PART X: London
Friday, July 21st, 2017
The Archive, Admiralty Arch
Central London, United Kingdom
07:00 GMT+1 (06:00 GMT July 21st)
Deep below London, Princess Mary had been pacing up and down her safehouse for hours and hours.
Her mind was racing with a hundred and one problems and a seemingly endless list of tasks that needed to be completed. She was also concerned about her friends in the frozen north. Therefore, she had been immensely relieved to find out that they had departed the frozen icepack just a half-hour previously. She was not alone. Joining the Princess in the bunker were the Lady Lara Cockburn and Lily O'Brien, with Isaac and MacKenzie Morley, as well as Hillary, Brad Murphy, Kendra Rhys, and Christopher Collins, and not to mention the ever-present Ginny Turner.
Later that day, Mary had a difficult task and one which would require every obnoxious skill she possessed to quite literally move heaven and earth and get someone close to her out of the city.
Thule Air Base, Greenland
03:15 GMT-3 (06:15 GMT July 21st)
The sleek jet executed a perfect landing from the west and came to a stop at the main terminal with little fanfare.
Dr Rodney Staite gave his two daughter's a reluctant hug before he followed his escort, Marc, out of the aircraft and into the cosily warm terminal building. The Royal Canadian Air Force CC-144B jet immediately took off for the short hop to Goose Bay. For Rodney, it had been a difficult few weeks and he was desperate to see his wife again which he hoped would be that very afternoon. It was an ungodly hour to be awake and it was till daylight, a fact which unnerved the man no end as it had upset his delicate in-built timeclock to a diabolical degree.
Once he had found a seat in the terminal building with his bags, he promptly began to go through his scribbled notes for the impending operation but grumbled over the choices available for hot coffee at half-past-three in the morning.
Ninety minutes out from landing
at Thule Air Base, Greenland...
United States Air Force MV-22
04:00 GMT-3 (07:00 GMT July 21st)
About half way through their flight, and some ninety minutes before they were due to land at Thule, a member of the flight crew handed Mindy a message form upon which three words were written in block capitals:
AXIS FACILITY DESTROYED
The message had originated at the White House and it allowed Mindy some relief that at the very least the Russians had not managed to seize the facility. She passed the message to Dave who sat in the next seat. The aircraft was arguably colder than the icepack which they had recently left but at least they were heading south which could only be better – couldn't it?
The aircraft was devoid of much activity as most were asleep. Mindy knew that her teams were exhausted but she also knew that they would be fighting again before the dawn of the next day came around – assuming it actually did and that the rising sun was not that of an atomic blast. Mindy shook her head to rid herself of the nasty thought and associated images. It was the endgame and either they succeeded or six cities would be crippled with great loss of life.
The weight of the world rested on her shoulders and the weight was becoming crippling.
Canadian Forces Base Goose Bay, Canada
04:00 GMT-3 (07:00 GMT July 21st)
The small executive jet touched down smoothly and taxied over to another jet which was decidedly larger in every dimension.
At the steps leading up to door No.2 on the port side of THE PHOENIX, Yvonne Porter smiled at the tired youngsters and single adult as she checked them aboard:
/ Lai, Jeremy
/ Perrin, Kaitlin
/ Perrin, Naomi
/ Millar, Annabelle
/ Lizewski, Anne-Marie
/ McKenna, Ariana
/ Bennett, Rebecca
/ Lizewski, Daniel
/ Millar, Iain
/ Staite, Lin
/ Clarkson, Rachel
/ Staite, Xiāngxìn
/ Lockwood, Frieda
Dutifully, she counted the names checked off – an even baker's dozen – and confirmed that the paperwork was all correct before she climbed the steps and went forward to the cockpit to confer with Captain Anderson. While Yvonne was busy with that task, her colleague, Julie Hiller, was seating the thirteen passengers in the midships seating area where they could all be together for the four-hour-twenty-minute flight across the North Atlantic Ocean. Despite the frigid weather outside, the aircraft was cosy and warm as the heating had been running for several hours to make the inside more palatable for their passengers.
Once airborne, breakfast would be served in the form of a buffet in the communal space in the very centre of the aircraft. It did not take all that long to get everybody seated and their baggage stowed. The main door was closed at a little after 4:40AM and the main engines were started allowing the auxiliary power unit in the tail to be shutdown. At 4:50AM the aircraft was pushed back from the terminal and from that point they manoeuvred under their own power.
For the young co-pilot, it was to be one of her first flights in command. Arya was not nervous in any way as her father had trained her well and she knew everything she needed to know about the giant jetliner. With a flick of a switch, she was able to check the area around the aircraft via the cameras fitted in the tail and underside of the aircraft. The small tug which had pushed them back from the terminal building had been disconnected and could be seen in the underside camera as it drove off, turning left away from the main runway. Arya ran through several items on the checklist involving movement of the tailplane, rudder, and ailerons. Then she pressed the radio button on her control column.
"Tower, November Zulu, ready to taxi. Over."
"November Zulu, taxi to zero-eight and hold. Over."
"November Zulu, taxi to zero-eight and hold. November Zulu out," Arya responded as she released the parking brakes and under her father's watchful eyes, she pushed the twin throttles forward with her left hand.
Her eyes checked outside for any obstacles or moving objects while her father did the same for his side of the aircraft. Several minutes later, they were lined up at the end of the longest runway and as they completed the final pre-take-off checklist, they awaited permission to take-off.
"November Zulu, you are cleared for take-off on zero-eight. Have a good flight. Tower out."
"November Zulu copies: cleared for take-off on zero-eight. Thank you."
With that, the wheel brakes were released and the throttles pushed fully forward. At exactly 5:00AM, local time, the Boeing 777-300ER executive jet thundered down the runway, the powerful engines pushed the giant aircraft forwards at ever increasing speeds until they hit V1 and Arya gently eased back on the control column, lifting the nose wheel off the ground and the wing leading edge bit deeply into the thick air and the main undercarriage left the tarmac. They continued to climb at a steep thirty-degree angle, the undercarriage rising into place within the fuselage. At twenty-thousand feet, Arya pushed the control column forwards to level the aircraft off and she eased back on the throttles.
"Autopilot on," she commanded.
Reg leaned forwards from his seat and he set the autopilot.
"Autopilot engaged."
The aircraft adopted a low-angle climb and a left-handed bank which would bring it onto an easterly course for London. Arya checked her displays for any cautionary warnings but found none. She then looked over at her father.
"Well?"
"Not bad, my girl!" Reg commented proudly. "Now, I am going aft to check on our passengers."
"Have fun," Arya grinned happily as she adjusted her seat slightly for a more comfortable position.
Captain Reg Anderson released his harness and stood up, stretching for a moment before he patted his daughter on the shoulder and then pushed open the cockpit door.
..._...
Yvonne smiled at Reg as she handed him a steaming mug of coffee.
"How are our passengers?" Reg asked.
"Not as rowdy as usual," Yvonne replied. "Most of them are worried about their friends and family."
"That would be understandable."
Reg walked the length of the forward fuselage before crossing over the wing and into the midships seating area. Yvonne was right. Even the usually bubbly and very annoying Kaitlin was looking gloomy.
"Hi, guys!" he said.
Kaitlin grinned but not like she usually did. It was much the same for the other children and the single adult, Rachel, simply grimaced.
"We have four hours or so in the air, so get some food and then let yourselves relax. Find something to do – that does not threaten the safety of the aircraft, Kaitlin."
Kaitlin giggled and Reg could see a little of the normally rebellious girl surfacing.
Thule Air Base, Greenland
05:30 GMT-3 (08:30 GMT July 21st)
As was usual, the landing of the MV-22 Osprey was decidedly noisy but when the two engines in their nacelles were shutdown, a blessed silence descended on the four aircraft.
When Mindy walked down the rear ramp of the tilt-rotor aircraft, she found Dr Rodney Staite striding towards her followed by a grinning Marc. Mindy met the man who seemed not overly happy with the early hour.
"About time!" Rodney declared. "Do you know how long I have been waiting? The coffee was abominable and the only other drink available was lemon juice!"
"Sorry, Dr Staite," Mindy grinned. "We got here as soon as we could."
"I..."
"Rodney!"
Dr Staite turned to see Dr Staite running towards him. The man dropped his bags and he ran to meet his wife, wrapping her in a bearhug.
"Am I ever so happy to see you," Rodney said as he hugged his wife.
Mindy watched for a minute before her attention was drawn to shouting, two aircraft over and as she moved closer, she realised that it was Charlotte.
"Jake! Has anyone seen Jake? JAKE!"
Charlotte was running in and out of each of the four aircraft and yelling the same words inside and outside each.
"What the fuck is going on, Charlie!?" Mindy demanded as Dave grabbed the girl who seemed in borderline hysterics.
"I can't find Jake – he's not on any of the Ospreys," Charlotte said through the beginnings of tears.
"He's gotta be here," Mindy said but her mind told her otherwise.
Ten minutes later, it was confirmed – the boy was not onboard any of the aircraft and nobody could remember seeing him board or for that matter when they last saw him. Immediately, a message was dispatched to the Paras who were still in the Arctic to look out for the boy, just in case he may have been amongst them. Mindy was appalled with herself for allowing the boy to have been missed. Everyone was tired and now mistakes were being made but this was not something left behind, this was someone; a person for fuck's sake!
As they completed the transfer of their equipment onto the Royal Air Force C-17A Globemaster III waiting for them on the tarmac, there was a dramatic lack of morale present.
05:50 GMT+3 (08:50 GMT July 21st)
The launch of the giant transport was not as exciting as some had wanted it to be as the mood was dampened by the discover that their colleague was missing.
However, everyone aboard knew that there was a mission ahead, so most got down to the task of cleaning their equipment and ensuring that their weapons were ready for their next use which could very well be on the streets of London – a sobering thought!
Almost as soon as the aircraft had reached cruising height on a south-easterly course, Marty and Eric had dug out their equipment and they had gone back to work decrypting the final data which would allow them to locate and defuse the devices presumed to be scattered around the British capital city.
London Stansted Airport
09:20 GMT+1 (12:20 GMT July 21st)
Under the guidance of Arya, the heavily-modified Boeing 777-300ER thudded down on the main runway and was escorted over to the far side of the airport where a familiar helicopter awaited them.
The next hour was spent unloading critical supplies from THE PHOENIX and loading them aboard NIGHTSHADE. Once all the supplies were aboard and strapped down securely, all thirteen passengers were waved aboard the heavily armed NIGHTSHADE by Goshawk and ushered into seats by Chief. Once all were aboard and securely strapped into their seats, Goshawk returned to the cockpit and Scorpion restarted the still-warm engines and just a few minutes later, NIGHTSHADE lifted off, dipped her nose and turned southwest for central London.
The flight ahead of them would last just fourteen minutes.
Thirty Nautical Miles North of Iceland...
10:20 GMT+0 (10:20 GMT July 21st)
Ninety minutes into the flight, a crewman walked aft to announce that they had just crossed the Arctic Circle and then he pointed out of the windows on either side of the aircraft.
As Dave turned to look to port, he was almost shocked to see an aircraft flying so close that the wingtips must have been just inches apart. Even more shocking was a second aircraft beyond the first that appeared to be overlapping the first. The pair of F-15C Eagle fighters belonged to the 48th Fighter wing of the United States Air Force and had launched from RAF Lakenheath in England just forty-five minutes earlier and then refuelled from a Boeing KC-135R Stratotanker over Scotland before joining up with the C-17A over Iceland. Both aircraft bristled with white-painted missiles. Out to starboard, a very different aircraft was visible – two in fact. They belonged to No.1 Squadron Royal Air Force and were a pair of Typhoon FGR.4 fighters based at RAF Lossiemouth in Scotland from where they had launched thirty minutes earlier and they too had tanked over Stornoway from an RAF Voyager tanker before joining up. The four aircraft would be their escort all the way to London.
It was a refreshing sight as there was a concern that despite their success in the Arctic, the Axis of Evil would step up their attacks to hamper any attempts to thwart their planned nuclear Armageddon.
12:10 GMT+1 (11:10 GMT July 21st)
Understandably, the rough ride in cramped and cold conditions was not the best arrangements for the uber geeks to be operating in but they did not complain.
Marty and Eric sat in their inward facing seats, their computer equipment arrayed upon a pair of large cargo boxes. Several cables connected them to the aircraft's power systems and various external storage devices. The entire fate of the world rested on their shoulders as they fought to decrypt the details for the London devices. It had already been agreed that the take down of the remaining eleven devices would have to occur simultaneously, otherwise . . . actually, 'otherwise' was simply unthinkable.
They had been at it for hours and to be honest, they did not have much to show for themselves. The London data and been amongst the very last to have been downloaded from the failing server farm and there appeared to be some data corruption which needed to be repaired before they could properly extract the required data. It was a painstakingly slow task which the travelling conditions were not helping in any way. Mindy was one of those conditions as she could not help herself when it came to checking on progress. Indeed, at one point, Marty had not-so-politely suggested that Mindy go sit on the tailplane! Mindy had therefore gone to badger the flight crew to see if the transport could fly any faster.
As mentioned, Marty was not in the best of moods and every time the damn aircraft hit some turbulence and caused the beast to drop a dozen feet the drop caused Marty to utter words normally only heard from the foul mouth of Hit Girl herself. However, he knew the stakes and he pushed through the problems and distractions, be they Mindy or turbulence. But finally, after so many hours of painstaking data recovery, he began to smile.
"Dakota – go get Mindy!"
Dakota dutifully unstrapped and she headed forwards to where a ladder led up to the cockpit. She found Mindy descending said ladder, her expression dark.
"It won't go any faster," Dakota grinned.
"It will with one less person on board," Mindy pointed out, as she pointedly studied the hatch behind Dakota.
Dakota smiled at the 'joke'. "Marty wants you."
"Does he?" Mindy growled as she stalked off down the cargo bay.
Her mood lifted slightly as she saw Marty smiling.
..._...
Mindy took a vacant seat beside Marty.
"What have you got?" she almost bellowed over the noise of the aircraft.
"We've been able to recover the vast majority of the data and we are decrypting the deactivation codes for the London devices."
"You have the locations?"
"We have three of them – but the fourth and fifth are badly degraded and we are struggling to extract the locations; but we do have the deactivation codes which are decrypting now."
"Maybe we should have kept that bastard, Ransom, alive," Mindy muttered wistfully.
"Did someone mention Ransom?" a voice chimed in.
Mindy turned to find Electra just inches away.
"Do the words 'personal space' mean anything to you?" Mindy asked rhetorically as Electra simply shrugged
"Electra," Stephanie grinned as she saw her friend.
"What do you want?" Mindy persisted.
"Is there a problem?" Electra asked cannily.
Mindy scowled. She knew that the youngster was up to something, just not what.
"We're missing some data and we could do with having someone to torture."
"Well, oh purple one, aren't you lucky you have us," Electra responded.
"Us?" Mindy asked dubiously as Abigail appeared from behind a giant pile of kit. "What have you two done?"
"It was her idea," Abigail responded quickly. "We kind of brought a stowaway onboard."
"Would that be the big crate over there?" Mindy asked as she glared over at the crate which the dubious pair had been guarding ever since they had left the icepack.
Mindy had assumed it to be looted weapons or something like that but she had not expected it to be anything like what was on display as the hatch at one end was opened.
..._...
Raymond Ransom was not a pretty sight.
His clothing – what was left of it – was bloody and evidenced his beating and torture at the hands of Electra and Abigail. His fingertips were exhibiting signs of frostbite and it was fairly obvious that the man had not eaten in many hours. Indeed, he also stank of urine, a smell which the all-but-airtight crate had kept concealed. His left eye was barely visible beneath a copious amount of swelling and dried blood. The rest of the man's face was puffed up, evidence of many punches. Stephanie glared at the two girls before she looked up at Mindy and simply shrugged.
"We were looking for a punchbag but he was all we could find," Abigail tried.
"Lame," Stephanie pointed out. "The missing fingers?"
Mindy looked closer and she could see that the man's right hand had a thumb but that was it.
"I think we might have dropped them somewhere," Electra grinned.
"What have I created?" Stephanie muttered.
"Get him out," Mindy directed and she enjoyed the sight of the man being hauled out and obviously in a lot of pain.
"Let's..."
Without warning, a loud whooping sound was heard coming from the cockpit and then a dozen loud cracks were heard from the aft end of the aircraft as a dozen flares and chaff packets were dispensed from the AN/ALE-47 dispenser automatically by the AN/AAR-47 countermeasures system fitted to the outside skin of the aircraft. Then the aircraft banked hard to port causing Ransom, Mindy, Electra, and Abigail to fall to the floor, all of them scrambling for something to hang onto – not easy for Ransom with only one good hand. With a roar of racing jet turbines, the gigantic aircraft pitched downwards and accelerated before it banked hard to the right and then pitched up before it banked hard to the left. More loud cracks were heard as more flares and chaff bundles were ejected into the air around the wildly manoeuvring aircraft.
As she was thrown around the aircraft, Mindy thought she knew what the cracks were and the whooping sounds coming from the cockpit, and why the aircraft was manoeuvring so violently.
..._...
The four fighter aircraft had tipped over and dived the very moment their own threat receivers had gone wild, thus giving the ungainly giant transport aircraft space to manoeuvre.
Whatever the immediate threat was, they were all at risk as they fought to avoid being blasted out of the sky. Very quickly, the computer systems aboard the fighters identified a fire control radar tracking the C-17A. The computers told them it was a Russian 4R33 Baza surface-to-air missile control radar known to NATO as the Pop Group radar system which in turn was known to control the SA-N-4 Gecko SAM. That missile was dangerous up to thirty-nine thousand feet with a range of some eight nautical miles and a closing speed of some eleven-hundred knots which was Mach two territory. The three-metre missile itself was relatively dumb and relied on the guidance radar which, thankfully, could only focus on a single target at a time. The two Typhoon FGR.4 fighters tipped over and dived for the ocean below. They knew that they could not be attacked while the C-17A was the primary target, so they switched on their CAPTOR radars and scanned the ocean below them.
"Tally Ho!" Ascot One-One announced. "We have a Nanuchka III corvette, six miles."
"Engaging with Brimstone," Ascot One-Two responded as the pilot levelled out and targeted a trio of air-to-surface missiles at the six-hundred tonne corvette.
Above the fighters, the single SA-N-4 missile went wild as the numerous clouds of chaff confused the Cold War missile guidance radar, and the corvette suddenly found itself manoeuvring for its own life and the jammers on the Typhoon FGR.4 fighters ensured that the fire control radar was unable to lock onto them.
"Bruiser! I say again: bruiser!" Ascot One-Two called over the radio to indicate his launching of the Brimstone missiles.
The millimetric radar of the Brimstones locked onto the accelerating corvette and the missiles bore in until one was destroyed by the vessel's AK-630 close-in-weapons system which spat out thirty-millimetre rounds at over four-thousand rounds-per-minute. The two remaining missiles struck the corvette on the starboard side and detonated. The conflagration which resulted gave the crew much more to think about and the five aircraft soon reformed and continued their flight south towards London.
"What the motherfuck was that all about!" Mindy exclaimed as she picked herself up from where she had landed at the feet of a Royal Marine who had made to assist Mindy but her expression had made the man flinch and worry about his physical safety. "Were we just shot at?"
A crewman came aft and nodded. "A Russian corvette fired a SAM at us – one of the Typhoons killed it."
"Looks like the Russians don't want us to reach London alive," Dave commented.
"Considering they've wanted to nuke London a hundred times over since the end of World War II, it's not all that surprising," Dakota commented.
"Okay, now that nobody's trying to kill us for the next few minutes," Mindy growled. "Where is that cunt?"
Two Royal Marines held up the very unhappy and badly hurt Ransom who appeared to have gained some fresh bruising from his being thrown around the aircraft during the attack.
..._...
Mindy dragged the man aft.
She stopped just before the huge hinge of the lower door. Then she waved at a crew chief who placed an intercom headset on Ransom's head and then nodded at Mindy.
"I want to know where the bombs are," Mindy hissed over the discrete intercom circuit. "You will tell me or what you have already suffered will feel like a fucking summer holiday!"
Ransom looked at the woman whom he had humiliated and whose daughter he had threatened. He knew that he would probably not survive the flight. The pain which already wracked his body was horrendous and like nothing he had ever experienced.
"There is nothing that you can do to me...," he began but then he stopped speaking as a badly bruised Todd Ransom, his wrists secured by plastic zip-ties, was pushed down the length of the aircraft by Stephanie. "Todd..."
"Tell them what they need to know, Dad," the boy shouted over the noise in the aircraft, his eyes full of tears as he took in the sorry state of his father.
"You dropped my daughter into the Arctic Ocean," Mindy said conversationally. "My daughter would quite happily drop your son into the North Sea."
Ransom knew that he could hold out for some time against fists and worse, but for the bitch to use his son – whom he had thought dead, as a bargaining chip was...
"I can't – it goes against..."
The fist struck the man in the side of his face and two teeth flew out of his mouth amidst a cloud of blood. Mindy then punched the man in the side, breaking a rib.
"You tell me what I want to know, and I promise that your son will survive this day to live his life. His death will not be at my hands, but..."
"Waterloo Station," Ransom spat through his damaged mouth.
"Oh, my dear Ransom, you need to do better than that," Dakota stated as she rammed a fist into the man's opposite side breaking a second rib – we know about that one."
Ransom eyed Stephanie who stood beside his son, a large fighting knife in her right hand and a polishing stone in her left which she ran up and down the perfect edge of the blade which shone under the fluorescent lights of the giant cargo bay. Ransom's mind told him that his son was going to die if he did not give away the locations of the nuclear devices placed around the British capital city.
"The Ministry of Defence."
Marty nodded – it was a new one, and it made four confirmed locations. Now they just needed the final location.
"Royal Albert Hall," Ransom spat and he felt intense relief as he watched the girl stow the fighting knife and he watched as his son was led to a seat and strapped in place.
Mindy grinned as Marty stuck up a thumb and then five digits. However, before they could do anything with their new information, a crewman came down from the cockpit and waved everyone into their seats.
"We're coming under attack," the man shouted over the sound of the engines.
"Crap!" Mindy growled as she ran to her seat and strapped in.
The aircraft then began to dive.
..._...
An RAF Boeing E-3D Sentry AEW.1 was cruising at an altitude of 35,000-feet, somewhere over central England.
It's rotating radar dome scanned for hundreds of miles in every direction and its controllers had identified a threat coming in very fast over the North Sea. As one radio operator notified the QRA flight at RAF Lossiemouth, another notified the escorting fighter aircraft.
"For Ascot flight. For Vortex flight. This is Sentry One-Zero-One. Fast moving bandits at angels twenty, bearing zero-eight-five, speed over Mach two. Lossiemouth QRA committed. Ascot flight designate back stop. Vortex flight vector zero-eight-five, buster, repeat, buster. Ascot flight. Vortex flight. Weapons free."
The message from the Sentry was simple: there was an inbound enemy at twenty-thousand feet altitude travelling at over Mach two (twice the speed of sound) coming from the east. As a result, the Quick Reaction Alert fighters (two Typhoons) had been launched from RAF Lossiemouth to intercept. Ascot flight was designated as the 'back stop' which meant that they would ensure that they were always between the C-17 transport and the danger while Vortex flight was ordered to intercept the inbound bandits at 'buster' which meant to use full power and break the sound barrier. That was an expensive order as it burned a huge amount of fuel in a short space of time and often broke windows on the ground below them as the aircraft crashed through the sound barrier and was reserved for emergency situations. Finally, the weapons free order meant that any of the escorting aircraft could engage at will and fire their missiles as they thought fit.
After a brief radio acknowledgment, the pilots of the two American F-15C Eagles pushed their throttles forward into full military power and then through stage one thrust augmentation which ignited their afterburners and onto stage five as they turned in the direction of the inbound bandits, each pilot arming his four AIM-120D AMRAAM missiles and four AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles. As for the C-17 transport, known as Husky Zero-One, the pilots onboard continued onwards, deviating slightly to the west away from the inbound attackers. Ascot flight, consisting of the two British Typhoons setup a combat air patrol, some fourteen nautical miles to the east of the transport, the two aircraft circling in a large oval pattern several miles long to cover the C-17.
It was another minute before the inbound bandits were identified.
..._...
The American pilot in Vortex Zero-One had his aircraft's giant AN/APG-70 radar scanning ahead of him and very soon, the first bandit appeared at the top of his screen.
Not long afterwards, his electronic countermeasures identified the radar of the inbound bandits – it was bad news; very bad news! The BRLS-8B Zaslon radar was unique and carried by just one aircraft.
"Sentry One-Zero-One, Vortex Zero-One, we have detected Flash Dance radar ahead. Designating inbound bandits as Foxhound. Currently, just one . . . correction, make that two Foxhounds."
The Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-31BM was a supersonic interceptor aircraft with the NATO reporting name of Foxhound. Among the fastest fighter jets in the world, the aircraft was built in the latter quarter of the previous century. The aircraft was big and carried two crew – a pilot and a weapons systems officer. It was an older aircraft but still a formidable foe and one the F-15C had originally been designed to destroy. Even more worrying than the giant radar which could be jammed and was susceptible to decoys at long range, were the missiles with which the aircraft was known to be armed.
"Tally on bandit!" Vortex Zero-Two announced as he caught sight of the sun reflecting on the inbound aircrafts' canopies. "I count two bandits and I confirm Foxhounds."
The pilot in Vortex Zero-One grimaced and he turned to attack, giving the enemy aircraft a last chance to change their minds. Then a horn sounded inside his cockpit accompanied by a flashing red light which had the pilot pressing the launch button on his stick, sending a launch signal to two of the four AIM-120D AMRAAM missiles which hung under his wings. Both missiles launched just two seconds after the lead inbound aircraft had launched a pair of Bisnovat R-40D long-range missiles, known as the AA-6 Acrid to NATO, which had accelerated to over Mach four. Both Eagle fighters tipped over and dove for the ground below in an attempt to confuse the missiles, leaving clouds of chaff and exploding flares in their wake. The two missiles dove after the American fighters, the distance closing by the second.
Then the two fighters split, dumping more chaff and flares as they turned back towards the inbound Russian Foxhounds.
..._...
A hundred miles to the west, Ascot flight carefully watched the weaving aircraft via a datalink from the airborne Sentry aircraft.
The F-15C Eagles were super manoeuvrable and the first pair of inbound air-to-air missiles fired by the Russians missed their targets as did the missiles fired by the Americans. The Russian pilots were not overly amused at being fired upon and they scanned the sky ahead of them with their powerful Zaslon radars, searching for their primary target. It was not hard to get a paint off the giant transport moving north to south, right to left, at thirty-thousand feet of altitude. Then the odds of the Boeing C-17A Globemaster III, and of those aboard, surviving to reach London suddenly became remarkably thin as the pilot of the lead MiG-31 Foxhound reached down to arm the first of his four giant Vympel R-33 (NATO: AA-9 Amos) air-to-air missiles each of which was over four metres long and weighed in at almost forty-eight-kilogrammes. With a squeeze of the trigger, the missile dropped free from the belly of the Foxhound and then the rocket motor ignited, pushing the missile forwards and accelerating to Mach six. With a second squeeze of the trigger, a second missile dropped free, and then a third, and a fourth. It was a nightmare scenario as four missiles raced through the air towards destiny and the C-17 transport.
Aboard the second Foxhound, the launch of four more missiles from hell was aborted as two AIM-120D AMRAAM missiles homed in on the Russian fighter before their computer-controlled brain identified that a target was close by and triggered the eighteen-kilogramme warhead, sending shrapnel exploding out in all directions. The spreading shrapnel struck the port side of the Foxhound shredding the port air intake and taking out both crew members before several pieces of hot metal tore into the port Soloviev D-30F6 afterburning turbofan engine which detonated, converting the expensive aircraft into a cloud of small parts flying in an ever expanding formation.
That still left four missiles boring through the air at Mach six in a semi-active state, relying on their launch aircraft for guidance until final acquisition.
..._...
Ascot flight could not fire at the remaining Foxhound due to the proximity of the two American fighters.
The sophisticated CAPTOR radar struggled to track the inbound missiles due to the incredible closure speed but Ascot Zero-Two engaged full afterburner for his two Eurojet EJ200 low-bypass turbofans and the sleek delta-winged jet accelerated to Mach one point six in just seconds as the pilot sought out the closest missile. There! The PIRATE (Passive Infrared Airborne Track Equipment) system locked onto the intense heat bloom caused by the Russian missile boring holes in the air at six times the speed of sound and the pilot triggered the twenty-seven-millimetre Mauser BK27 cannon buried deep in the starboard wing root as the missile came into range.
The cannon spat forth shell after shell at a rate of over one-thousand per minute. The Typhoon carried one-hundred-and-fifty rounds and six of the shells struck the inbound missile at over thirty-six-hundred feet-per-second, just before the cannon fell silent, the kinetic energy alone detonating the hefty warhead and destroying the missile, the shrapnel from which committed fratricide as a second missile was destroyed. But that still left two lethal missiles closing in and switching to the unstoppable terminal active radar homing just as their launch aircraft was blasted apart by a single AMRAAM missile. With no rounds left, Ascot Zero-Two came around hard, liberally lacing the air with chaff and flares in a vain attempt to decoy one or both of the missiles.
Aboard Ascot Zero-One, the pilot, Squadron Leader Pat Calder made to engage the missiles in the same manner as his wingman but they were coming in too fast and there was no way for him to get into position in time and the missiles were flying six times faster than his cannon shells would leave the muzzle. His mind made numerous attempts at finding a solution that resulted in the survival of the C-17 but each time, the C-17 was shot down in flames. There was but a single option and it was not an option which he would normally select without careful thought but there was just seconds, if that, to act, and he knew the potential consequences should Husky Zero-One not reach London.
Ascot Zero-Two saw his flight leader execute a high-G turn to starboard and then with an increasingly heavy heart, he realised what Ascot Zero-One was about to do as his eyes and brain calculated the trajectory of the missiles and the Typhoon which was passing Vmax and approaching Mach two just two seconds before the inevitable occurred. Then the pilot of Ascot Zero-One made his final radio call as the two remaining Russian missiles closed on him and he made the supreme sacrifice; one life to preserve many.
"Godspeed, Husky Zero-One..."
The aircrew of the C-17 and the pilot of Ascot Zero-Two looked on in open horror as the hugely expensive Eurofighter Typhoon FGR.4 came apart in a fiery cloud of debris and destruction as Mach six met Mach two while not only claiming the life of a fellow airman but also taking out the two inbound R-33 missiles.
..._...
The pair of United States Air Force F-15C Eagle fighters rejoined and took up formation to starboard of the Royal Air Force C-17A Globemaster III transport.
It was blatantly obvious to the two American pilots that one of the Royal Air Force Typhoon jets was missing and it was also obvious what had happened and how the transport was still flying despite the odds. Any member of any military had great respect for any fellow sailor, soldier, or airman who gave their life in combat to secure a target or to save lives.
It was also blatantly obvious that even national borders were not a deterrent for enemy forces when it came to preventing the arrival in London of the combined forces team carried aboard the transport aircraft. Indeed, the Government and the Ministry of Defence began to deploy enhanced air defences around London and along the east coast to counter any further incursions.
Aboard the transport, every passenger, be they vigilante or marine, was concerned for their well-being. Twice they had been attacked since departing the Arctic, and even over home-soil (for some) they were still being hounded. They all knew that it would take but a single lucky shot for them all to die in a horrible fashion much akin to the pilot who had given his life just minutes before. Mindy sat brooding. She was worried about her friends and family and who may or may not survive the fight that night, in cities across the planet. She looked across the aircraft to where her oldest daughter was seated between Abigail and Electra – the three girls deep in conversation about something or other. Mindy missed her other children whom she knew were even then flying towards London and the fight of their young lives. Maybe she should have sent them far away to safety, but if the operation failed, then nowhere would be safe.
Chloe was seated a short distance down the aircraft with Eric. Like Mindy, Chloe was also concerned about her daughter but there was one who would forever be on her mind no matter what happened. As she thought back over the adventures which had led them to where they were at that moment, she thought of how it had all started. The four of them had ended up on a boat heading into Cambodia. While the river cruise had been fairly enjoyable, the walk through the jungle had been an experience to remember. But then had come the hardship of captivity despite their borderline success at getting their man out. The cruelty and torture which they had endured had been bad but through it all, he had been there. Then had come their escape – two escapes, actually – before freedom and then a surprisingly enjoyable cruise to meet up with Mindy who had managed (again) to turn what should have been a simple trans-continental drive into a running battle. Taking down the Sicilians had meant a lot but then had come Africa. The Sahara Desert had been hard and not all of them had come back in one piece while one would never return.
For Chloe Bennett, AKA Shadow, a very difficult decision had to be made – assuming they all survived to return home.