"This stealth business will kill us commandant!" General Bankole, Commander in Chief of European forces, roared as he berated General Weber for his losses. "You cannot receive such losses at this stage of the game! With the United Kingdom cutting into our flight lanes we are having troubles reinforcing you!"
It was Webers fault the Americans had gotten good at this game? The German man seethed inwardly at being berated by a French. "You said you had plans to neutralize the British threat!" Weber hissed back over wishing that he actually could speak with Bankole face to face and not over a video uplink. By god, he was lucky to even have a video uplink! He'd thoughtfully sent in requests for spare power generators to be brought in and they had arrived conveniently before the attack, now the command center and control towers in Keflavik were running again, but the civilian engineers woefully stated it would take months and money for the real power plant to become operational again.
The United States had plunged Iceland into electrical darkness, and becoming accustomed to flying in Iceland's 21 hour sunlight had made Weber's pilots ill prepared for night flights, which now with the Americans knocking out the east sides main radar center they would be sure to attack at night.
His SAMs had been savaged, out of the twenty missiles he had, only four remained. Four! He'd put in request for more but for some reason European French Parliament felt it wise to move those SAMs up to the Northern French border- as if the United Kingdom had the manpower and resources to launch strikes against the entirety of the mainland! Norway was flying in what assets they had, six new SAMs were already on their way but they were subject to endless raids by the Royal Air Force and their American built F-35 lightnings, Norwegian pilots would constantly be fighting to their destination at Keflavik and back. This whole business with the British could end the entire Iceland operation! When would Bankole end that problem?
"The British are being dealt with as we speak, we've begun raiding the southern island with fighter bombers." Bankole noted. Weber leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He hoped the French bastard knew how pissed he was. "and we are transferring units to the front to ready the invasion."
"However-" he said before Weber could speak "if the Americans neutralize Iceland they can reinforce the British position and halt our efforts! Understand Commandant Weber, the british have a fine history of winning against anything that decides to engage them over the channel. Do not let the Americans take your positions, the fate of Europe rests in your hands!"
Dammit! If Weber's position was of such importance then maybe he could get resupplied? No, the Frenchman wouldn't bother helping out his brothers in Iceland. Weber seethed and cut the video and went outside to survey the airfield once again. Lorries and steam rollers were busy paving over the craters in the runways and were making good progress. The Enforcer Corp Commander, Colonel Diego of the 27th Paratroops had volunteered his entire battalion to aid in the repair efforts.
"Finally, it gives my troops something to do." Diego had said just a few hours earlier as he directed the repair efforts. Weber understood, even in the air force discipline must remain tight. Elite troops like Paratrooper Kommandos were not good for holding an island and civilian population such as this. They were meant for offense, for action, not for loafing around guarding a people that had no spark of rebellion in them. Elite troops without an enemy to fight grew bored and mischevious. Weber had heard of a few incidents with the civilian population already. But that was not of Weber's concern.
He had to protect those troops from the air threat and he would do that with the resources he had. He spread the remaining SAMS and guns around on the hilltops and doubled the combat air patrol eight fighters would fly in racetrack pattern circles around the island and he ordered Rejavik's airfield to do the same. The mobile radar site was finally up and running and would be helicopter lifted to the highest mountain to help counter that low level flying nonsense that the RAF used to dodge under the scope. But one other thing bothered him, the American bombers sent in had been loaded with cluster munitions and laser guided bombs and the raptors were not equipped with such infrared lasers necessary to guide bombs in. That meant foot troops. There were enemy commandos on the island but it would be up to Diego to sniff them out. Diego had already responded by doubling the helicopter patrols and extending their patrol raidius. Two helicopters would now be sortieing every three hours. No one could hide from the Enforcers for long.
"Down and freeze!" Dunn shouted at the head of the patrol. The SEALs did just that, dropping onto the rocky surface and not moving to attempt to blend in with the surroundings. Lieutenant Dean saw why in just a few moments. Two Enforcer Cheetah gunships cycled into view, their helicopter rotors chop-chop-chopping maybe two miles from them. Accompanying them was a Gadfly troop transport chopper, that could hold an entire rifle platoon or a small howitzer, either one was bad news for the SEALs.
If the gunships left anything of them that is.
"Shit." Sanchez hissed and unslung his MR-C rifle and activated the guncamera. Dean hissed at Sanchez to turn it off and cover the glass, sunlight glinting off the lense was not ideal right now. Dean could see the forty millimeter cannon jutting out from the chins of the gunships and the twin rocketpods under them were capable of killing tanks with high explosive missiles. They were not good for Dean's rifle squad caught out in the open. Dean prayed the camouflage worked as the gunships slowly turned towards their position and came towards them…
"There!" the cheetah's copilot shouted "Ten degrees to the left."
"Got it. At least these patrols aren't a total waste." The pilot nodded and flipped the master arm switch and made sure the weapon was functioning. "Cleared to fire."
The copilot took control of the 40mm and set it for a five round burst with a single pull of the trigger. He lined up the sights on the small target hiding in the rocks hoping to blend in and squeezed.
The burping sound of the 40 millimeter almost made Dean jump and fire but he held it in realizing that the shots hadn't been aimed at him and he turned painfully slowly to see who the gunship had targeted.
A mountain goat tumbled down from the rocks a 40 millimeter round had exploded its head like a water balloon smearing the rocks with red blood. The Gadfly hovered overhead and a squad of riflemen rapelled down to retrieve their trophy. They cleaned and skinned the goat right there and hoisted it up and entered after their prize. The three helos dipped forward and flew away as quick as they came. Only when they were out of earshot did Dean attempt to breathe again.
"Too close." Wong whispered.
"Far too close." PFC Coyle agreed.
"Okay screw orders we're sticking to the rocks a bit more." Dean said and pointed to an outcrop that would provide a good piece of cover.
"Where are we headed now skipper?" Sanchez asked. Dean pulled out the map.
"here, hill 188, this overlooks the airport from the other side of where we were."
"its forty miles of rough terrain." Sanchez scowled a moment.
"better get moving then." Dean hitched his pack higher on his shoulders and lead the way, rifle safety flipped off.
"General Quarters, all hands to action stations, sub action port." Brown sounded for what was the fifty seventh time on this nine day voyage. He'd been counting. The USS Davy Crockett sprang to action once again a little wearier every time. How long would it be before someone slipped and people died?
None of the merchantmen had been killed yet but the Euro subs were getting closer and closer to nailing one all the time. And that torpedo that had just past him came far too close to comfort. It was only a ten yard miss that passed aft and ran out of fuel. He'd been on the edge of the torpedoes range and he'd been lucky it didn't ping his ship.
"Ship is ready sir." The XO said. "hatchet is in the air."
Garcia on the weapons console directed the ASW helo down the torpedoes bearing, with luck they might be able to nail him. Brown directed his ship to move closer to the Merchantmen, the better to protect them. Malloy dipped his sonar into the water-again and Marcus listened again. he went out to fifty miles and dropped a line of sonobuoys, he made MAD passes anything to find a submarine-nothing. The area of ocean they passed over was notoriously rugged with channels plateaus and canyons for a sub to hide in for eternity; perfect cover against a sub hunting expert like "hatchet" Malloy.
Two more british ASW helos formed up with them, callsigns "Scepter" and "Highlander" and joined the search. They didn't pick up anything.
"Bloody bastard hell." Highlander cursed in a thick Irish Brogue.
"Fuckin A." Malloy agreed, it was always frustrating when a submarine got away because they knew it would come back to haunt them later and this Task Force couldn't take any losses. Any one sub that got away meant a potential death dealer for a ship in the fleet sometime in the future.
"Let's call it a day." Marcus sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. They'd been at this for over two hours now without any sort of contact. "This is getting ridiculous."
"alright, good try anyway boys." Malloy said and turned the Seahawk around. Just from this Task force he'd already gotten nearly a hundred hours of combat time, and in less than an hour of those he'd made kills. There were two subs painted on the hull of his helicopter; he knew he was good. Sometimes though those submarines were better and it was just so frustrating that malloy couldn't see that-
Something glinted off in the distance. Malloy blinked and idled the helo.
"the hell?" Marcus nudged his copilot. "what are you just sitting around for?"
"Hang on." Malloy said and squinted his eyes were dead from looking into the sun too many times but maybe just maybe-there there it was again, a metallic glint far off to the northeast. "Hey get some eyeballs out there. Malloy physically pointed at where he saw the contact and angled the helicopter so that Marcus could get a better look. The copilot broke out his binoculars and peered through.
"I don't see nothin- wait. There's something out there."
Malloy checked his fuel, good for another two hours and then he'd have to turn back. He swung the helicopter down the bearing and shrugged off the British requests. Soon the other two helos were following him lagging six miles behind.
"Crockett, this is Tomahawk we have a visual contact on bearing one one two we're going to check it out." Marcus radioed back to the Davy Crockett.
"Copy that Tomahawk, we are moving to your current mark now."
Marcus peered through the binoculars again, searching the horizon for-
There was a ship out there, judging from the length of the water contrail lines behind it it was going maybe twenty knots? Fast and getting away too.
"I've got a visual, it's a ship. Looks like a little patrol boat way out here." Malloy nudged the stick forward to quicken the pace it took ten minutes for Marcus to reestablish the contact-
"Look at those lines on her dude, that ain't American or British. Its too curvy." Marcus said as he peered through the binoculars. "That's a Euroboat!" Malloy was back on the radio in a heartbeat.
"Crockett this is Hatchet we have a confirmed blueboat contact on current bearing, it's a torpedo boat sir!"
"that's the bastard that tried to pop us one earlier." Marcus growled and flipped through the armaments, he had Two mark 37 torpedoes, subhunting torpedoes completely useless against a surface target. "Hatchet we are coming to your mark, weapons free on the blue boat if you can."
"We've got Mark thirty sevens Crockett, we can't shoot, Highlander, Scepter you have anything?"
"Negative on that." They both responded. Shit, that boat would get away if he didn't do something, anything he could outrun it but what was the point if he couldn't actually shoot it? He was letting the team down. Team? It was always the frigate and the helo that worked together to hunt subs, why couldn't they hunt surface targets? His mind raced as he went towards the patrol boat and passed it. A man on the deck cut loose with his rifle, Malloy swerved. He got an idea.
"Tomahawk! Get ready to drop a marker on the ship!" he turned as Marcus set up the drop, Malloy angled the seahawk low, nose down and high speed. Marcus called off the shots as if he were dropping a torpedo.
"Speed steady at twenty knots, elevate the nose a bit, and drop!" Marcus dropped a sonar marker down. It hit the boat but bounced off the hull and into the water where it began pinging wildly on active. "Crockett we've just dropped a marker at the blue boat we need you to-"
"I'm already on it." Captain Brown said. "good work, give me his speed and direction and we'll take it from here."