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 Page A
Authors: Andy Farman
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Patricia’s stomach churned as Caroline rolled hard with chaff bundles ejecting into their wake. She was taxing an airframe that was not built for aerobatics, sending them into a forty five degree dive on their egress heading, as steep as she dared take them. The Nighthawk’s twin General Electric F404 turbofans were a tried and tested design, the same engines that powered the F/A-18 Hornet and the French Dassault Rafale A, but unlike those combat aircraft the F-117A’s power plant had no afterburner ability purely and simply to reduce the stress on the airframe.
“Pull UP !... Pull UP!... Pull UP!...Pull UP!” exhorted the GPWS, replacing the Missile Warning System’s jarring tone as the aircraft’s attitude and proximity to the ground broke the missile locks more effectively than the chaff.
Back in the river valley, with the hills between themselves and the target Caroline wondered at what point she had simply stopped breathing. Sweat trickled down her face, the salt stinging her eyes.
“Time?” she queried.
“Eighteen seconds!”
Four more pairs of MiG-29 Fulcrums were lifting off to join the hunt and the seven already involved had gone to burner to close the engagement range between themselves and the lone attacker, asking for, and receiving permission to cross the restricted airspace above the mine.
On leaving the F-117X bomb bay the B-61 continued to climb for several seconds despite its weight. Gravity’s pull began to replace forward motion but its tail fins prevented an immediate vertical plunge back to earth, guiding it towards a precise spot on the surface below.
The worked out mine’s winding gear, tower and elevator were the only still functioning aspects of the old workings, the towers four legs straddled the mile deep shaft at the base of which an electric powered tramcar line ran a quarter mile to the bunkers outer blast door.
The weapon’s rocket motor only fired once it was facing vertically downwards, aligned with the centre of the shaft.
Concealed lighting was illuminating the car park landing pad beside the shaft and a Hind-D was settling onto it when something large struck the tarmac and bounced, colliding with its rotor blades. The blades shattered, shards spinning off in all directions and the aircraft was flipped onto its side where its captain quickly reacted by shutting down its twin engines. Both pilots and the crew chief clambered out and having got clear found themselves beside a seven foot diameter steel wheel, part of the winding gear that had sat atop the tower. The tower that had held the three tonne wheel had collapsed in on itself, the steel girders buckled and the internal steel cross braces that had kept the towers integrity for decades had been sheared. The crew stepped over twisted girders and gingerly peered over the edge into the dark maw of the now exposed main shaft.
The second Hind-D came to a hover a hundred feet above the shaft; its landing lights provided some illumination.
The elevator, cables and a lot of twisted steel had gone, presumably falling the entire way down the shaft. How was the Premier to exit now? Was there an emergency escape route back to the surface? Unbeknownst to the crew, they were inhaling radioactive dust caused by the sundering impact of the B-61’s depleted Uranium penetrator with the tower. Within two years all of them would have developed cancers, but as they stared down into the interior the delay fuse’s timer ran down to zero.
The At-A-Glance screens of the F-117X polarised, protecting the eyesight of pilot and EWO from the harsh light reflected of the hillside to their right, giving the night-time valley the appearance of a sun baked hell for almost a second.
Russia, Militia Sub-District 178: 2349hrs.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!"
The words were unfamiliar to either Russian but not the accent. The firing immediately halted and Petrov attempted to gain his feet to flee as Major Limanova
Patricia’s stomach churned as Caroline rolled hard with chaff bundles ejecting into their wake. She was taxing an airframe that was not built for aerobatics, sending them into a forty five degree dive on their egress heading, as steep as she dared take them. The Nighthawk’s twin General Electric F404 turbofans were a tried and tested design, the same engines that powered the F/A-18 Hornet and the French Dassault Rafale A, but unlike those combat aircraft the F-117A’s power plant had no afterburner ability purely and simply to reduce the stress on the airframe.
“Pull UP !... Pull UP!... Pull UP!...Pull UP!” exhorted the GPWS, replacing the Missile Warning System’s jarring tone as the aircraft’s attitude and proximity to the ground broke the missile locks more effectively than the chaff.
Back in the river valley, with the hills between themselves and the target Caroline wondered at what point she had simply stopped breathing. Sweat trickled down her face, the salt stinging her eyes.
“Time?” she queried.
“Eighteen seconds!”
Four more pairs of MiG-29 Fulcrums were lifting off to join the hunt and the seven already involved had gone to burner to close the engagement range between themselves and the lone attacker, asking for, and receiving permission to cross the restricted airspace above the mine.
On leaving the F-117X bomb bay the B-61 continued to climb for several seconds despite its weight. Gravity’s pull began to replace forward motion but its tail fins prevented an immediate vertical plunge back to earth, guiding it towards a precise spot on the surface below.
The worked out mine’s winding gear, tower and elevator were the only still functioning aspects of the old workings, the towers four legs straddled the mile deep shaft at the base of which an electric powered tramcar line ran a quarter mile to the bunkers outer blast door.
The weapon’s rocket motor only fired once it was facing vertically downwards, aligned with the centre of the shaft.
Concealed lighting was illuminating the car park landing pad beside the shaft and a Hind-D was settling onto it when something large struck the tarmac and bounced, colliding with its rotor blades. The blades shattered, shards spinning off in all directions and the aircraft was flipped onto its side where its captain quickly reacted by shutting down its twin engines. Both pilots and the crew chief clambered out and having got clear found themselves beside a seven foot diameter steel wheel, part of the winding gear that had sat atop the tower. The tower that had held the three tonne wheel had collapsed in on itself, the steel girders buckled and the internal steel cross braces that had kept the towers integrity for decades had been sheared. The crew stepped over twisted girders and gingerly peered over the edge into the dark maw of the now exposed main shaft.
The second Hind-D came to a hover a hundred feet above the shaft; its landing lights provided some illumination.
The elevator, cables and a lot of twisted steel had gone, presumably falling the entire way down the shaft. How was the Premier to exit now? Was there an emergency escape route back to the surface? Unbeknownst to the crew, they were inhaling radioactive dust caused by the sundering impact of the B-61’s depleted Uranium penetrator with the tower. Within two years all of them would have developed cancers, but as they stared down into the interior the delay fuse’s timer ran down to zero.
The At-A-Glance screens of the F-117X polarised, protecting the eyesight of pilot and EWO from the harsh light reflected of the hillside to their right, giving the night-time valley the appearance of a sun baked hell for almost a second.
Russia, Militia Sub-District 178: 2349hrs.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!"
The words were unfamiliar to either Russian but not the accent. The firing immediately halted and Petrov attempted to gain his feet to flee as Major Limanova
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