Read Online ' The Longest Night ' & ' Crossing the Rubicon ': The Original Map Illustrated and Uncut Final Volume (Armageddon's Song) by Andy Farman - Free Book Online
Authors: Andy Farman
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at Saratov West, air traffic control radar just came up, so not so deactivated after all…and now a pair of radars lifting off, probably Hind Ds.” Patricia informed her pilot. “Someone in the bunker just called for his bug-out transport to be standing by when the raid is over…we could always fox ‘em into thinking we left, then take him out with an AMRAAM?”
“He’ll have a regiment’s worth of CAP and we have just one AIM-120 remaining.” Caroline pointed out. “Which one is the premier’s helo, and which one is riding shotgun?” the pilot asked rhetorically. “We stick to the plan and hope to hell there isn’t a cab rank of killer ‘Sats’ waiting up in orbit.”
Avoiding the guns in the valley entrance by cutting the corner, skimming over the hill tops and back into the wider river valley Caroline throttled back and flew east, reducing their heat signature and economising on fuel. Major Caroline Nunro was not that type of pilot who would ever complain of having too much fuel.
As the RORSAT launched from Vandenberg came over the horizon the screens again filled with information.
“Are we good?” Caroline asked.
They still had their link to the communication satellite and the RORSAT confirmed it was feeding that with targeting data.
“We’re good!”
This wasn’t familiar terrain by any means and more than a few pilots had attempted to hug the contours only to find that the crest of the hill they thought to be the top was in fact a false summit. Forward inertia takes time to translate into a climb and many an aircraft has bellied into the earth and rock of those snares for the bold and unwary, with the controls pulled all the way back in a last instinctive act. Th ose rare, lucky ones, learned a valuable lesson, but the unlucky ones next ride was a hearse.
The RORSAT provided them with a moving map and their own precise height, speed and position. Patricia would find them the lowest and quickest way to the target from the back seat and Caroline would follow her instructions.
“Re-entrant coming up between two hilltops on the left…standby to turn…now!”
Once again the throttles opened after they banked into a hard left climbing turn.
“That’s good, hold this angle…flat ground for a mile beyond then it rises in steps to a saddle. A mile of carefree flying and then it’s all downhill from there…there’s another Mainstay lifting off from Engels but it’ll take him time to get up high enough to safe operating height.”
Caroline lowered the nose and they skimmed the saddle, shielded from radar energy by the earth until cresting its far edge.
They were the visiting team and the defenders had the home advantage. Every attack scenario had been tried and tested during regular exercises before the war, before the West knew that the East was controlling what the satellites thought they saw. They knew all the approaches and the air defence radars had ceased 360° radiation, reverting instead to covering pre-assigned arcs, quartering the ground they knew an attacker must appear from.
Immediately upon reaching the far side of the saddle the screen flared red as powerful radar painted them.
“A Tombstones got us…Favorite’s launching at ten o’clock, six miles…pop-up coming up…Five…Four…Three…Two…One!”
Getting down in the weeds was their best tactic of breaking the radars lock but they were committed now and Caroline brought them out of their shallow dive, zooming up five thousand feet like a Pheasant flushed by the beaters, presenting their least stealthy profile, flares and bundles of chaff being pumped out automatically by the Nighthawk.
“Launcher cycling…weapon away!”
Fourteen radars, the seven MiG-29s, three Tombstones and four Clamshells had them locked up, their MWS was screeching its warnings that no fewer than seventeen radar-guided missiles were in the air. Favorites, Grumbles, AA-12 Adders and AA-10 Alamos were homing in on their radar
“He’ll have a regiment’s worth of CAP and we have just one AIM-120 remaining.” Caroline pointed out. “Which one is the premier’s helo, and which one is riding shotgun?” the pilot asked rhetorically. “We stick to the plan and hope to hell there isn’t a cab rank of killer ‘Sats’ waiting up in orbit.”
Avoiding the guns in the valley entrance by cutting the corner, skimming over the hill tops and back into the wider river valley Caroline throttled back and flew east, reducing their heat signature and economising on fuel. Major Caroline Nunro was not that type of pilot who would ever complain of having too much fuel.
As the RORSAT launched from Vandenberg came over the horizon the screens again filled with information.
“Are we good?” Caroline asked.
They still had their link to the communication satellite and the RORSAT confirmed it was feeding that with targeting data.
“We’re good!”
This wasn’t familiar terrain by any means and more than a few pilots had attempted to hug the contours only to find that the crest of the hill they thought to be the top was in fact a false summit. Forward inertia takes time to translate into a climb and many an aircraft has bellied into the earth and rock of those snares for the bold and unwary, with the controls pulled all the way back in a last instinctive act. Th ose rare, lucky ones, learned a valuable lesson, but the unlucky ones next ride was a hearse.
The RORSAT provided them with a moving map and their own precise height, speed and position. Patricia would find them the lowest and quickest way to the target from the back seat and Caroline would follow her instructions.
“Re-entrant coming up between two hilltops on the left…standby to turn…now!”
Once again the throttles opened after they banked into a hard left climbing turn.
“That’s good, hold this angle…flat ground for a mile beyond then it rises in steps to a saddle. A mile of carefree flying and then it’s all downhill from there…there’s another Mainstay lifting off from Engels but it’ll take him time to get up high enough to safe operating height.”
Caroline lowered the nose and they skimmed the saddle, shielded from radar energy by the earth until cresting its far edge.
They were the visiting team and the defenders had the home advantage. Every attack scenario had been tried and tested during regular exercises before the war, before the West knew that the East was controlling what the satellites thought they saw. They knew all the approaches and the air defence radars had ceased 360° radiation, reverting instead to covering pre-assigned arcs, quartering the ground they knew an attacker must appear from.
Immediately upon reaching the far side of the saddle the screen flared red as powerful radar painted them.
“A Tombstones got us…Favorite’s launching at ten o’clock, six miles…pop-up coming up…Five…Four…Three…Two…One!”
Getting down in the weeds was their best tactic of breaking the radars lock but they were committed now and Caroline brought them out of their shallow dive, zooming up five thousand feet like a Pheasant flushed by the beaters, presenting their least stealthy profile, flares and bundles of chaff being pumped out automatically by the Nighthawk.
“Launcher cycling…weapon away!”
Fourteen radars, the seven MiG-29s, three Tombstones and four Clamshells had them locked up, their MWS was screeching its warnings that no fewer than seventeen radar-guided missiles were in the air. Favorites, Grumbles, AA-12 Adders and AA-10 Alamos were homing in on their radar
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