The Red Line

Wilson and Goodman grabbed the last three grenades. They pulled the pins and, without exposing themselves to the enemy’s rifles, tossed each in the direction their mind’s eye said they would find the parachutists. In rapid succession, three explosions rocked the wire.

Goodman took a second quick peek. On the other side of the fence, the tattered remains of a dozen misshapen bodies were strewn about on the cold ground. “Jesus, we got them all.”

• • •

On the western end of the base, the Russians broke free. They rushed onto the flight line and runways. The Americans fell back on all sides. A second building burst into flames. Others soon followed. Wave after wave of black smoke rose once again. The parachutists tore through the small groups of defenders around three reinforced bunkers where fighter aircraft were stored. The aircraft inside the bunkers were quickly destroyed.

Another Spangdahlem was taking shape.

Unchecked, hundreds of determined parachutists moved forward. On foot or in combat vehicles, the confident blue berets surged forth. The Ramstein commander was nearly out of options.

He’d little left with which to stop the merciless Russians from eliminating his air base.

• • •

Many of the aircraft out of Lakenheath had arrived too late to take part in the battle for control of the skies. As most of the MiGs disappeared back into Eastern Europe, the frustrated Americans circled over Germany itching for a fight. The last thing the recently arriving F-16 pilots would’ve ever imagined was attacking one of their own air bases.

That, however, was exactly what they were about to do.

The Ramstein commander, certain of impending defeat, watched as his forces failed to stave off the Russians. He’d reached the point of conceding and ordering a retreat to protect the housing area when word came from the control tower that twelve Lakenheath F-16s had been attracted by the growing pillars of smoke. The F-16s were overhead. The pilots thought the damage below had been caused by an enemy air attack. They were asking for any targeting information the control tower could provide.

The base commander seized the unexpected opportunity.

“Send word for everyone to get away from the runways and flight line,” the general said. “Give them five minutes, then order the F-16s to attack anything they find in the open. Tell them to use everything they’ve got. Hold back nothing. We can fix holes in the runways, but we can’t do anything if Ramstein’s destroyed.”

The word went out. The base’s airmen scrambled to find deep holes in which to crawl. The triumphant parachutists came forward to finish off an opponent who appeared to be in complete retreat. The regiment’s combat vehicles roared triumphantly onto the runways. Wherever the base commander looked, he saw BMDs and Russian soldiers.

• • •

There were gaping holes all up and down the eastern fence. The Russians were pouring through.

On the distant fence line, there was no way to warn the handful of Americans who remained in the fight about the impending attack.

“Give me another ammunition container!” Rios shouted over the gunfire.

Goodman looked down at his feet. Three empty .50-caliber containers lay at the bottom of the bunker. Goodman kicked the containers aside, searching for ammunition.

“There isn’t any more!”

“Oh shit!” Wilson yelled. “Here they come from the left.”

Two dozen parachutists had breached the wire and were running toward the bunker.

Rios stopped firing. He checked his final ammunition container. He had ten rounds left. Goodman’s ammunition clip ran out. He reached into his parka pocket for another. His pocket was empty. Wilson inserted his last ammunition clip and fired at the force hurrying toward them on the left.

“What’re we going to do? I’m out of ammunition,” Goodman said.

“What about grenades?”

“All gone!”

Rios had no answers. He aimed his machine gun at the parachutists on the right. In three short bursts, he fired his last ten rounds. Four Russians fell.

The group on the left neared the bunker. On the right, the enemy Rios had decimated was fifty yards away. Wilson fired the final rounds from his ammunition clip. Two more Russians, covered in blood, dropped to their knees in the heavy snows.

The Americans’ ammunition was gone. There was nothing more the trio could do. The airmen stared death in the face and braced for the end.

• • •

Wingtip to wingtip, the F-16s roared over the trees. The instant they hit the fence, they opened fire with their 20mm cannons. At the end of the runway, Rios, Goodman, and Wilson frantically dove for cover. Powerfully striking shells smashed into the frozen ground all around them. The fighters passed so near that Rios could feel the intense heat from their engines.

Round after round rushed toward the exposed parachutists. Caught in the open, the Russians went down. The 20mm shells tore huge holes in the blue berets’ bodies. One at a time, or in large, tangled clumps, the attackers succumbed. Their guns blazing, the F-16s ripped across the base at incredible speed. On their first pass, forty Russian vehicles were torn apart. Two hundred parachutists died. Twice that number were severely wounded.

When the F-16s reached the western fence, they circled for another run. The Russians raced in every direction to escape the growing slaughter. Those caught on the vast open runways had no chance. Those on the flight line ran for the protection of the beckoning buildings. Inside the hangars and offices, airmen waited with their rifles at the ready and their fingers on the triggers. They knew the vaunted enemy would soon arrive.

The few parachutists who reached the sheltering structures didn’t fare well. Each was torn to shreds in a hail of gunfire.

While the F-16s prepared for their second run, Rios cautiously poked his head out of the bunker. On both sides of the sand, vast numbers of parachutists lay dead or dying. Not one of the attackers had been spared.

A handful of Russians were still in the woods. They took off running, desperately searching for deep cover.

The F-16s started their second pass. This time they’d come in high to allow for the use of their bombs. All over the base, in vehicles or on foot, the remaining Russians scattered in every direction. A handful of shoulder-mounted air-defense weapons appeared. While they raced back toward Ramstei

n, three F-16 radars told their pilots they’d been targeted. The trio pulled out of line. Two of the three would deftly avoid the air-defense missiles. The third wasn’t so lucky. He’d fall from the skies in a ball of flames and smash into the heavy woods on the southern end of the base.

The remaining F-16s came on. Wherever they found a cluster of vehicles, a bomb fell with devastating accuracy. Close to two hundred vehicles had rammed through the gate an hour earlier. There were now sixty. And their numbers were quickly dwindling. The F-16s made run after run. The final blow came when two A-10s appeared over the eastern trees after missions at the front lines. Any fleeting hope the Russians had of somehow snatching victory from their impending defeat disappeared with the Warthogs’ entrance into the one-sided affair. There was sufficient ammunition remaining in both planes’ noses to mop up what was left of the vanquished Russians. Along with the F-16s, they wiped the parachute regiment from the face of the earth.

When it was over, not a single Russian vehicle had made it through the holocaust. Eleven F-16s would arrive home in Lakenheath in time for lunch. The A-10s landed to a heroes’ welcome. But the most gratifying welcome for the Warthog pilots occurred an hour later, when they arrived home to find their families safe.

All of the base’s dependents had survived without a scratch.

The maintenance crews set about repairing the runways. The bomb craters would soon be filled and patched. The runways would be ready for use before the sun set.

Airmen went to work removing the destroyed Russian vehicles. Others started collecting the dead and wounded from both sides. A thousand airmen had perished. Only a few handfuls of the proud Russian parachute regiment’s soldiers were still alive. The Americans had lost forty aircraft. A dozen buildings were aflame.