Andy Farman
Advance to Contact
Foreword
My reason for sitting down and putting pen to paper was due to a lack of good military yarns in print at that time. I felt there were too many novels that although well written were almost totally American in outlook, giving only lip service to other nations services.
There have also been too few novels of a major conflict that do not end with the wheeling out of ‘the secret weapon’ / super-secret technology (rather similar to the manner in which Greek playwrights ended the play with the involvement of ‘The Gods’). I am not sure if that is an over reliance in books on the superior technology aspect that became apparent during the Gulf War, or simply a deep desire to find an ending to the story. On that note I have to admit that before I began to write I would have used the term laziness on the part of those authors but after three years of trying to write, hold down a full time job and still have a life I am not so critical. I recognise that desire to just finish and have done with. I have not invoked any Gods in this, my first effort, at writing either to inspire the words to appear or to bring it to a sudden end. The weapons within the book are old or existing technology at the time of writing and with one exception the performance of those weapons is documented and public domain. I was unable to find any data on the effects of nuclear weapons detonated below the sea, and as such I admit to ‘winging it’ there.
Since I began writing, the SA-80 rifle in UK forces use has undergone some major, and very expensive re-working. It is by no means perfect but it has improved in terms of reliability, however it hangs a large question mark over the wisdom of those politicians who ordered its original distribution and over the integrity of the senior officers who permitted it to happen.
There are several novels that used World War 3 as the stage, most memorable for me have to be Harold Coyle’s ‘Team Yankee’, Tom Clancy’s ‘Red Storm Rising’ and Bob Forrest-Webb’s ‘Chieftains’. Bob’s book told the story from the viewpoint of the crew of a Royal Armoured Corp Chieftain tank, the only book about the British armed forces and it was superb.
This book has many viewpoints but the principle ground war in Europe is centred around a British Army infantry battalion and my reasons were that are A/ I am British, and B/ I am a former infantryman who served at the time the Warsaw Pact posed a very real threat.
There are heroes, heroines and villains from all sides of my fictitious global conflict and although you will pick up on my deep dislike of politicians I have even written a couple of good guys into their ranks — the laws of probability state they must exist somewhere, right?
Attempting to create a tale of global conflict as depicted in the books with contemporary levels of forces, particularly the land battles in Europe and Australia was a non-starter.
David Cameron’s declaration that the UK’s intelligence services abilities render British Armed Services unnecessary in order to justify further cutbacks was farcical and deluded as events since his taking office have shown. This did not save the Harrier fleet, regiments or warships though; it has not even provided aircraft for the new carriers either.
Therefore, in this tale the equipment and formations of post-Cold War 1998 have been restored.
I have never served in any navy or air force, let alone fought at sea or in the air, so please bear that in mind when you come across any errors because at the end of the day this book is only meant to be a means of harmless escapism.
DEDICATION
Three kids' bikes, ones called ‘Nugget’. My sister Susan’s first school bus, a blue double decker. Days out in Sherwood Forest and spotting The Bear on the way out and back. Pinky & Perky, Janet’s favourite. Cycling trips in the summer with Andrew and Diane. Clay pits. Shrimping in rock pools at low tide. Crab fishing at high tide. Listening to my sister Sue and her friend Diane (both age 8) discuss why no longer having privacy from the press would prevent them marrying John and Paul (Ringo and George were never contenders). Vulcans scrambling because of somewhere called Cuba. The Black Witch and Dusty Fogg. Cowboy, pirate and soldier games in which my two great sisters were always the ‘nurses’ and making the tea.
Dedicated to Sue Brackley and Janet Proud.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With thanks again to my Father, Ted Farman, to William Rowlinson and for insights into police firearms tactics and Nick Gill who has tried to re-tune an ageing brain with regard to proper punctuation and capitalisation, for which I am sincerely grateful, and whose experience of running RMP Traffic Posts on MSRs exceed mine.
And last but not least thank you to the very charming Tracey Elvik who showed Svetlana how to be elegant and effervescent, all in the same breath.
CHAPTER ONE
The atmosphere had a taste of staleness about it thought the President, and felt damp against his skin. Whatever timetable the Secret Service had for moving him about for safety’s sake had been pre-empted by the morning’s attacks. At the very next window between Chinese and Russian satellite passes, the President had been moved to another secure site.
The power had been switched on only minutes before his arrival and dustsheets covered everything.
He stood briefly within his new bedchamber and decided that it was identical to the one he had left behind in North Dakota, in all its bleak, functional austerity. The military did not seem able to find the middle ground between minimalism and downright depressing.
So far, today had all the makings of being a real crappy 24hrs.
A knock on the door dismissed his critical thoughts on living conditions as a secret service agent appeared on his answering,
“Come.”
“Mr President, General Shaw is online, you will want to speak to him ASAP, sir.”
Without bothering to remove his topcoat, he followed the agent out of the room and down the corridor. His chief scientific officer was present in the room, speaking to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs who looked grim as he peered out of the video monitor. The CSO vacated the chair for the boss and stood to one side, but the President stood in front of the chair without sitting and nodded at the general.
“Mr President, Space Command have detected two nuclear events in the PTO, the PTO being the Pacific Theatre of Operations… both events occurred at a height of approximately ten thousand feet above sea level, and within ten seconds of detonation fireballs six kilometres in radius had been produced. From this, we estimate that the weapons were of four to six megatons yield.”
“City killers?” Said the President as he now slowly sat down.
“I have prayed that those bastards would stick to battlefield sized weapons… or just stop using the filthy things altogether.” His face flushed with anger. “They are not afraid of us are they General? Not one bit!”
The general said nothing in reply.
“Where were the bombs?”
“One was above the southern tip of Taiwan where the ground fighting was concentrated. There is a small sized town there called Ch’e-ch’eng, but the target was most likely Taiwanese forces that have been bottled up by the PRC… I am sorry Mr President, but the other was directly above Taipei.”
“Their own people!” Uttered the chief executive.
“Genetically and ethnically, if not politically… yes sir.”
“What damage did they do?” He next asked.
“Sir, these weapons are many times more powerful than the weapons that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki, several hundred times larger than the DC bomb, do you want the details?” Asked the CSO.