The radio crackled again, “Where is our air support?… God damn it we are taking heavy casualties…” An explosion cut off the transmission and was only followed by static.
“What the hell is going on there?” Marlborough said but nobody answered the question as all hell broke loose. A hail of superheated pink light split through the mist and impacted in the small town.
“Battle stations!” Marlborough ordered.
The Phantoms could just make out through the mist where the fire was coming from up in their lofty position, Oscar flight were the first four Phantoms in the formation and they banked left to line up for a strafing run.
The Phantoms powered up their huge duel engines and roared towards their first prey of the day, they had no cannons but had two five hundred pound bombs mounted on the wings.
“1st Armored Division this is Flight leader Steve Harper, in position to bomb targets.”
“God bless you,” Marlborough replied. “Give them hell.”
Harper’s finger hovered a millimeter above the trigger.
Dan Campbell’s radar intercept officer spoke up, “Contacts five miles out.”
“How many?”
“Looks like four Dan.”
“Roger that, Harper we will cover your bombing run. Falcon flight on me.”
Brooklyn smiled, “Moose can you get a lock on the lead target?”
“Working on it bud.”
The four Phantoms of Falcon flight powered forward to engage this new threat. Their radar operators were a picture of absolute concentration as they tried to lock-on the AIM-7 Sparrow missiles to surprise the enemy from a distance.
Flight leader Steve Harper was above his target, he squeezed the trigger and the two bombs left their fixings and tumbled end over end through the mist, a few seconds’ later two loud thumps rang out as two explosions rippled under the low cloud dispersion.
Oscar two was Harper’s wingman, Stuart Walsch was just about to drop his bombs when he noticed the mist below him part, one dark grey-clad jet fighter materialized, followed by another and then another. The three camouflaged fighters flew straight towards the three Phantoms.
“Shit,” Walsch said and pushed hard right on the control stick. The enemy fighters zoomed passed barely a few feet away to the Phantoms left.
“Shit that was close; can anybody see the grey bogies?”
“Negative.” Ghost fours radar operator said desperately as he turned his head side to side trying to get a view of the new threat.
The Aryan fighters swung around almost on a sixpence, they powered their violet glowing engines up and turned at an almost impossible angle to switch their planes around.
“No fucking way? They are on your six Ghost flight, get out of there.”
Eight more Phantoms from above joined the fight. “Hold on Ghost flight we have you covered.”
Stuart Walsch swore again under gritted teeth as superheated plasma washed towards his aircraft, the air around his plane started to crackle and hiss.
One of the Aryan Me 262’s accelerated even more aggressively and closed the gap to Ghost four.
“He’s right on us Mike if you are going to do something I suggest you do it now!”
“It’s ok he doesn’t have radar lock yet.”
“He won’t need it if he gets much closer!”
The young twenty-three-year-old pilot weaved right then left as he tried to keep his plane out of his enemies’ sights.
The Aryan fight closed in and its pilot pressed the triggers, a dazzling bright ball of purple sprang forward. Before Ghost four could react the ball smashed into his aircraft which disintegrated a few seconds later; screams filled the radio for a split second before they were cut off.
“Ghost four is down repeat Ghost four is down.”
“Fuck, Ghost two, are you listening? We need to bug out.”
“Roger that.”
The two Phantoms opened up the throttle, they were going to use the Phantoms trump card; the brute power of the F4 was enough to get it out of trouble.
The Me 262’s wingman opened fire and two blinding orbs raced forwards, the lead Me 262 put his plane into a tight roll to avoid the two projectiles.
The Phantoms behind Ghost flight watched in horror as the two orbs flew towards their comrades like they were heat-seeking missiles. The orbs reined in the two American fighters with ease.
Seconds later the two Phantoms were consumed by the balls of light and nothing remained but falling debris.
The Phantoms behind joined the action, revenge was clear in their minds but it was mixed with cold icy fear as it slowly dawned on the pilots that they did not have the superior technology anymore.
Falcon flight closed in on the four bogies closing in from the East. Suddenly William Morris’s headset growled a sweet, sweet growl. The young American clapped his hands together excitedly.
“I have Radarlock, Jr.”
Falcon three immediately moved aside to let Brooklyn have the firing position.
“Missile away,” Jnr said as the AIM-7 Sparrow flew forward leaving a trail of smoke leading away from the Phantom.
William Morris guided the missile towards the lead bogy that was now just a mile and a half out from their position. The Sleek Sparrow continued straight and true, the Me 262 was now square in its sights.
The missile disappeared from radar.
“What happened Moose?”
“Negative impact, repeat negative impact.”
“Shit.” Jr said, “Do you still have radar lock?”
“No.” Moose was despondent.
Falcon flight moved in closer.
“There they are.”
“Where?”
“Directly ahead, twelve o’clock slightly low,” Miller said.
“I see them…”
Four more Me 262’s appeared just above, promptly followed by four more.
“Shit… shit… shit…” Moose said as he watched the dots on the radar screen multiply in an instant. “Am I seeing this right?”
Sweat rolled down the front of Brooklyn’s face and pooled on the tip of his nose, “You’re seeing it right.” He said trying to hide his growing panic.
Falcon flight split into pairs and were immediately put on the defensive, the odds were not in their favor.
Eye of the Storm
“Get that artillery ready, pummel their defensive line then we will get our tanks to overrun the position and push them back!” Commander William Marlborough ordered.
All armored vehicles scurried into their predefined positions, they waited with engines running; the crews inside began to sweat as the adrenaline rushed through their veins. It felt like a few minutes had passed when in reality it was only a few seconds before the large caliber self-propelled guns opened up with a thunderous boom that echoed across the hills.
The M110A1 203mm Howitzer was basically a long-barreled cannon on tracks, the well trained and highly motivated crews started to pump out two to four rounds a minute while using the hand-operated manual rammer; a heavy steel pole with a hard rubber pad on one end that they used to ‘ram’ the shell into firing position.
This manual loading was physically demanding on the crews but it meant they did not have to keep lowering the barrel, which they had to do when using the hydraulically operated rammer. There were ten of this howitzers lined up nine miles behind the front line, they spat high explosive rounds down range on the coordinates that the Sheridan light tanks were scouting.
Explosions detonated through the mist that was now mixed with an ever-thickening smoke, the ground shook and trembled as if a huge earthquake was assaulting the area; the bright pink return fire suddenly stopped. The Americans continued to carpet the area with large high explosive rounds for the next ten minutes.