The waters of the Cheshskaya Guba, enclosed by the mainland on two sides and the Kanin Peninsula to the west, was choppy with spray being whipped off the wave tops by the arctic wind.
Major Caroline Nunro’s hand rested next to the side stick, she let the nav system fly the aircraft for now but she was ready to take over instantly. Their course was straightforward for the first 527 miles after making landfall, it only got complicated once they approached the Volga/Baltic Waterway, from there on in the flying was all hands on, as they skimmed the weeds the nearer to the enemy capital they got.
“We’ve got company… infra-red source at our 4 o’clock high position.” Patricia wished that they had even slightly more positive data available other than, ‘there’s something warm over thataways’. If her instruments suddenly indicated a very hot source they would trip the missile launch warnings, but she still would have liked to know what it was, what it was capable of, and the height, course and speed of the ‘warm something’.
Caroline keyed in a new altitude, and the Nighthawk lost another precious fifty feet. She wasn’t happy about it, it would only take one unrecorded radio mast or the Russian equivalent of the Giant Redwood and they’d all be toast, but she waited until five minutes after the IR source had vanished before bringing them back to their original altitude.
One of the features of the ‘At a glance’ system was its ability to show the crew when radar was ‘painting’ them and when they were still undetected. When there was no radar energy pulsing at the airframe, the extremities of the transparent plasma screen that lined the cockpit windows were tinged violet. As radar energy was detected the colour changed, in a reverse of the spectrum according to the level of energy. Yellow was the highest level of energy they encountered on their way in, but their route had been planned to avoid all radar sites and areas that could be expected to have mobile air defence systems.
North of the Nighthawk the B2s continued on toward Alaska, staying clear of the coastline as they tanked one another. KC-135 Extenders would top off their tanks over Alaska, and from there they would turn south. In an epic flight the B2s would stay aloft with tanker support until their circuitous flight brought them to Edwin Andrews Air Base on Mindanao, and they would touch the ground for the first time since leaving RAF Kinloss in Scotland.
The other F-117 turned about and retraced their steps, taking a long drink courtesy of the Danish air force tankers, before crossing the Moray Firth to Kinloss. The aircraft that rode shotgun had not released a single war shot, which was good news for the operation.
Two hours after crossing the coastline, Caroline Nunro taxied off the tarmac of the forest strip and into the shelter of the trees where the waiting Special Forces troops covered the airframe with camouflage nets and set about refuelling. Patricia Dudley supervised the operation whilst Caroline released their passenger from the confines of the bomb bay, and checked their ordnance was okay.
She felt a presence at her side and turned to find the Captain who commanded the special forces troops, and their CIA contact, and shook hands before allowing the Captain to round up Pat and Svetlana, after which they followed him to a small hut where they changed into civilian clothes.
The CIA rep was an elderly man, a local who had been a sleeper for the Americans since the sixties; he briefed them on the current situation inside Russia before leading them to his old truck where all four climbed up into its cab.
The drive to the safe house was not without risk, there was a curfew in place but most of the internal security troops were operating around the centres of population in the hours of darkness.
The elderly contact drove carefully, only using dipped headlights, and not when sky-lined on the tops of rises along the road.
They were negotiating a bend on the side of a steep hill when coming fast around it, on their side of the road, a Gaz jeep appeared. It swerved on seeing them and skidded, striking the stone wall at the roads edge and sending blocks bouncing down the hillside.
The road was blocked and the jeeps front wing was crumpled and bent, one wheel overhung the slope and rusty water was pouring from its rendered radiator.
The elderly contact was ashen faced as he brought the truck to a stop.
Caroline had been flung forward but caught herself.
“Oh Sh..!” was all she managed to voice before Svetlana’s hand clamped over her mouth, stifling the exclamation in English before she was able to voice it.
Two antennae whipped back and forth on the jeep with the suddenness of the vehicles halt. After a second, a section of wall toppled, its stone blocks joining the others careering downhill.
The jeeps driver clambered out of the far side, careful not to join the masonry now beginning to splash into a river at the bottom of the hill. But from the back climbed a Field Police Colonel, reaching across his body to unbutton the flap on his holster and draw the service pistol from it.
The accident was not of their making, but they were out during curfew and their pass would not hold up long should the official whose forged signature authorising the pass be summoned to the telephone from his bed.
Svetlana was wearing a long skirt, buttoned all the way down the front, and a tight fitting seaman’s wool polo neck jumper beneath her heavy coat.
She tore off the coat and hurriedly unbuttoned the skirt. Pushing Pat aside to squeeze passed she stepped down into the road from the truck’s cab giving both men a view of shapely legs and a naked hip. She ran over to the jeep, her boots stiletto heels clicking on the road surface and her face held an expression of mortification; she was gushing rapid fire apologies as she presented the Field Policemen with a vision of beauty in distress.
In the cab the two American’s watched, confidently awaiting the ‘Svetlana Effect’ to work its magic.
The Field Police Colonel cocked the pistol and extended his arm, pointing it directly at Svetlana who was but ten feet away and screamed at her to raise her arms and get on her knees.
To avoid a tumble down the hillside the driver climbed onto the bonnet of the jeep and Svetlana, apparently in shock and therefore not hearing the menacing commands went to help him, not realising her danger or even looking at the officer who was now closing one eye as he took aim at the side of her head. She reached both arms up to assist the driver, to steady him as he jumped down to the safety of the roadway.
Quite unnecessarily her arms went about him as he landed, her body merged with his.
Two gunshots rang out, so close as to almost merge together.
The whirring sound of a ricochet disappeared into the night, a scar in the tarmac next to Svetlana from the Colonels sidearm, and the officer fell backwards.
The driver swung a brutal backhand but she saw it coming and leaned in, grunting as the knuckles caught the side of the back of her head but swinging her right at his face.
He roared as the hot muzzle of Constantine’s zip gun smashed into his nose, breaking it. He caught Svetlana’s wrist in his meaty left hand before she could swing again.
He was a powerfully built man, used to rough house fighting and he squeezed, causing the Russian girl to gasp in pain and drop the weapon. His right fist came up in an uppercut aimed at the girls jaw but she jerked her head back out of the way, and brought her right knee up sharply, driving it towards his groin.
He allowed the momentum of the failed uppercut to help twist his hips and the knee strike missed but Svetlana brought the limb back down, down against his lower leg, running the edge of her boots outstep against his left shin and driving the stiletto heel into the top of his foot.
He gasped in pain as the hard leather edge stripped the skin away from his shin and roared with anger as the heel broke small bones in his foot, but his grip did not lessen, he pulled and the girl seemed to stagger, completely out-matched in strength. He twisted her off balance and turned her back-on to him. The right arm came across with the intention of locking off against her throat and crushing her windpipe but she went right on turning; her head came back hard to smash into his mouth. Once, twice, three times her head pummelled into his face. The lower lip was mashed and pierced by broken teeth and her knee rose and fell again, this time bones in his right foot broke under the impact of the long thin heel. Her free hand helped her left shoulder underneath his left armpit before gripping his arm, and then she bent, twisted her hips and as his bulk left the ground she straightened and twisted more, sending him over her shoulder. He let go her wrist as his body went inverted but Svetlana kept hold of that arm, ensuring that he could not land rolling and come up fighting. He landed hard and on his back, the breath driven from his lungs and eyes staring, lower face smeared in blood from the broken nose and gasping for air through smashed teeth, helpless as a fish out of water.