“We’re good,” answered Pendleton. “I’m pulling us up and out of their range. I’ll come around again from higher altitude. See if you can keep them pinned down while we wait for additional help to arrive.”
The Lynx banked hard to the right as they settled into a high-altitude circle racetrack that would allow them to loiter over the area and continue to shoot at them with their machine guns until reinforcements could arrive. Corbyn had already called in the quick reaction force, who was currently en route to their position. They just needed to keep the soldiers on the ground pinned down while they waited for help.
Major Ivanov cursed as the helicopter continued to loiter above them, firing at them. “We need to find a way to get out of here before their reinforcements arrive or we’re through,” he realized.
Reading the major’s mind, Sergeant Morozov unzipped the rifle case he had grabbed from the van during their hasty retreat. He quickly pulled the OSV-96 sniper rifle out of the case and unfolded it. Locking the rifle in place, he slapped the five-round magazine of 12.7×108mm AP rounds into place. Lifting the rifle to his shoulder, he took aim at the helicopter that was circling around them, looking to kill more of his comrades.
Sighting in the engine compartment of the helicopter, he took aim at it and squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked loudly as the armor-piercing round flew out of the barrel at 920 meters per second. As soon as the next round cycled into his rifle, he saw a small spark on the engine compartment of the helicopter, followed by a small flame. The helicopter listed a bit to one side.
Morozov took aim at the cockpit of the helicopter as it continued to struggle to stay airborne and fired another round. This time, the helicopter veered hard. The pilot was clearly trying to put some more distance between them as their chopper fell from the sky. A few minutes later, they heard the helicopter crash, though they didn’t see an explosion.
“Everyone, get in the van. We need to get out of here!” yelled Major Ivanov as the remaining members piled into the only working vehicle. He was angry that they had lost another three members of their team during this last skirmish.
As soon as everyone was inside, the driver immediately gave the van gas, accelerating quickly down the dirt road. In no time at all, they had reached the country road, which they all hoped will lead them to safety. They raced down the back road toward the A61. From there, it should be easier to put some distance between themselves and the scene of the attack.
Five minutes went by as continued racing toward the highway. Then they spotted the first signs of trouble. A small cluster of police cars blocked the road that led to the A61. Ivanov saw the driver look in his side mirrors.
“Sir, we have a police car chasing us and a road block in front of us,” he reported nervously. “I have nowhere to turn off right now. We’re going to have to engage the roadblock and hope the vehicle survives or steal another ride.”
“OK, everyone, here’s what we’re going to do,” declared Major Ivanov. “When the van comes to a stop, I need everyone to focus your fire on the police at the roadblock — use suppressive fire and charge them. We need to take them out and then split up. Try to steal one of their squad cars or another car in the village if you can on the way out. Take separate routes to the alternate location, and I’ll see you there.” Ivanov readied his weapon for what was certain to be a brief and violent shoot-out with the police.
Approaching the roadblock at high speed, the driver suddenly slammed on the brakes as the police officers began to shoot at them with their pistols. In less than a second, the Spetsnaz soldiers jumped out of the vehicle and immediately emptied their magazines at the two police cars and the four officers manning the roadblock.
While Ivanov’s men were attacking the police in front of them, he went around the other side of the van to face the police car giving them chase. He leveled the 40mm grenade gun at them and pulled the trigger. He watched the round fly toward the vehicle and impact on the front hood, sending shrapnel into the front of the vehicle and either killing or severely wounding the officer driving the vehicle. The car veered off the road and hit a tree; flames burst out from the hood.
Ivanov carefully moved around to look at the carnage at the roadblock. He saw two of his soldiers laying down suppressive fire while two more of his men charged the police. In seconds, all four of the police officers lay dead on the ground from multiple gunshots. As quickly as the engagement had happened, it ended. All five of the Spetsnaz soldiers survived.
They were all in the process of moving to find getaway vehicles when they heard the thumping of another helicopter coming toward them. Turning to look over his shoulder, Ivanov spotted the nose gun of the Apache attack helicopter blink a couple of times before his brain registered that his body was being torn apart by the 30mm chain gun. In seconds, all five remaining members of the Spetsnaz team were wiped out in spectacular fashion.
Skimming just above the water, the Russian Tu-160 Blackjack bomber was closing in on their firing point. Colonel Petr Orlov was perspiring profusely as he fought to keep his plane just above the sea. This was probably the most nervous he had been on a combat mission since the surprise attack on the first day of the war, and it was also his longest mission. To avoid detection, Colonel Orlov had his flight of four bombers top off their fuel tanks over the Barents Sea before dropping in altitude to just above the wavetops for the remainder of their flight.
At precisely 2110 hours local time, they would rise up to 500 meters, fire off their twelve Kh-101 long-range cruise missiles and then drop back down to the wave tops. If all went well, they would successfully strike several key industrial and government buildings in Aberdeen, Birmingham, Liverpool, and London.
“I wonder how many of our cruise missiles will hit their targets?” Orlov pondered.
The British had an exceptional antimissile picket system along their coast. To date, they had succeeded in intercepting every cruise missile attack the Russians had tried. During their preflight briefing, they had been informed that a Spetsnaz team was going to handle the early-warning system at RAF Menwith Hill. If that came to fruition, then chances were a lot of their cruise missiles might just hit their targets this time.
As Orlov’s bomber neared the launch time, he moved his left hand to wipe the beads of sweat that were now running down his face as the aircraft sped above the water at 960 kilometers per hour.
His radio crackled. “We’re two minutes away from launch,” announced his bombardier.
“Copy that. Rising. Stand by for weapons release,” Orlov replied. He pulled back on the controls, keeping an eye on the altimeter until he saw he was at the launch height and leveled out. If there were an enemy ship or aircraft operating in the area, he would suddenly appear on their radar. He was exposed now.
Listening in on the radio net, he could hear his fellow bombers releasing their cruise missiles. Then his bombardier came over the intercom. “Weapons release,” came the order.
“Releasing weapons,” Orlov answered. One after another of his twelve cruise missiles dropped from his internal weapons bay, igniting and speeding off to their preprogrammed targets.
Just as the last missile dropped free of the weapons bay and sped off, the defensive systems officer jumped on the intercom. “We have a search radar painting us. I’m working on jamming it now. It appears to be from a ship in the area,” he explained.
Colonel Orlov’s radar warning alarm blared in his ear. Someone was trying to get a lock on them, and he had to do his best to throw them off.