The co-pilot clicked his mike. ‘Captain, Base says Storm flight saw us bombing the ship. They think we started the attack.’
‘Understood.’ The Captain clicked the mike to broadcast on the Russian frequency. ‘Storm Flight, break off your attack. We were directed to sink LK-80 by your own advisor. The ship’s reactor is about to explode. We were tasked to sink LK-80 to minimise the fallout. I repeat, break off your attack. LK-80 is being sunk at the request of your nuclear physics expert.’
For a second there was a lull in the fighting. Then the Captain saw a red trail in his visor.
The Russians had fired again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘That’s it,’ muttered Sean.
‘What?’ queried Khostov.
‘The helicopter, you talked about a bloody helicopter. It may be still there.’
Sean recalled seeing the machine while Khostov was attending the reactor. It seemed such a long time ago, but was probably less than an hour. Major Pierce had brought him on a quick tour of the ship and Sean glimpsed it tethered at the aft end of the bow deck. In all the excitement he believed someone would have flown it to base, but he couldn’t see the deck because the reactor hall was in the way.
‘Come on!’ Sean grabbed Khostov and pushed him towards the door. They staggered as an explosion ripped through LK-80, coming from the steam turbine or power generation area. Sean pushed him through the doors and they raced down the companionway to the bow deck. Emergencies were wonderful for showing where a person’s priorities really lay, thought Sean. Khostov’s strapped ankle didn’t seem to be holding him back at all.
Already seawater slopped over the steel plates. Immediately Sean felt the numbing cold as it soaked his boots. He continued to pull Khostov after him. Although the man possessed the same sense of urgency, he was too slow to be left to his own devices.
By the time they rounded the clinic at the corner, they were knee deep in seawater and the ship had a pronounced list. But there in front of them stood the helicopter, tied to the deck by four lines. Sean breathed his thanks. ‘Get in!’ Sean opened the door and shoved him through, then set about undoing the lines. The first three were easy to unhook, even under water, because they were slack. But the fourth was under tension, and impossible to release. Sean looked around for something to help. He recalled they had passed a fire extinguisher and axe on their way aft, and he returned to the fire station, wading through water a foot high. He broke the glass with his elbow, pulled out the axe and ran back.
Sean saw Khostov sitting helplessly in the cockpit. Knowing it could take up to a minute for the engines to reach full thrust, he left the taught line in place. Wading around the other side, he dragged open the door and climbed in. As he went through the start-up procedure, he glanced at his passenger, pale and shivering.
‘Do you know how to fly this?’ Khostov asked through chattering teeth.
‘I used to fly them in the marines. Remember?’
The ship lurched with a new explosion that seemed to originate directly underneath, and the deck tilted further. Sean planned to get the engine to the lift-off point before leaping out and hacking the last remaining tether, but before that happened, the line snapped.
Sean pulled the stick back, but it was already too late. Without enough power he couldn’t pull away from the sucking action of the seawater. The machine began to slide along the deck. By now the level had risen above the bottom of the doors. They were not water-tight at the best of times, and seawater leaked into the cockpit. The copter continued its relentless slide until it hit the bow rail and swung round.
Sean knew from experience that the moment a rotor touched the water it would break up. While they were stuck, the angle of the deck steepened, and it would only be a matter of seconds before the blades made contact.
‘Here, hold this,’ Sean commanded Khostov, giving him the stick. ‘Keep it pulled back.’
Sean pushed the door open against the press of water. He grabbed the axe and jumped out into the freezing seas, held his breath and ducked under the machine. It was difficult to see anything in the swirling chaos. Sean ran his hand along the underside until it met the ship’s rail. There was no doubt; the undercarriage had caught in the railing.
Sean grasped the strut and pulled. No good. He swung the axe, but it was hopeless.
It wouldn’t budge.
Sentinel leader observed the red trail crossing his visor, indicating the release of a Russian air-to-air missile. Another American plane had been hit, and the squadron was taking a hammering. He surveyed the battlefield picture again. US warplanes, scattered over the sky, were retreating from the onslaught.
‘Bandit on tail. Advise.’
He estimated Sentinel three was ten kilometres from his position. Another red trail traversed his field of view. He clicked the mike.
‘Take him out Sandy.’
‘Roger.’
Sentinel three applied emergency boost to the Pratt & Whitney F135 engines, and began a random weave pattern to try and confuse his adversary, and force him to apply more power. He checked the heads-up display inside the visor helmet, waiting until he was sure the Russian plane had reached near maximum speed. Then he hit the controls in a manoeuvre known as ‘viffing’.
The F135 engine was considered to be the most powerful ever installed in a fighter aircraft. In this version, the exhaust was capable of being deflected downward at the tail. Over 50,000 lbf of thrust was now being vectored through the nozzle, creating a huge break on the jet’s forward speed. The pursuer overshot rapidly, frantically scanning for the missing F-35.
‘Bingo one,’ Sentinel three breathed as he touched the button to launch an AIM-120 Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile. The Amraam’s solid-fuel rocket motor accelerated the missile to Mach 4. Less than a second later it contacted the MiG-29 and blew it out of the sky.
Immediately Sentinel 3 performed a high loop, coming behind another MiG. He blinked. The targeting software in his helmet acquired the Russian and launched an Amraam in the same split second.
Sentinel leader watched as the MiG vanished from his screen. He couldn’t stop an involuntary whoop.
‘Take that, Mother Fucker!’
Sean came up for air, holding the ship’s rail under the water. He breathed twice, deeply, and ducked under again. Placing his legs square against the stanchion, he heaved. It still refused to give. He felt the vibration from another explosion through the soles of his feet. The ship made a sudden lurching movement and canted over more steeply.
Sean knew this was the moment. If he didn’t release the undercarriage now, he never would. He gripped the strut with renewed force, pushing hard with his legs, pulling with his arms. Nothing else mattered; Sean was oblivious of everything except the pain.
The strut moved slightly and despite the numbing effect of the ice cold seas, a sudden and excruciating pain shot up his arm. He knew immediately what had happened; his index finger had snapped where the bone had been weakened by the saw cut, courtesy of Urilenko. Now his left hand was useless. With one last exceptional effort he hauled the ironwork with his right hand. It gave way suddenly and unexpectedly. He was so surprised it took several moments to realise the helicopter was free. Using the deck, he propelled himself to the surface and gasped for air.
He wiped his eyes. Where the hell was the copter? The tail pivoted overhead. Sean realised that the whole aircraft was swinging in a slow circle, just feet away from the deck. He waited, timing his leap, and jumped onto the fuselage while grasping the door latch with his uninjured hand. The aircraft swung round, Khostov unable to control the machine. Sean lent in to reduce the centrifugal force, slipped open the cockpit door and threw himself in.