Phantom Fighters

Chapter One: Nightmares

June 21, 1968

"Snakebite Flight, Eagle Eye. We've got a flight of three MiGs headed your way."
"Snakebite copies, Eagle Eye." 21 year old Jake Crowe said, taking a deep breath of oxygen. "Bluebird, you hear that! Some Gomers want to mess with us!"
Jake's Weapon System Operator, or Wizzo, Teddy 'Bluebird' Olympus just sighed.
"One of these days, Crowe, you're ass is going to be plastered all over the jungle."
"Won't yours be too?"
"Nope. My ass will be safely floating down on my ejection seat." Crowe just grinned under his oxygen mask.
"Allright, Snakebites. Call in, form up."
"Snakebite Two, copy."
"Snakebite Three, rockin'."
"Snakebite Four, red hot!"
"Stay with your wingman, and low to the deck. Watch for SAMs." Crowe's voice was deadly serious.
"Hey, Crowe, these bastards closing fast!" Bluebird's voice was slightly higher than normal.
"Snakebites, warm up your Sidewinders!" Crowe activated the heat-seeker warhead in the AIM-9 Sidewinder missile and got a tracking tone.
"Passing on the left, break on my mark!"
The MiGs shot past the three Phantoms, and all four Americans split and curled around in pursuit.
"I've got tone! Fox Two!" Snakebite Three launched a missile, and was rewarded with a BOOM as the missile detonated just inside of the MiG's tailpipe.
"Good kill, Three! Heads up, they're coming around!" Crowe pulled up off the deck and flipped inverted as the two remaining MiGs turned again, heading away from the American airspace.
"Lead, this is Four. I'm having some problems with one of my engines. I'm bugging out."
"Copy, Four. Three'll fly cover." The two Phantoms headed back to the carrier.
"I don't like this Crowe. They're acting as if we're not here."
"Don't worry. Once we get i-"
"SAM! On our right! Break, break!" Bluebird screeched, but the Phantom was too low to manoeuvre. The Surface to Air Missile slammed into the right wing and detonated the two Sidewinders, shearing the wing right off. Barely above the treetops, there was no way they could eject. The Phantom barrel rolled down into the trees, and exploded.

"Gah!"
Jake Crowe sat up in his bunk, his raven black hair plastered to his forehead.
"A damned dream. Another damned dream." He shook his head and sighed. Ever since his carrier was posted to Laos he'd been having the same nightmare over and over. The same three MiGs, the same SAM site, everything.
"As long as I'm up." He mumbled, dressing and staggering out of his stateroom. He walked into the mess hall, still half asleep, and ordered a coffee.
"Here ya go, Crowe!" The cook, a newbie out of Illinois, always tried to rhyme everything.
Jake took his coffee and sat on one of the benches. The mess hall was deserted. The cook hopped the counter and sat next to Crowe.
"What are you doing up so late, mate?"
"I keep thinking about my girl, Hopkins. Any letters come in that you know of?"
"No, but I'll tell ya if any come in." Hopkins leaned over. "I wouldn't be too worried if I were you. You are quite the catch!"
Jake snorted.
"Quite the catch, halfway around the world 'bombing civilians with napalm'."
"Hey, my girlfriend, she reads that stuff and she never believes it."
"But Pepper, she's... her last letter asked me if I was dropping napalm on children."
"What did ya say, hey?"
"I said no. I only drop on valid military targets called in by troopers." Jake drained the rest of the cup and stood. "Thanks Hopkins. I needed this."
"No sweat. It ain't just the troopers getting shot at, cool cat." Jake gave him a high-five and went back to his bunk. Restless, he went over his letters again, revising the one he drafted just in case he was shot down. Soon, however, he drifted off back to sleep.