. Supposedly there’s not much defense; guns, that’s all. Of
course, that may change, especially if the British are right about their guys
being there. The idea is that it may just be a way station or holding spot
until Baghdad figures out what to do with them.” Knowlington glanced at Wong,
who nodded. “Captain Wong should have the whole deal, or as much as there is,
by 1400 hours, which is going to be very close, to kickoff time. This isn’t
going to be a milk run.”
    “Good thing,” said A-Bomb. “I’ve been pretty bored
lately.”
    The others laughed.
    “I’m in,” said Doberman.
    “Me, too,” said Antman.
    “I’ll lead the flight.”
    Dixon bent his head to see the pilot who had said
that. Standing near the couch, he had a large body for a fighter pilot and a
head that seemed one size too large. He was a major— it must be Preston, who’d
just replaced Major James “Mongoose” Johnson as the squadron DO. Dixon knew
he’d been on the mission that towed him home, but BJ hadn’t been introduced
yet, and in fact didn’t even know Preston’s first name.
    “Good Hack,” Knowlington said. “I thought you’d
want to take it.”
    “Hey, Colonel, you know we’re all in,” said A-Bomb.
    “You’re not tired?” Knowlington asked him.
    “Tired? What the hell is that? I’m not sure I’ve
heard the word.”
    Everyone laughed.
    “You’ve logged over two hundred hours since the
air war began,” said the colonel. His voice seemed cross.
    “Shit, I didn’t know we were supposed to keep
track,” said O’Rourke. “What’s the record?”
    Knowlington frowned, but then nodded.
    “We scrapping tomorrow’s mission?” asked George
“Gunny” McIntosh. He was a captain who had served as a liaison with a Marine
unit in a special exchange program before joining Devil Squadron; his nickname
had apparently been adapted from the term for a Marine master sergeant. He and
Doberman were tasked for an early-morning tank plinking mission.
    “Tomorrow’s frag stands,” said Skull. “Assuming
you and Doberman can handle the turn-around.”
    “I can handle it,” said Doberman.
    “Good,” said the commander. “There’s an SA-2 site
close to the base that you have to avoid. That’s probably the most serious
complication. There should be a Wild Weasel in the area to handle it or
anything else that comes up. Like I said, we’re still working on the details.
    “Film at eleven,” quipped A-Bomb.
    Everyone laughed.
    “Antman, you’re back up if somebody gets a cold,”
said Skull.
    “Yeah, okay.”
    Knowlington’s frown deepened as he turned to look
directly at Dixon. The lieutenant held the older man’s stare.
    He’s seen it all, the