“The radar stations, then the troop barracks,” the AWACS operator said. “Targets have been sorted already by the SAS.”
“Spoilsports,” Dunbar groused, as the islands near Bergen drew closer at an awesome rate. The Eurofighters had been equipped with laser-guided weapons, as well as they standard load of ASRAAM missiles. “Anyone would think that they didn’t want us to have fun.”
“I don’t call this fun,” Abernathy said. “Hang on, look at that…”
“I read a German plane… probably a seaplane, rising from Bergen,” Dunbar said. “It’s not a serious nuisance.”
“Yes, it is,” Abernathy said. “It’s emitting a radar signal. It’s an AWACS.” He scowled; German experiments with airborne radar had been proceeding smoothly, despite the RAF’s interference.
“Charlie-two, cleared to engage,” Dunbar said. “Permission to open the umpteenth round of hostilities?”
“Granted,” Abernathy said wryly. Dunbar fired a single ASRAAM at the German plane, which didn’t manage to dodge in time. Seconds later, it vanished from the radars in a blast of fire.
“Take that, you Jerry bastard,” Dunbar cheered. “Any more of you out there?”
“I knew it was a mistake to have those war films shown in the common room,” Abernathy sighed. “It’s given you bad ideas.”
“Got me hot as well,” Dunbar said. “Perhaps combat will do it for you, eh?”
Abernathy flushed. “Target designator is reporting the first laser pinpoints,” he said. “Targets designated” – the laser sensor chimed as it locked onto the series of targets – “and weapons deployed.”
The Eurofighter shuddered as it released its cargo of small laser-guided bombs. Abernathy banked away over Bergen as the bombs fell down towards the German bases, exploding within the buildings the Germans had appropriated. Black puffs of smoke began to appear below the planes as German antiaircraft guns struggled to bring one down. With HARM missiles already having knocked down their radar, they could only hope for a lucky shot, a golden BB.
“We confirm all targets struck,” the AWACS said. “You are cleared to return to base.”
“Wilco,” Abernathy said, banking the Eurofighter into a western turn, heading back to Britain. “My God, Sheila, Look at that.”
Down below, against the water, the American fleet was moving, heading for Norway. Four carriers, their air compliment patrolling the air above the fleet, were hanging back, while the battleships were moving forward. Primitive radar pulsed out from the fleet, almost drowned out by the powerful radars from the single British carrier present, HMS Invincible.
“They don’t make them like that anymore,” Dunbar said, her voice hushed for once. “I wonder what landing on one of those beauties would be like.”
“Dangerous,” Abernathy said. “I want to fly the new SSTO craft.”
“You’ll be lucky,” Dunbar said, as the formation headed away from the American ships. “Besides, it’ll be at least five years before they get built, so you might have your ticket punched before you get up there.”
HMS Invincible
Norwegian Sea
25th May 1941
Captain Barton was beginning to regret accepting command of the small carrier. Admittedly, it was the most powerful ship in the fleet, but its CIC was far more capable than anything the Americans had invented yet. That meant that the fleet command staff, including Admiral King, had to be onboard. Officially, USS Enterprise was the fleet flagship; unofficially, it was the Invincible.
“The tomahawk strikes are inbound now,” Barton said, briefing the Americans. He tried to avoid King’s eye as much as possible. King hated everyone. “The air attack was a complete success.”
“And Jerry is just going to roll over and die?” Admiral King asked, as some of the Tomahawks vanished near Denmark, their flight paths terminating on top of German bases. The cold clinical display concealed thousands of dead or dying Germans. “How do we know that your missiles are working?”
Barton concealed a sigh. “The missiles are being tracked on radar,” he said. “They’re homing in on laser signals, or moving according to GPS signals from the new satellites. We delayed the operation slightly to allow them to get back into position, remember?”
Admiral King scowled. Being reminded of the satellites hadn’t pleased him. “And how can toy rockets help us now?”
Barton accessed the live feed from one of the satellites. “This is Denmark,” he said, zooming in on the image. A German base was burning brightly. “That was the home of a Luffwaffe anti-shipping squadron, but it isn’t any longer.”
“Well, what are we doing sitting around here?” Admiral King demanded. “Order the battleships to move in at once!”
“Yes, sir,” a harassed American rating said. He began to mutter instructions into his radio, sending the battleships into three different locations.
Bergen Region
Norway
25th May 1941
The small fortress was completely destroyed. Hauptmann Horst examined it with a stunned air; if he’d been inside the gun placement, he would have been killed when the British missiles had struck it. To him, the attack meant only one thing; the British were invading Norway.
“Contact Oslo,” he snapped, before the wave of jamming signals swept over the field radios. He swore; if the landlines were taken out…”
“The landlines are down, Herr Hauptmann,” an officer called. “Sir, we have to stand on the defensive…”
Horst shook his head. Out of the early-morning mist, two massive ships were appearing. For a long moment, he thought that he’d made a mistake and seen islands, and then he realised that they were battleships – British battleships!
“Get the guns up,” he shouted, trying to avoid a panic. “Load armour-piecing rounds… fire!”
His men worked splendidly, preparing the handful of smaller guns, unaware of the futility. Those were battleships out there, not destroyers, and…
“Hit,” an enlisted man shouted, as blasts of fire appeared around the battleships. Horst scowled; there hadn’t been time to fire, and he hadn’t seen one of the other coastal batteries fire, which meant that those blasts were…
Horst’s body, mind and gun position disintegrated as the first shells exploded onto the island. A tidal wave of fury passed over the German position, detonating shells and slaughtering men with casual disdain. The blast was so powerful that it renovated the entire island; in later years there would be complaints about vandals in battleships. This would be regarded as the height of ingratitude.
“Not bad,” Captain Macchiarella said, as the USS Maryland hurled a second salvo of shells onto the German position. “Spotters?”
“Three more German guns up north needing silenced, sir,” the spotter said, holding one ear to the intership telephone. “Other than that, it looks as if we’re in the clear.”
“Excellent,” Macchiarella said, as Maryland rang with the impact of a German shell. All of the big German guns had been silenced; now all they had was small pounders designed to work against aircraft. They were useless against the thick battleship armour. “Fire.”
Maryland shuddered violently. Flames and smoke blasted out across the waters. “I think we got him, sir,” the spotter said. “The smoke makes it hard to see.”