Chapter 6 – And the Madness Continues…
Luchenko's quartet of Flankers sped north along the Yuke border, journeying into interference filled skies. They were just now crossing the crest of the central mountain range, the spine of Kaluga. As the flight traveled on the jamming—as well as the storm clouds below—became thicker. Their radars were almost completely white. Luchenko was having one hell of a time staying in radio contact with his wingmen.
"Jamming's getting stronger," he slowly called over the radio. "All planes, ready anti-radiation missiles. Might as well do it now while we can somewhat hear each other."
The other pilots crackled "affirmative" through the hissing radios.
Luchenko decided to try and contact a ground control center before the jamming got any stronger. There was a center in Tserkhov that would be able to tell him how bad the jamming was. He tried to raise them on the radio.
"GCI-Tserkhov, do you copy?"
Nothing. He tried again.
"GCI-Tserkhov, do you read? This is Zvezda 2-1."
Through the static he thought he heard an answer. No one directly responded, but he could definitely make out muffled voices. There seemed to be quite a commotion in the control room.
"Zvezda 6-1, can you hear anything?"
"Barely, 2-1. Can't make much out but it doesn't sound like any of them are paying attention to us."
"Right," Luchenko said, pondering the situation. "They must be getting jammed harder than we are. The sooner we take these jammers out, the sooner we can get in contact with GCI."
Scratchy transmissions continued to come from ground control. Luchenko didn't feel right about it. He couldn't make out a single word but the people sounded… almost panicked… Ideas on what was going on with GCI bounced around in his head, but he suppressed them. Luchenko never tried to jump to conclusions. He prided himself in hardly ever jumping to conclusions or preparing for one thing more than any other. He wanted to be prepared for anything that came his way. And when his radar was white and he couldn't hear any transmissions from ground control, anything could happen.
"All pilots, ready up. Let's zero in on where this jamming looks like it's coming from and go in hot." He slowed down so his flight could make his instructions out through the static. "Arm your R-27s with the anti-radiation seekers. By the time we get in any sufficient range, we won't be able to contact each other by radio. Once I fire my missiles, the rest of you follow. Keep your radars on standby. Do not emit. We don't want to advertise our presence to the jammer. Only use your infra-red scanners. It won't let us see far, but it's better than nothing. If we kill this thing, be ready to activate your search radars and arm normal R-27s. Is all that understood?"
"Roger that, lead," 2-2, 6-1, and 6-2 replied.
"Good. Go radio silent and wait for my signal."
With that, the four hunters turned toward the source and traveled on.
The small, cramped car flew through the damp streets tossing its occupants about. It had misted rain before the chaos began and pools of water stood in the potholes of the damaged asphalt. The car and its driver seemed to ignore the poor condition of the streets as it sped through the narrow city streets. The passengers could not ignore the violent ride. Andrei had been able to see the bombs falling from his tall dormitory back at the university, but now the canyons of old buildings hid what lay in the distance. It was for the best. No one wanted to see what was coming their way.
"This is her street," Andrei said to no one in particular as he swung the car through an intersection and down a winding alley. A few seconds later the car screeched to a halt in front of an old tavern next to a vacant factory. Andrei got out of the car and rushed to the door. His three friends followed apprehensively. The streets were eerily quiet. Any other night at this time the street would be bustling. Despite being nestled in a bloc of factories, the bar as well as a few other shops and meeting places nearby would be well populated.
Muffled bangs and rumbles could be heard in the distance.
Andrei knocked at the door.
"Mr. Uskov! It's Andrei!" He banged on the door some more. "Mr. Uskov? Tanya? Are you here? Anyone?"
No answer.
"Andrei, they're probably in the cellar. They can't hear us." Yuri said. He was becoming more and more afraid. The bar was closer to the explosions than the university. Yuri always knew this day was coming, but he didn't want to be around to experience it.
"We need to leave," one of the other companions said, nervously.
Andrei continued pounding at the door. Then, it opened with a large creak. It was Tanya.
She leapt out the door and into Andrei's arms. The two embraced tightly as if they hadn't seen each other in decades.
"I've been scared," Tanya said quietly.
"Me too," replied Andrei. "What are you doing still here?"
"Excuse me? What are you still doing here?" she scolded.
"I came to get you. It's not safe."
"I know. I can't convince Papa to leave," Tanya said, helplessly. "He's in the cellar now with his rifle."
"Maybe we can help persuade them," Yuri said. "We're not exactly planning on staying ourselves."
More bombs rumbled in the distance. Andrei felt Tanya shiver.
"Come on," he said as he held her tight. "Let's go inside where it's safe."
The five entered the bar and bolted the door behind them. The interior was dark, save for a few candles to fight the blackout. Tanya took one from the counter and grabbed Andrei's hand. She led the men down a hall to a dead end. An open hatch in the floor revealed a spiral staircase leading down to the cellar.
"Papa, Andrei and his friends are here," she announced.
"Come on down. It's safe," came the reply.
They shuffled down the stairs to the cellar. Mr. Uskov was seated on an overturned cask of sherry in the corner clutching a Mosin Nagant rifle close to his chest.
"You fellas here for the long haul?" He asked from behind his tangled white beard.
"I don't think so," Andrei said, still holding Tanya's hand. She was still trembling. "It's the Yukes. I'm sure you know."
Mr. Uskov nodded.
"We're not safe in this city," Yuri interjected. "We're too close to the border. No matter how they're coming, they'll come here first." Yuri had been watching the situation between the countries for several years now. He predicted that they would intervene in Kaluga's revolution. He said it would be violent. His friends dismissed him as a pessimist. But so far he had been right.
"He's right, Papa," Tanya admitted. "We all need to leave."
Mr. Uskov shook his head. "I can't."
"Papa, we have to. They'll hurt you when they arrive."
Uskov stood up and leaned the rifle against the wall. "Tanya…" He smiled a crooked smile. "In all my years if I've learned one thing, it's this: Soldiers love to drink after they settle down. Your friend may know quite a bit about how the Yukes think, but not everything they do is blind nationalism. They may ransack the city, they may burn it to the ground, they may beat the citizens—but at the end of the day, they're going to need a place to drink."
Yuri's face turned into a scowl. "You're planning on comforting the enemy?" He shouted.
"Comforting? Ha!" Uskov laughed heartily. "Think of it as buying insurance."He stretched out his arms and gestured to the wine racks and whiskey barrels. "This is insurance for our safety. There's no flag above our door. Call me a traitor for getting the occupying forces smashed if you want, but I know that they will need this."
Tanya was holding back tears. "Papa, you don't want to stay. You don't know what they'll do to you."
"Hush, my child," her father hugged her with his massive arms. "I'm an old man. They'll be kind if they know what's good for them. It's you we worry about. You're young and beautiful. If anything were to happen to you, I'd never forgive myself. And like you said, it's not safe here. You must go."
Tanya burst into tears.
The cellar was shaken by a blast from outside.
"That was close," Yuri said, nervously looking at the ceiling. "We need to be going."
Andrei put his hand on Tanya's shoulder. She looked at Andrei and her father. Their eyes both said the same thing—they feared for her safety. She sighed and kissed her father on the cheek, giving him one last hug.
"You'll make it," he reassured her with a tearful smile. "You'll make it."
She turned to face Andrei. "Come on," he said. "We've got to go now. That last bomb was too close." She nodded. He took her hand and led her to the stairs. Yuri and the two others were already halfway up.
"Be careful, Tanya," her father called. "I love you."
"I love you too," came the reply just as the hatch at the top of the stairs closed.
"Come on you bastards, where are you…" Luchenko muttered under his breath.
His eyes bounced back and forth from his radar warning receiver to his infra-red scanner to the night sky. He could only hear heavy static on his radio at this point. Heavy clouds hung in the sky below the group's flight level and were shielding their view of the ground. From his map and calculations Luchenko knew that the Tserkhov/Borasov metro area was just to the west. If the clouds weren't there he would be able to see the cities.
Luchenko's RWR was going nuts. It had steadily been going crazier and crazier the farther north he went and now it was flashing like a strobe light. He was close. Luchenko applied a bit of right rudder and swung his Su-27. His wingmen followed suit. His RWR blinked more rapidly. A bit more right rudder… The blinking trailed off just a bit.
"I've got you now," Luchenko said confidently.
He swung the Flanker back to the left and pulled the trigger on his stick. A 4-meter long missile zoomed off the rail, followed by a second. On cue, his three wingmen launched missiles of their own. The orange plumes of fire propelled the deadly R-27Ps into the distance toward whatever they could find.
Luchenko waited.
The missiles disappeared into the distance. The radio was still scrambled and his radar remained white. Luchenko breathed heavily as he counted to himself.
And then it happened.
Luchenko jumped when the radio came back to life. A dozen voices chattered in his headset all at once. The RWR stopped blinking and the radar screen was clear. He couldn't believe it had worked. Luchenko switched the radio channels to speak to his wingmen.
"Bravo boys, looks like we did it."
"Indeed we did, 2-1," replied 6-1. "What now?"
"6-1, you and your wingman fan out and start scanning the airspace. We may not have much more time until a jammer comes back. I'm not even sure if we killed it outright. Me and 2-2 are going to head below the clouds and see what we've got going on down there."
"Roger that," radioed the pilot. 6-1 and 6-2 broke away from the formation as Luchenko and his wingman dove down through the clouds.
As he descended, Luchenko tried hailing ground control once more.
"GCI-Tserkhov, this is Zvezda 2-1. Do you copy?"
"We read you Zvezda!" an out of breath controller replied. "Thank God you've come! They're bombing us to hell and back! The jamming just lifted and now our scopes are clear. We didn't know what we were dealing with. It's a madhouse!"
"Slow down, Tserkhov," Luchenko said. "It's me, my wingman and another group of two. We're heading down through the clouds now and we'll do what we can. Vector us to the nearest group of targets."
"There's no way!" the desperate controller cried. "They're everywhere!"
Luchenko's plane broke through the floor of the clouds and emerged into the madness. Momentarily he froze at the sight. Portions of the city were on fire and explosions could be seen throughout the metropolis. The fires cast a hazy orange glow on the clouds. Rain misted down, making everything shine and the fires glisten. Rain droplets began forming on the fighters' windscreens as they cut through the air. Luchenko regained composure and switched his radar on. The dish made one traverse and showed a dismal situation. Ground control was right—there were planes everywhere.
"Shit… 2-2, you got this?"
"Roger…" Luchenko's wingman was similarly overwhelmed.
GCI-Tserkhov continued to plea for help. Luchenko snapped out of it and acted swiftly.
"2-2, stick with me," he ordered as he steered toward the nearest group of three radar signatures. "6-1, get down here below the clouds. This is where the action is."
"Confirmed, 2-1. We're on our way."
Luchenko locked up a target in a formation just off his nose. "2-2, you get the wingman, I'll take the lead." He fired an R-27 and guided it home. His wingman did the same. The enemy radar signatures stayed on track for a bit but started separating as the missiles closed in. It was no use. The two missiles connected and blew the pair out of the sky. The third plane dove and accelerated to escape the danger. Luchenko fired his afterburner and locked up the fleeing target. His HUD beeped and a soft mechanical voice notified him that he was too close for R-27s. Luchenko switched to heat seekers and closed in. The Flanker ran down its target and soon the radar blip turned into a glowing red ball in the distance. The plane was using every bit of power to retreat, but it was no use. A tone sounded in Luchenko's headphones—the missile had a lock. Luchenko squeezed the trigger. As the missile hunted for its target the prey banked sharply. Against the glowing city below, the silhouette appeared to show a short, squad plane with square wings full of teeth—it was a Yuktobanian Su-25. Flares popped out of the Frogfoot's back in an effort to defeat the missile but the hot engines offered a more inviting target. The heat seeker slammed into the bomber, giving Luchenko his second confirmed kill of the night.
Luchenko had no time to celebrate. His wingman shouted that there were more contacts closing in. The pair of Flankers turned toward two fighters coming in high and fast. Radar homing missiles this time.
"Lock them up quick, 2-2. This'll be a knife fight if we don't get them now."
Luchenko's hands performed the actions almost automatically and launched two missiles at the incoming bandits. The targets changed course; the missiles followed suit. Suddenly, 2-2's radar warning receiver lit up.
"2-1, they've got me!"
"Break off!"
The Flanker banked hard and popped chaff and flares. His radar lost the lock on the incoming planes and the missiles trailed off into the distance. Luchenko's didn't fare any better. The enemy planes were coming in too fast for the missiles to acquire a good lock and they flew past the targets harmlessly, waiting for directions from Luchenko's radar that would never come. The pair of bandits banked hard to the left and swooped down in front of Luchenko's flight path. He yanked the stick back to avoid a collision. His reaction was hasty—he knew it. Now he fought to get a good position on the planes that just buzzed him. Luchenko rolled to the right and pointed his nose toward the ground. The planes he merged with were below him, afterburner lit, on a bombing run. They had the outline of Su-17 fighter bombers—and they were fast. Luchenko dove after them, switched to heat seekers and blasted his last two at the Fitters ahead of him.
The Fitter pilots were determined. Either that or stupid. They were obviously ignoring the missile warnings their own cockpits were giving them. Luchenko watched as his missiles closed in on the hot tailpipes of the bombers. The pilots never so much as attempted to outmaneuver the missiles. They popped a few flares as their attack run continued, but that was it. They launched a massive volley of rockets from their huge oil-drum sized rocket pods just before the heaters struck. Both R-60s hit the trailing plane and caused it to break apart instantly. The lead finished his rocket run and opened fire with his cannon. Luchenko couldn't see what they were firing on but he did see the result. Explosions erupted from the city below as the rockets met their marks. Luchenko flipped a switch and fired a burst of cannon fire toward the Su-17, but to no effect. The successful pilot turned away and screamed away to the north at rooftop level.
"2-1, this is 6-1, you as busy as we are?"
Luchenko checked over his shoulder for his wingman and climbed once he saw he was still there. "Sure are, 6-1," he said as he lifted his Flanker higher into the air and searched for a close set of targets—there were still so many. "How many have you downed?"
"I've taken one and my wingman has two. There's still a dozen or more out here."
"I'm seeing the same thing," Luchenko replied as he locked up a distant target moving across his radar's field of view. He pulled the trigger and began guiding the radar to the target. "I'm at three and my wingman is at one."
"We're running low on fuel and we're out of missiles. We're breaking off and heading south. All four of us can't take this. We're going to need help."
Luchenko had forgotten all about fuel. He glanced down at his gauges. Good thing too—he had a bit more than enough to get home. But just barely. "We're close on fuel too." His radar showed the targeted fighter disappear as his missile hit. "Make that four for me."
"2-1, I've still got a few missiles," Luchenko's wingman said. "There's an airbase just west of here we can refuel at."
Luchenko pondered for a moment. "GCI-Tserkhov, what is the status on our airbase to the west?"
A frantic shuffle could be heard in ground control. They were still trying to regain control of the situation. "Uh, Zvezda 2-1, the airbase to the west reports that it has been hit with a few missiles from supersonic bombers. They got a few of our planes there on the ground. But for now it's quiet."
Luchenko frowned. "Negative, 2-2. We can't risk it. Let's turn south and head back to Laconda. You too, Zvezda 6."
"Six Flight reads you, 2-1"
Luchenko's wingman was silent. He didn't want to leave the city here, defenseless.
"Pasha," Luchenko called. "We will return. We're not going to leave the people here for long."
His reassurance was met with a heavy sigh. "Whatever you say, Zvezda 2-1."
Luchenko didn't like it. He knew even ground control was dissatisfied with the decision, but the situation presented no alternative. He and his wingman turned south, reconnected with Zvezda 6 flight and climbed above the clouds. A short, silent flight over the mountains ended the only minutes-long dogfight.
It had begun to rain heavier. The windshield wipers on the little car struggled to keep the glass clear as it sped down the city streets. Andrei was once again behind the wheel, giving the car everything it could take. And with five occupants, it was almost too much. The group had left the bar and headed south, out of the city.
Yuri hadn't been able to stop talking since they left the bar. He opined about the political situation and how he saw it coming. He shared his thoughts on what the Yukes would do once they took control of the town. He pondered what the Kallugan military might do and how it would perform against the Red Juggernaut. Tanya and Andrei had been silent through most of his ramblings, but when Yuri started to talk about the people staying behind to "aid the occupiers" Tanya turned around in her seat and gave Yuri a strong look. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks stained with tears. Yuri offered a half-hearted apology and decided to comment instead on Andrei's driving.
The overloaded car soon came to a roadblock near the outskirts of the cities. A Kalugan tank stood in the middle of the road, flanked by rain soaked troops. Andrei stopped the car and rolled down the window.
"We're, uh, trying to get out of town. Why is the road blocked?"
"We're trying to keep this route clear for other troops to come in." The soldier looked almost as young as Andrei—and even more scared. He struggled to find the words to say as he squeezed the grip on his AK-47. "Um, we're telling everyone we see to go southeast."
"In the hills?" asked Yuri from the back seat.
"Yes," replied the soldier. "We think that Dimitr may be the safest place to go, so we're ordering people to go there."
Andrei glanced at his companions. "What do you think?"
"Anywhere but here," one of the friends replied.
Andrei looked at Tanya. "Might as well."
She nodded quietly. Andrei thanked the soldier and turned down the street he was directed to. They were finally leaving the inferno behind.
